ITALY: A Clock for Fiumicino

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At Fiumicino, the muddy waters of the Tiber merge with the blue Mediterranean. The town's life seems as sluggish as the river, but beneath the apparent calm there is a deep, turbulent rift which sometimes whirls up like an assault of wind-whipped breakers. That rift is symbolized by the tablet in the city hall commemorating Garibaldi's visit in 1849 (after the Republicans had driven the Pope from Rome), and by the blue & white statue of the Virgin Mary in the church.

Those who reverently place wreaths beneath Garibaldi's memorial and those who kneel before the Virgin—many citizens do both—have long lived together in drowsy tolerance. But now, the heirs of Garibaldi are tainted with Marxism, the

Catholics are accused of Fascism. The bitter struggle that rends all Italy recently broke out, in miniature, at Fiumicino. It was known as the "Clock Fight."

The Ravens & the Foxes. Fiumicino's clock had been shattered in the war. Since most townsmen had no watches of their own, and since even a fishing village must move according to the relentless schedule of modern time, repairing the clock was an urgent matter. So everyone agreed when strapping, round-faced Father Bernardoni called together all parties for a raffle. The united effort yielded 70,000 lire. Then dissension began. Father Bernardoni insisted that 6,000 lire be used for parish charity which could not be delayed "because we can't let people die of hunger to have a clock a few days sooner."

Screamed tough, wiry Communist Leader Otello Barbi: "You cornacchiacce, you dirty black ravens, you always turn everything into an instrument of propaganda in your favor. You just want all poor to be forced to sign on to the parish list." Salvatore Gallo, a stocky Christian Democrat, rose from his café table in the square: "You volponaccio rosso, you sly red fox, you know very well that the parish helps all the poor. It's only that you want the poor to be forced to come to you Communists." Barbi rushed up: "You lying cornacchia, we think only of the people." Gallo: "You miserable red fox, yes, you think of the people—you think of their blood—you want to drink their blood if they don't happen to think like you. You want our clock to strike the hour for you alone."

Soon two angry factions faced each other in the square. The coffee-house owners hastily cleared the tables. This gave watching Mayor Cavaliere Giovanni Marcovaldi, who is stone deaf, an inkling of what was going on. His paunch protruding majestically, he carried himself to the middle of the square like a ship in full sail and shouted: "Children, children, don't let's be children. You are citizens. If you have a disagreement, appoint a committee. Don't make Fiumicino the laughing stock of the countryside."

So the "Committee for the Distribution of Urgent Charity from the Clock Funds" was born.

"Helper of Virgins." In the whitewashed committee room, whose unpainted, rickety shutters open on to the rusty municipal balcony, Marcovaldi declared: "I suggest that the differences be met halfway. Let 3,000 lire be given to church funds and 3,000 to municipal charity."