A TALE OF TWO TOWNS

In Christ Stopped at Eboli (see BOOKS), Italian Author Carlo Levi tells movingly of an Italian village too tiny and remote (according to local tradition) even for the attention of the Messiah. In the messianic fervor of Italy's Communists today, however, no village is too remote. North & south where no road leads and no Christian Democrat cares to venture, the Communists are on hand to persuade, threaten or cajole with promises of worldly salvation. Last week, from Rome, TIME Correspondent Emmet Hughes cabled a revealing glimpse of the way humbler party officials work their wonders in two little towns:

Anticoli and Roviano are 40 kilometers from Rome. They are only a stone's throw apart, and their citizens spent most of the Middle Ages throwing stones and everything else available at each other, as they fought for possession of the Aniene Valley.

"Viva Gli Zulu!" Last June, bonfires in Anticoli's square and the Red Flag fluttering from Roviano's tower heralded the election victory of the Socialist-Communist bloc over landowners and shopkeepers. The Christian Democrats virtually threw the election away when their provincial leader, coming to a rally of the local party, swung into Roviano driving a long, sleek Alfa Romeo. Roviano's children, squealing with delight, climbed all over the strange vehicle, but the citizenry hooted its driver out of town. In Anticoli, a pretty young girl who was chief Communist organizer practically swung the election singlehanded when she shouted in a village square speech: "The landowners call us barbarians. They say we are Zulus. All right, we'll be Zulus. Long live the Zulus!" No one knew what the phrase meant, but it was wonderfully catchy, so whitewashed letters reading "Viva Gli Zulu!" appeared all over town.

Roviano's left-wing vote had been preponderantly Communist, Anticoli's Socialist. Roviano's choice of a mayor was easy and quick--local Communist Leader Adalgiso Scacchi, a miner who picked up the gospel from Polish comrades he had worked with in the mines of France and Belgium after World War I. Sober, shrewd Scacchi was not swept off his feet by the post-election rush of citizens wanting to join his party. Said he: "Communism is something you have to learn. Sometimes it takes 20 years, often a lifetime. We only want real Communists--better a good reactionary than a bad Communist. We're willing to wait for the reactionary's children."

"Qui Comando lo!" Across in Anticoli, there were complications. Local Socialist Leader Carlo Toppi, a jolly, moonfaced sculptor, wasn't quite strong enough to get himself made mayor. During the campaign he had become so excited painting emblems on the town's walls, that he wasn't sure any more that there was a difference between Socialists and Communists. The local Communists suggested that Anticoli needed a mayor with high contacts in Rome itself. Toppi agreed, and Anticoli proudly selected as its mayor a Communist from Rome. His job was that of porter at the Air Ministry, but, no doubt, he saw many important people. Porter Bernardo Eugeni comes up on weekends to be Anticoli's part-time mayor.

Now both towns had Communist mayors, but they got different treatment from their bosses. Little Eugeni played the Duce: "Qui comando io!" (Here, I command!) were his favorite words as he pounded a wobbly table. When he decided to dismiss lower officials like the village doctor, he wrote simply: "Dear Dr. Pirro, I have the honor to inform you you have been fired, (signed) Eugeni." He also fined Village Priest Don Vittorio for collecting money for the harvest festival without his authorization.

In Roviano, sly Scacchi used different tactics. He appeared conspicuously at Christmas and Easter Mass, even appointed himself to march the communicants to the rail in orderly fashion. His motto: "Above party divisions, we are first of all the village." Christian Democrats grumbled but could not complain openly.

Then two weeks ago came the electrifying news that the Communists in Rome had voted for the Lateran Pact. In Anticoli, Eugeni crowed cruelly, guffawed to speechless Don Vittorio: "Ha! Now you've got to work with me, just the way Togliatti has made De Gasperi work with him! Qui comando io!" In Roviano, wise old Scacchi said to his village priest, Don Mario Sargenti: "Now we must work together--I like all workers of the spade, you like all workers of the robe." This week in both towns another political party seems to be following the Socialists into oblivion. Don Vittorio, the landowners and shopkeepers have all canceled their subscriptions to Rome's Christian Democrat daily, now read only Giannini's neo-Fascist II Buonsenso. Grumbled one: "What else can we do now--except join the Communists?"

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