Read Online The Honored Society: A Portrait of Italy's Most Powerful Mafia by Petra Reski - Free Book Online Page B

for the well?
    Evil must be fought with good, says Don Pino, who is responsible not only for the salvation of San Luca but also for the pilgrimage site of Santa Maria di Polsi. He is the spiritual leaderthere, a role of considerable importance since the pilgrimage site is effectively the ’Ndrangheta’s meeting place.
    In Calabria, San Luca is seen as the mother lode of crime, and to a great extent the village derives this status from its proximity to the Madonna of Polsi—a place distinguished less for its miracle-working capacities than for the fact that the ’Ndrangheta gather there every year to pay homage to the clan chiefs. They gather there even today. They no longer do so at the monastery, however, but in a house nearby. Three representatives of the Calabrian Mafia stop off at that house: one representing the city of Reggio Calabria, one from the Tyrrhenian group, one from the Ionian. These three wise men receive representatives from all the Calabrian ’Ndrine, the family clans—from Italy and the whole of Europe, from Canada, America, and Australia. They come to Polsi, they bring gifts and set out their problems to these three wise men, who then give them advice. It’s a kind of annual ’Ndrangheta summit meeting, which lasts a month.
    “You see, we don’t deny that there were certain gatherings in Polsi in the past,” Don Pino said, and hurried to add: “but the people didn’t gather there to, okay, let’s say, put something or other into action!” It had, as Don Pino put it, been more of a traditional form of devotion, of the negative kind. Which, put like that, sounds decidedly more elegant than “ ’Ndrangheta.” Don Pino is careful not to use the word. “Certainly, it’s a deadly sin to revere the image of the Madonna and at the same time to commit crimes. But in the face of the Madonna of Polsi even the hardest hearts soften, and people break down in tears.” Don Pino had seen men in Polsi licking the aisle leading up to the altar withtheir tongues! “And the only gathering that verifiably took place there was the one in 1967, when everyone was first arrested and then released again because they’d just been looking for mushrooms!” said Don Pino. “Those are the great dramas of history!”
    I’m still deep in thought about our meeting with Don Pino when Shobha says: “I don’t want to think about San Luca anymore. Let’s just do a story about Sicilian aristocrats planting vineyards—suggest that to one of your editors. Or Selinunte, the acropolis—let’s do something about Selinunte.”
    “Yes,” I say, “Selinunte. But wasn’t the father of the boss Matteo Messina Denaro a famous graverobber who stole the ephebes from Selinunte? Yes, maybe we really should stop. But maybe it’s all a matter of perspective.”
    “ Basta ,” says Shobha, orders some more wine, and then turns pale because she thinks she recognizes the youngest son of the mafioso and ex-mayor Vito Ciancimino at the next table.
    “I’ve never seen him here before,” says Shobha.
    Palermo reminds me a little of East Germany. The Lives of Others is played out here every day. With the arrogance of the powerful. With members of the opposition who end up working with the ruling party, with heroes who aren’t. Sometimes a handshake from the wrong person is enough to lose you your credibility forever. Anti-Mafia public prosecutors seldom go out in Palermo.
    “Thank God, he’s leaving,” says Shobha, looking at Ciancimino’s son, who is greeting everyone heartily as he leaves the restaurant.
    It’s at that moment that the pianist takes a break. He approaches our table in a series of concentric circles, and Shobhaturns her back to him. “May I join you for a moment?” he asks, and Shobha says: “Sorry, but we’re just discussing our latest report, it wouldn’t be very interesting to you.”
    And then she takes out the battered map of Calabria that she still happens to have in her pocket and points to San