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CHRIST STOPPED AT EBOLI

PART ONE

Many years have gone by.

Years of war...

and what we call history.

Tossed about by fate,

I could not keep the promise I made,

when I said goodbye

to my peasants,

that I would return.

And I do not know if

or when I can keep it.

But closed in a room, in a closed world,

I indulge in remembering that other world.

Imprisoned in its pain and customs,

forgotten by history, by the State,

eternally patient.

That land of mine,

without comfort or kindness,

where the peasant lives in misery and isolation,

in his motionless civilization,

on arid soil,

in the presence of death.

My name is Barone. May he who finds me care for me.

Whose dog is this?

May I keep the dog?

Fine with me, but we'll have to ask the mayor.

- It's my dog. - Then shut him up!

We've got a job to do!

Put a muzzle on that dog!

That dog needs a muzzle, to be on a leash.

I work so hard to feed my chickens!

You mind? Tie him up right now!

I've got him, I've got him.

- Comfortable? - Yes, thanks.

Christ stopped at Eboli.

Where the road and the train abandon the coast and the sea,

and venture into the wastelands of Lucania.

Christ never came here.

Nor did time, the individual soul, or hope,

nor did cause and effect,

reason or history.

No one has set foot on this land,

except as a conqueror, an enemy,

or an uncomprehending visitor.

Today the seasons rush past over the toil of peasants,

as they did 3,000 years before Christ.

In this dark land,

without sin or redemption,

where evil is not moral,

but an earthly sorrow,

in all things for eternity,

Christ never descended.

Christ stopped at Eboli.

I'm the only one with a car here.

I bought it with the dollars I made in America...

I thought it'd be good business. Here they need a car.

As, you know, a "public service."

But the best I can do is two trips a week,

to take the mayor to the prefecture in Matera.

Seen the local mail carrier?

A donkey!

So much for good business!

See those poles?

They'd stick the heads of brigands on them,

and leave 'em there a long, long time.

Here comes the town clerk.

Don Peppi'...

The Brigadiere wants to tell you something.

Who gets the consignment papers?

The Town Hall will stamp them.

I'm the town clerk.

Carlo Levi.

Well...

Is there a hotel, an inn?

No, but I can suggest very comfortable lodgings with a relative.

She cooks, too.

If that's what's available.

- Which way? - That way.

The dog?

There he is.

He followed me.

Come.

I'd like to keep him, but I don't know if it's possible.

I think so,

but we have to ask the mayor.

He's teaching at the elementary school now.

Maybe tonight.

Wait for me here. I'll come and get you.

Signor Levi, come.

- Come in, come in. - Thanks.

May I?

I know everything. Come, I'll show you your room.

I'm going. See you at the Town Hall.

Thank you. Very kind.

Choose the bed you like.

Thank you, signora.

Signora, which way to the piazza?

Go straight, then turn right.

What are those ribbons over the doors?

It's our custom. When someone dies,

we hang the ribbons from the funeral wreaths

and leave them above the door till they fall off.

Dr. Levi...

I'm Luigi Magalone, the mayor.

Carlo Levi.

Welcome.

Let me tell you right away that in addition to you,

we've ten other political prisoners. But you're not allowed to see each other.

Anyway, they're riffraff. Factory workers, small time.

Not your class. You're obviously a gentleman.

How did you get yourself sent here? In such a great year for our country!

Anyway, you'll like it here. The climate's good, the town is healthy.

A little malaria. Not too much.

But one thing...

You have to be careful. There are a lot of bad people.

Avoid getting too close to anyone. It'll be better for everybody.

You must respect the curfew.

Orders are orders.

Everyone here goes to bed with the chickens anyway.

And every day you've got to sign the prisoner register.

Mere formality.

Orders from our superiors in Matera.

That's Don Trajella, the priest.

Watch out. He's always drunk.

A disgrace to our town.

Desecrating the house of God.

We can't get rid of him.

But maybe we can soon.

He's been here for years as punishment.

He taught in the seminary at Mondragone, or Naples.

We're not sure.

Seems he took some liberties with his pupils.

You know what I mean.

See those two older gentlemen?

The one with the cap is the richest man in town.

Last year his only son died.

So his two daughters can't leave the house, not even for Mass.

That's the custom here among gentlemen.

If the father dies, three years of seclusion.

One year for a brother.

Luigi!

Let me introduce my uncle, one of Gagliano's two local doctors.

Dr. Milillo...

Dr. Levi.

Pleased to meet you.

You're young...

and good looking.

- Wish I were. - But you are.

In this town, you've got to watch out for the women.

Never accept anything from them.

No wine and no coffee.

Nothing to drink or eat.

They'll put a love potion in it.

Do you want to know what they make them out of?

Menstrual blood.

I heard you're a doctor, too.

Gentlemen, I've got a medical degree, but never practiced.

So I'm not a doctor.

Well, you should know that the peasants don't listen to us.

They never call us when they're sick and they never want to pay.

But they'll regret it.

One of them who didn't call us died today.

- Served him right. - Stubborn as mules.

We give them quinine, and they don't take it.

So of course malaria kills them.

Dr. Levi, I'll leave you with your colleagues.

Listen, I wanted to ask if I can keep a dog.

- There he is. - A dog?

Sure, why not?

The Brigadiere from Apulia.

The midwife's lover.

I heard he was the lover of the pretty Sicilian mafiosa.

The one who's always singing.

- Oh really? - Yes.

He's been here three years.

They say he's already stashed away 40,000 lire...

Using his authority over the peasants,

10 lire at a time.

The mail! Here's the mail!

Castiglio, Ippolito.

This one's from New York!

Guerrino, Giuseppe.

It's ready.

That was my husband.

He died a nasty death three years ago.

They put the evil eye on him.

Who did? Why?

A peasant witch!

My husband went with another.

Another woman. They had a child.

My husband wanted to leave her!

But she gave him a magic potion that turned him black all over...

until he died.

A peasant witch?

That nasty bitch whore slut, she ruined my family!

Now I'm supporting my 10-year-old son at the seminary in Potenza.

And I'm stuck with this weight on my shoulders.

Who is it?

Don Peppi'!

So cold and wet, it'll kill you.

My bones are shivering.

Madonna del Carmine!

Sit by the fire.

May I?

What are you eating?

Soup.

Good, I'll have some, too. Haven't eaten since last night.

My stomach's empty.

Excuse me...

What do those two letters on your cap mean, "UE"?

"Ufficiale Esattoriale," tax collector.

I curse the man who sewed those letters on.

Nobody here wants to pay taxes.

Nobody.

With the excuse that they're poor, all of them.

But they all have a slaughtered pig hanging from the rafters.

Sausage, soppressata, pancetta, you name it.

While I have to settle for some bread and cheese.

A little wine?

Signora, do you have another glass?

You know, the taxes are a little high.

They are what they are.

We're not the ones who get the money.

We only make them pay.

What do they want from us?

So you go and take whatever there is.

Whatever they have, I take.

They have no furniture.

They have a bed,

but the law says you can't take their beds.

So what do they give you?

Whatever they have.

If they have a goat...

I take it.

A rabbit, I take it.

If someone's got a whole cheese, I take that, too.

Sometimes even a bottle of olive oil!

An awful job.

Awful.

And they hate me.

Everybody hates me.

The other day at Miglionico...

carrying a club this big...

they ran after me to split my head open.

At Ferrandina,

a man even dared to come after me with a rifle!

He wanted to shoot me.

An awful job.

Unfortunately...

We have to make a living.

I'm curious, what do you have in that case?

My salvation.

It gets rid of all my anger toward these people.

When I get away from them...

Let me show you.

See how beautiful?

It gets rid of all the venom these people put in me.

This is a clarinet.

I play in the Stigliano band.

Your towel.

Peppino is a good Christian and a clean young man.

Take the bed near the window. You'll be more comfortable.

Here's the doctor!

Excuse me... Wait a minute.

Excuse me, signora. What's going on?

- They heard you're a good doctor. - No, who said I'm a doctor?

Listen to me, I never practiced. I've no experience.

I can't give you good advice.

Listen, I can give you some medicine that I brought here for myself.

Let's see.

This child can't breathe because his tonsils are swollen.

You must get him to Matera and have them taken out.

Listen...

I'll give you some medicine that I brought here for myself.

Alright?

Excuse me.

Believe me, I never practiced!

I've never been a doctor!

- Who's that? - The foreign doctor.

Ugly idiot!

This is nuts!

Where've you been?

Let's go! Let's go!

My fellow citizens, I'm thrilled to be among you.

Our Duce has allowed me to undertake this historic journey

over mountains, forests and seas,

to bring the Patria's greetings to my brothers across the ocean.

My fellow Italians, keep up the good progress

and respect the Country that hosts you.

- I was listening to your record. - It's De Pinedo's arrival in New York.

Interested?

- I don't want to interrupt you. - Glad to have a guest.

It was 1925, the "Flight over Three Continents."

This record...

Did you buy it here?

No, I brought it from America.

My records are all that's left of my years in America.

Homesickness always tricks you. And I was tricked twice.

Once because I had to come back, and twice when I married a Gagliano girl.

And Sicily's now far, far away.

- You're Sicilian. - Yes, Sicilian.

Postcards from my friends in America.

The great President Roosevelt!

So you were there when De Pinedo landed.

Sure! All the Italians in America were there!

When we first saw the plane, it was a dot, a fly in the sky.

We all started shouting and jumping!

You couldn't even hear the Royal March!

When I got home, my jacket sleeves were gone.

Ripped off by the crowd!

Incredible.

My name's Levi, a political prisoner.

Honored. I know who you are.

I'm La Sala.

In a town like this, everyone knows everything.

... to bring the Patria's greetings to my brothers across the ocean.

My fellow Italians, keep up the good progress.

Respect the Country that hosts you and do not forget your faraway Patria.

Take as your motto: "Work and Patria."

With great satisfaction, I tell you that Italy grows greater.

And you must be proud to say that you are Italian.

Italy has sacrificed its sons for its greatness.

And you, out of respect for our martyrs, must know that you are Italians.

You must be Italian in name and in fact.

Remember these three words...

Civilization, honesty and work!

In order to succeed, take example from our Duce, Benito Mussolini!

Give me a hand here.

Lift.

This way you don't ruin the goat.

Now we have to slaughter them all.

Why?

The government put a tax on them.

They say goats are no good. They're bad for the plants, for farming.

This law may be good for the North, but not down here.

Goats are our only valuables, the only way we survive.

Without them we'd starve. Now we have to kill them.

They're political prisoners like you.

The blond is a communist from Ancona, a sailor.

Caught coming back from Odessa with a poster of the hammer and sickle.

Other's a student from Pisa.

A communist, too.

The prisoners used to be allowed to fraternize.

But now the mayor has prohibited all contact.

They take turns cooking to save money.

Right, because eating spaghetti together...

is such a threat to the State.

The men marry the women and then leave them here.

They stay in America and the children are a mix...

Are you crazy? Scram!

Scram!

Heathens!

This town doesn't even have the grace of God.

They only come to church to play.

Maybe it's for the best. Otherwise, nobody would come.

I say Mass to empty pews.

They're not even baptized.

A town filled with animals, not Christians.

Look at these paths.

Only mules can walk on them.

Have you looked around?

Look at this disaster.

When it rains,

the earth gives way

because there are no trees or rocks to hold it in place.

So the clay dissolves,

and it runs like a river,

carrying everything away,

and the houses collapse.

Look at this.

It was the main piazza.

And up there, that was my cathedral.

Not that little white church down in the other piazza.

And the people here are worse than the land.

Profanum vulgus!

Profanum vulgus!

- May I have some wine? - Of course.

Let me wash my hands and I'll get you some nice hot soup.

Don't be offended, signora, but I'm not hungry tonight.

Why not? Don't you feel well?

Guess I'm a bit fatigued.

I'll get him out of the way so he won't disturb you.

What are we doing here?

Me...

I'm here because they sent me here.

But you...

You're here, because...

You chose to come...

My dear Barone...

I came here, because they sent me.

But you...

You wanted to come.

And so...

And so, my dear Barone...

END OF PART ONE