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My peasants are very sure that a communist movement will make them padroni of my farm and all therein. Our disagreement with them is now in its aoute stage. Did they not openly declare that they would see the 'Signore' green before handing over to them one half of the wheat, the oil or the potatoes. Antonio, fearing starvation, courageously confronted this angry family of nine armed with farm implements. They gesticulated and shouted that the farm belonged to them; that they would crush his ribs is they even found him on the 'zucchini' patch (zucchini are sold at an enormous profit on the black market). Finally I decided to talk to Tomalino from my side of the barred gate that separates the garden from the farm. Our conversation was unhealthily suave. He, Tomalino, fairly overflowed with good intentions. The Signora could be sure of receiving her portion of wheat, oil and potatoes and even some of the apricots now ripening on the tree nearby, but never a blade of grass would he hand over to his born enemy Antonio. I reminded my angry giant that Antonio had proved himself other than an enemy. At one time Tomalino had even called him 'un gentiluomo'. Had not Antonio come forward whenever no one else was available, to give hypodermic injections to Tomalino's mother dying of cancer of the throat. Who other would willingly have performed such a task? Then remembering the wheeat, potatoes, etc. I went on to affirm that we all felt the greatest friendship for Tomalino and