Superstitions on the New Year

"But let me say this. I am a superstitious man, a ridiculous failing but I must confess it here. And so if some unlucky accident should befall my youngest son, if some police officer would accidentally shoot him, if he should hang himself in a cell, if new witnesses appear to testify to his guilt, my superstition will make me feel that it was the result of the ill will still borne me by some people here. Let me go further. If my son is struck by a bolt of lightning I will blame some of the people here. If his plane should fall into the sea or his ship sink beneath the waves of the ocean, if he should catch a mortal fever, if his automobile be struck by a train, such is my superstition that I will blame the ill will felt by people here."


-Don Vito Corleone, on superstition

Superstition (Latin superstitio, literally "standing over" derived perhaps from standing in awe; used in Latin as an unreasonable or excessive belief in fear or magic, especially foreign or fantastical ideas, and thus came to mean a "cult" in the Roman empire) is a belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge. The word is often used to refer to supposedly irrational beliefs of others, and its precise meaning is therefore subjective. It is commonly applied to beliefs and practices surrounding luck, prophecy and spiritual beings, particularly the irrational belief that future events can be influenced or foretold by specific, unrelated behaviors or occurrences (wikipedia).

Absolutely no man in our family really believes in superstition. It is but a fool's excuse not to reason. It's worse than organized religion, as anyone could invent one or two themselves and start a craze. Sometimes, however, most people in my family do stuff which may appear to be superstitious.

Last New Year's Eve, one of my uncles (a retired police sergeant, now martello) and a small band of his crew, filled a hundred or so medium-sized grocery bags with groceries to be delivered that very night to the poor pesantes who lived in his neighborhood. These unmarked white bags were filled with about two (2) Kilos of rice, some canned goods, some noodles, and even several toiletries in sachets. As I was in the old neighborhood that day, I witnessed the scurrying about of my uncles' crew making sure each bag had the exact same contents. I said to my uncle: "What you're doing is really admirable, but I thought you do this sort of thing during the Holy Week?" "We used to, but the Church forbade it." He answered me right back. "It's an honorable thing, what you are doing." I replied, without telling an inkling of what I was truly thinking. Then I left them to go about their business.

First, I thought that the reason why the packages were unmarked is because my uncle didn't want the people to know initially where the stuff originated from. My uncle knew that while these peasants are mostly ignorant, they are seldom fools. After New Year's day have come and gone, they, by their own methods will eventually discover the source of these "gifts." And they will think that the act of concealing their origin is a great sign of humility of the benefactor. This is one of the many subtleties one must learn when dealing with the sensitive masses. They all like dole-outs and free shit and all, but charity must not be done at the expense of a poor man's dignity. These simple folk are bribed each time a local election comes but the the one who always win by bribery are not respected, much less feared, by these people. As a family, we have over the years worked carefully to gain the respect, if not fear, from the people surrounding us.

Second, I instantly recognized that the people he was using for this job are not his old-time crew who are his childhood buddies, but up-and-comers who are peasants themselves. Not young kids, but people who are also trying to win respect from their little neighborhoods, while not having the financial means and the insight to do this kind of shit themselves. By working for this uncle of mine, they are doing him a favor, for he is not paying them for this job, and as well as doing themselves a favor, for they have earned the friendship of my uncle.

Third, I had not asked but wondered about why and how exactly did the Catholic church forbade the giving of groceries during Holy Week. I dismissed this thought as a characteristic irrelevancy of my uncle. He thinks the Church to still have such power over men. When the priests in the pulpits are as crooked as the dirtiest of all politicians as they have ever been here in our insignificant Roman Catholic Archipelago. If my father, or godfather, wanted to give groceries on Holy Week, no Church can impose its will over them like they are their puppets on a string. The current Pope, after all, is no Rodrigo Borgia.

Finally, I pondered over the logic of this, "charity." It is no secret that this uncle of mine has aspirations to "public service", and my godfather the Don even offered to buy his political seat (which this uncle proudly refused to his bitter regret). Despite his recent loss, however, he managed not to go about shooting anyone. This uncle is not a rich man by any standard, but he is not poor either. Nevertheless, I know that he could hardly afford to keep his mistress and children to live the sort of extravagant lives they live, and then manage to do this, benevolent act. After all, what future favors can the family expect from these wretched families to whom he is doling-out these free shit?

As I was walking towards our own compound, the truth came flying over to my head. I remembered that since his cop days (when he was still doing this thing during the Holy Week), my uncle kept a list of well chosen "beneficiaries." They were all poorer than rats, but included in their ranks all sorts of cutthroats, stick-up boys, wranglers, informants and thieves which in the future, may or may not be of service to our family. A bag of cheap groceries every year is a ridiculously small investment for their potential usefulness and friendship. He's like an Arctic Explorer in days past, who left small packages of food behind along the way to the North Pole, thinking he might need them in case something goes bad. There is nothing superstitious about that.

The next day, New Year's Day, my godfather granted a wish. He gave me a bottle of a very expensive Blue Label Scotch, which I jokingly requested from him while we were having drinks last Christmas. Dons, after all, always keeps their word. Superstition or no Superstition.