War in My Town (13 page)

“Hello, Nonna,” said Mamma. “How is Nonno?”

“I don’t know how he is because he’s not speaking to me.” She sniffed haughtily and looked away into the shadows. Her tone was curt. My sister and I looked at each other
.
A sense of something
not right
pressed heavily on my chest.

“Nonna, where is Pina?” asked Mery.

“Upstairs,” she replied flatly. Nonno stayed upstairs in bed.

The three of us stepped quietly through the sizeable kitchen. It was scrubbed clean and smelled of lye. On the plank table were two vessels of broth, untouched. Mamma drew aside the curtain that hid the staircase up to the bedrooms. The creaky steps announced our arrival.

“Who’s there?” called Pina from upstairs.

“It’s us,” answered Mamma. We were almost at the top of the staircase.

A sob escaped her. “He’s gone.”

As we turned onto the hall to the master bedroom, we saw Nonno lying under the white sheet in his and Nonna’s bed. He was motionless and gray.

“He is done suffering,” said Mamma, wiping the tears with her forearm.

I was devastated. My world would never be the same. Our treasured grandfather, was gone. We would never have any more of our animated discussions or our trips to Castelnuovo together. My heart was broken. I began to cry and didn’t want to stop.

“Bruna,” Mamma sniffled. “Come say a prayer. Then take the broth to Edo’s house for Enrico. After that you will need to go home and make sure you get there before curfew.”

I drew close to the body of my poor, dear nonno. Would he have had a better chance if there had been a doctor attending him? We would never know. I said my prayer and held his cold hand for a moment before creeping downstairs without a word to anyone. I wasn’t just sad, I was angry at the world for taking away my grandfather. He had been like a father to me, taking the place of the father I never knew.

I grabbed the soup container and left, not acknowledging Nonna. How could she not realize that her husband was dead? Was her mind that broken?

I walked to the Guazzelli’s house in a daze, using the back streets. It would soon be dusk, so I had to hurry. I pushed the door open. “Hello?” I said in a hushed tone.

“I’m coming,” Edo said as he approached the entry. He was now a good-looking young man of nineteen though he seemed much older to me.

“Hi, Edo,” I stood in the doorway with the vessel in my hand. “I brought you broth from my mother for your father. It’s from the osteria.”

“You managed to take some from those devils, did you?” He took a drag from his cigarette and leaned on the doorjamb.

“Don’t talk of them that way. You never can tell who’s listening.” Awkwardly, I handed him the broth.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that father is really sick.” He took the soup. “If only I could get him to a doctor or the hospital. He’s suffering so much.” He began to tear up.

“I know, Edo. My nonno died yesterday, I think. We only got to him this afternoon.”

Edo took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m so sorry, Bruna.”

“Me, too.” I felt the sting of tears in my eyes again, but I fought them back. He turned to put the vessel on the tiny kitchen table. Their house was small and it housed five siblings and his parents.

“I hope Enrico gets better soon.” I looked away, dabbing my eyes dry.

Edo nodded, but he didn’t appear hopeful.

Chapter 24

We all helped to prepare our grandfather for his final days with us. We washed him and combed his thin hair. Cesar dressed him in his best suit and a few bunches of wildflowers were collected to adorn his bedroom. He was laid to rest in his bed and we arranged as many candles as we could find around him as he rested there in the house. There were no funeral homes in Eglio.

In the next two days, a steady stream of mourners came to call. They did the best they could under the circumstances to make life easier for our family. People brought whatever food they had.

On the morning of the funeral, Cesar was at the cemetery digging grandfather’s final resting place. The shelling had been too severe the day before. Mother was upstairs and had watched and prayed over our loved one through the night, as was the custom. We girls were all gathered in my grandmother’s sitting room when we heard sharp steps approaching our door. Suddenly it swung open and on the threshold stood the little German soldier who had smacked me on the head with his rifle. I cowered in fear beside my grandmother, who was totally oblivious to the entire situation.

“You
, pattat, pattat!
” he barked, his rifle pointed at us.

The soldiers were conducting more and more surprise raids in the homes, looking for food as they ran short themselves. There were limited convoys able to deliver supplies up from Castelnuovo.

“Please, leave us alone,” Aurelia said bravely.

“
Pattat, now!
”

“We have no pattat!” Pina shouted back.

At this, he lost what was left of his temper and launched into a tirade in his native language that would have intimidated the bravest of souls. But Mery would not be browbeaten.

“Pattat, upstairs,” she pointed to the stairs off the kitchen. “Go and check upstairs for your damned pattat, you milky-skinned bastard.” The latter portion of the comment was uttered under her breath — and of course, he had not an inkling of what it meant.

The soldier reveled in his potato triumph and stomped through the kitchen. His heavy footsteps clomped on the steps. Step one, two, three, four, five- first landing- six, seven…all the way to fourteen. Mery got up suddenly.

“Mamma’s up there alone.” She scrambled to the stairs, silently crept up to the first landing and craned her head around so that she could see what he was doing. We listened.
Clomp, clomp
…then nothing. Then a slow scrape as he turned on his heel and came down again. Mery clambered back downstairs and took her original place as if she hadn’t moved, her hand over her mouth.

A gentler, quieter step replaced the stomps. The soldier’s feet finally appeared in our sightline almost on tiptoe as he descended the staircase. When he reached bottom his face was ashen and his eyes glossy. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and his hat was in his hand. He made no eye contact and did not speak as he approached the front door. Before he exited, he turned and bowed slightly toward my grandmother and quietly departed. Not another word was exchanged. We all sat in silence.

“Good for you, Mery,” said Pina. “But don’t ever do that again.”

Mother rushed down the stairs. “What on Earth…? Has he gone?”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He froze in mid-step when he saw Nonno lying there. Then he took off his hat and bowed his head, as if he were praying. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.” How could a hard-nosed soldier be so affected by the sight of a dead man? We were all speechless pondering what had just happened.

“Who was that nice boy?” asked Nonna, at long last, breaking the silence. “So respectful.” She smiled and shook her head.

Each of us turned to look at her, dumbfounded. Then the snickers came. The snickers turned to laughter, and then even Mamma couldn’t control herself. The absurdity of my grandmother’s comment and the innocence with which she expressed it washed away some of the gloom. We all had a hearty laugh at the expense of the potato soldier.

We did have potatoes — and they remained ours. They were covered carefully with a tarp and blankets under the bed where Nonno lay. Mamma always said that it was the little victories that counted. Our day ended with a hurried funeral in the church followed by the procession and burial of our grandfather in the village cemetery, dodging mortar shells all the way.

Despite all the sadness and disruption around us, life continued in our village and people still found love. Aurelia and Dante shared their love in the form of a very simple wedding ceremony in the village chapel. Aurelia was pregnant and a village on the front lines was no place for a woman who would have a baby in a few short months. Dante thought that it would be best if they tried to get away, and stay in Cornola, a quiet village higher in the mountains that had not been occupied by the Nazis. They received permission for their move from the German officers and left shortly after the wedding ceremony. They departed on foot, and we would not see Aurelia again until the next spring.

Chapter 25

Early autumn came with a crispness in the air that usually meant it was harvest time. But there could be no such thing this year. Our fields and roads were littered with landmines and our men were building more bunkers.

On the Gothic front, the Allies were growing more frustrated. By November 1944, the war in Italy had reached a stalemate, partly because of heavy rains. The Allies weren’t advancing any farther, and the Nazis continued their waiting game. Our willingness and strength to survive was tested daily as the bombarding continued.

One late afternoon that autumn, when the bombings had been particularly intense for a few days, my good friend Armida and her family were caught off guard. They had been gathering some chestnuts for flour, but when they heard the shelling they ran into their barn, which was located some distance from their home in the lower part of the village. Since it was dusk and the curfew was on, they decided to stay in the barn for the night. The barn was made of thick oak logs so they believed that this was a solid shelter that would withstand the attacks. Eva, Armida, and Maria huddled together and fell asleep in the barn.

The mortar shells began to explode around them late in the night. One of the heavy shells landed on the roof and the heavy oak rafters gave way, splintered into a million pieces, and fell to the ground.

We too, were caught by the oncoming bombardments and couldn’t make it to the other side of the village in time. Poggetti was not too far above the valley where their barn stood. That night, I heard Eva’s screams. I will never forget her cries. It was an inhuman sound, primal and visceral. Screams from her mother and sister filled the quiet moments between the shelling. No one could reach them. We knew that something was horribly wrong, but we couldn’t get to them. It was too dangerous to even think of venturing out into that madness. I put my hands over my ears to block the sounds.

Finally, when the bombardment stopped, some of the men scrambled down to the barn. I was too frightened and hid upstairs in my brother’s bedroom. I couldn’t bear to see what had happened to Armida and Eva.

Mamma came to find me the next morning. She was very upset, but she tried to explain what had happened. Eva was directly underneath the girder that had been cut clean in half by the blast. She tried to scramble out of the way in time, but couldn’t. The heavy beam fell to the ground and crushed both her legs above the knees. That was when poor Eva screamed in agony. Armida’s foot was crushed by the same beam as she tried to clamber to safety, and Maria’s hand was crushed by another. During the night, despite their own serious injuries, Eva’s sister and mother tried to stop the bleeding by wrapping rags around Eva’s legs as tourniquets. But the raging outside went on for a long time and she lost too much blood.

The men of the village carried her out and appealed to the soldiers for help. Surprisingly, they let them take her to the hospital in Castelnuovo, but that was over six miles (10 km). Her family and some of the men took turns carrying her on the back trails through Sassi and down the footpath. They made it as far as the Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Snow just north of Sassi. Eva had bled so much that she wasn’t even conscious, her legs were barely attached. They never made it to the hospital. Her family wanted her home so that she could breathe her last there, instead of on the side of the road like an animal. Word came that she had died. Maria died not long after. Her hand was severely injured, but Mamma believed that she died of a broken heart because her daughter had been killed.

The memory of that night impacted me the most. I couldn’t understand why some were spared and others were not. Even at such a young age, I knew I was one of the lucky ones. It was a strange thought for someone as young as I was.

Shortly after that horrible night, Enrico, Edo’s father, passed away. Enrico had been the rock that held that family together and now he was dead. Edo told me years later that his father had died in his arms, gasping out his last breaths, leaving him in charge of a young family. He said that he had wept openly when his father died, not only to grieve his passing, but he also grieved for himself. Now that his father was dead, and his older brother Mario was missing on the Russian front, would he be strong enough to take charge and look after his younger siblings and his mother? He had no choice.

As the weather grew colder, my hatred for both the occupying soldiers and the Allies grew deeper. I hated the Allies for bombing us and murdering my friends and I reviled the Nazi soldiers because they were the cause for all this misery. They were all dream-takers, thieves of hope, and robbers of optimism.