by J. R. Sharp
“Now you’re an electrician and telephone service technician.”
Giacomo was stunned at first, but he grabbed his paperwork. “Where do you call home, fellow electrician?”
“I live up north near a town called Cimpello. What about you?”
Giacomo finished his cigarette before he answered with a huge smile. “My family is from Vicenza.”
This was good because this meant they had a lot in common. Both of them were from the north, which was far different from the south. As they moved closer to the check-in desk, Gino saw two Italian soldiers sitting and checking in soldiers. Standing behind them were three German soldiers deciding what to do with the soldiers checking in for duty. Some of the soldiers were told to go to the left and into a building; others were told to go to the right. Gino tried to hear what was being said, and so did the other soldiers in line, but most of the conversation was in German. Giacomo was ordered to the left desk while Gino was ordered to the right.
As Gino approached, he saw a doctor and some nurses in the back checking on soldiers. They were Italian and German medical personnel, but Germans were making most of the decisions. This was not good; folks a lot worse than he was were sent back to the front. As Gino made it to the desk, he was asked for his papers.
He handed his papers to the clerk.
“What did you do in Naples, Private Cartelli?” asked the clerk.
Before Gino could reply, a German officer dressed in a black leather jacket leaned over to look at his documents and hear the conversation. The man wore a cross around his neck. Gino snapped to attention as best as he could. Gestapo.
***
Major Schmidt was getting bored with the daily assessment of these obviously broken-down and unqualified Italian soldiers. He was sent to Rome to establish a possible German command and to help smooth over things with the Italian royal family. One of his other duties was to make sure the Italians built their army back to full strength. The Germans were going to make a run for Greece later in the year and needed Italian’s forces. Schmidt was disgusted by these half-hearted warriors and understood why they lost to the Greeks. The whole Italian country was a disorganized mess that needed German oversight if Italy was to be a factor in conquering all of Europe.
As he leaned in to look at Gino’s qualifications, he heard something from his right which took his attention away from his duties. Two Italian soldiers ran from the check-in station. A junior German officer next to Schmidt followed the deserters with a couple of Italian soldiers in tow.
The major walked toward the commotion but decided to conserve his energy. He was finally feeling better from his wounds but still walked with a slight limp. The headaches were not happening as often, but when he had a long day or became tired, they always came back to remind him of Hannut. Today was such a day.
Gino took a deep breath. “I worked on the electrical power, switchboards and telephone systems at the hospital.”
The clerk spoke to the German officer and then said, “What is your medical condition, Private Cartelli?”
“I had one of my lungs removed, and malaria damaged the other lung. I can’t march for long without resting or catching my breath.”
The clerk translated, but the German major was distracted by another commotion—a few more fleeing Italian soldiers being chased. The clerk waited for the officer to make a decision. Gino stood, nervously watching two uniformed guards capture the fleeing Italians and escort them back to face their punishment. The clerk asked the major again which direction to send Gino, and the German officer, disgusted by what he had just witnessed, motioned toward the medical area.
The clerk told Gino to see the doctor. As he was proceeding, gunshots came from the building where the German guards had escorted the two soldiers. Everyone glanced toward the gunshots for a split second and knew what had happened.
As Gino entered the medical area, a nurse approached him and asked, “Let me see your papers. Please have a seat and take off your shirt so the doctor can examine you.”
Gino looked around and noticed everyone complying with anything requested of them. He sat with his clothes in his lap until the doctor approached him.
The first thing the doctor noticed was Gino’s massive scar. The Italian translator with the doctor looked tired when he asked Gino to repeat what happened to him. The translator explained Gino’s wounds to the doctor, who listened to him breathe with a stethoscope. He moved to Gino’s back and made some comments to the translator.
“The doctor wants to know how far you can walk or run before you have difficulty breathing,” the translator said.
“About four hundred meters before I have to stop and catch my breath because of the pain in my chest.”
The doctor asked Gino to stand while the exam continued.
Back at the check-in line, Major Schmidt asked the junior officer about the two Italians who had just been shot for trying to escape.
“What kind of soldiers were those two?”
“They were infantry, but there was nothing wrong with them. They were deserters that got into the wrong line thinking they would be given the Rome duty.”
“I wish they would send us skilled people so we can rebuild this pathetic city,” Schmidt said. He remembered the man he had just sent to have medically evaluated. “Get that last soldier I sent to the medical tent and check if he’s an electrician. If he is, send him to the other line for duty here in the city.” He grabbed his head to massage away the pounding in his cranium.
The doctor grabbed Gino’s records and was writing something down when a junior German officer with the same black leather jacket as the major entered the exam room. He grabbed the paperwork and spoke with the doctor. Gino wondered what just happened as he dressed. The nurse came into the exam area with a slight smile. She held his records.
“You are one lucky guy. The doctor was going to send you to the front, but that officer told him you were needed here in Rome.”
Gino almost jumped with excitement but refrained for fear of being shot.
“What kind of special skills do you have, Private Cartelli?”
“I’m an electrician, and I can repair and service telephone lines.”
“Well, that’s why you’re staying. This city is always having problems with the telephones and electricity. I need you to finish getting dressed and come with me so you can check into your new duty station.”
Gino finished dressing in the uniform he hated and followed the nurse with his suitcase in tow.
The nurse led Gino to the other side of the check-in area. As he passed the desk, the other soldiers looked his way with fear in their eyes. He walked so fast he almost ran into the nurse. She went past the door where the now-dead deserters had been taken and continued walking. They stopped at the next room.
The nurse turned to Gino and said, “Take a seat. They will call you when they’re ready for you.”
Gino saw Giacomo at the end of a bench and walked over. Giacomo smiled from ear to ear.
“I thought they were going to send you to the front,” he remarked.
“I thought the same thing, and I was a little nervous,” replied Gino, handing his new friend another cigarette.
“I am glad you’re here, because I don’t know the first thing about electricity.”
Gino laughed as he lit two cigarettes. For the first time since he arrived in Rome, he felt calm in this country whose future was so uncertain.
Chapter 9
MAJOR SCHMIDT WAS STILL in Rome. His original assignment was to ensure the Italian army was rebuilding after their embarrassment in the Balkans, but now his orders had permanently attached him to the city. Not only was he in charge of making sure the Italian army kept their numbers up, but he was also instructed to train their tank commanders on battlefield strategy. Additionally, Rome was instructed to gather the Gypsies and Jews for deportation. He needed a holding area for them before sending them to Germany. Once they arrived in Germany, he wasn’t sure what wo
uld happen to them, and he didn’t care.
Major Schmidt was enjoying one of his few days without severe headaches or backaches. His office was only about half a kilometer from his place of residence, and if the weather wasn’t too bad, he walked to work. He gauged his pain on the walk. The day is starting out pleasant, but for how long?
After entering his office, which used to be the house of a local public official who spoke out against the war, he could tell that there weren’t yet any emergencies or people who needed his immediate attention. His secretary, Marta Columbo, awaited him in the lobby. She always stood when he entered the room to show respect for his rank.
“Good morning, Herr Major. How was your walk this morning?” asked Marta, who was fluent in Italian, French and German, not to mention good at typing in all three languages.
The major cast Marta his signature morning glance and moved toward the jacket hooks. He hung his black leather jacket and combination hat before he responded.
“The walk was good, and the cold wasn’t bad this morning. Do I have any mail or messages?”
Marta handed him his mail and his messages on the familiar German Nazi emblem paper on which she wrote down his calls.
“You have a letter from Hilda, a local call from the compound area, and one call from Berlin, but I couldn’t get all the information before we lost contact. It was from Gestapo headquarters—a Colonel Weber.”
This news made the major smile a little; the unreliable phone system was a perfect excuse if he wasn’t in the mood to talk with Berlin. The weather played a major factor in how the phones worked. The letter also made him smile. It was nice to have someone in his life as sweet as Hilda, the woman who nursed him back to health.
“The colonel needs to talk to you about Greece and the way station.”
The way station was being built to remove the local Gypsies and Jews. It was close to the Tiber River, next to an old train station stop they would use to load them. The ghetto was a cramped, four-block section of the city that was being fenced in to control movement.
Major Schmidt’s head started to pound knowing he had to call his ever-involved supervisor to provide more updates and, of course, receive more guidance. The major read the message from the officer in charge of the way station and noted that it would be ready for the first train arrival that evening.
“Please call my driver to come get me in thirty minutes. I want to see how the progress is going on the way station,” the major ordered as he went to his office to read his letter from Hilda.
***
On top of an alleyway wall, Giacomo inspected an electrical box with a maze of wiring he couldn’t interpret. His one good eye was focused on the puzzle when Gino came from behind.
“You have no idea what you’re looking at, do you?” asked Gino.
“No, but I have learned not to stick my hands into an electrical box since the last time we did this. My hair still stands up every time someone turns on a light in a room.”
Gino snickered and looked at the main breaker. The new electrical power ran to an area designated as some type of holding area. This morning they had been assigned to run power to this zone. Like good soldiers, they didn’t ask questions as to why they needed power in the ghetto. Giacomo followed Gino to the main road through the narrow alley where the supervisors wanted lights.
“We’re going to need more poles to hoist these electrical wires and attach the light fixtures,” Gino said to his ever-present giant of a friend.
Giacomo looked around to see which side would be best for the poles. He looked down the alley from the main road and saw soldiers near the end setting up tables and chairs. A couple of Gestapo officers directed the area setup.
“Gino, come here and see what’s going on down at the other end of the alley.”
“Okay, what’s so important?”
“Look,” replied Giacomo as he pointed.
Gino saw the Gestapo officers directing soldiers to set up barriers. “What’s so important? It’s not like we haven’t seen this before. Remember, they had something like this when we checked into our duty here.”
“Not that. Look up in the buildings on the top of this alleyway.”
In plain sight, soldiers escorted local folks out of their slum dwellings. Most were carrying just about everything they owned and heading toward the main street. Gino looked down the main road and saw them emerging.
“Why are they evicting these folks from their homes?” asked Giacomo.
“I have no idea, but it looks like they’re doing it throughout this neighborhood.” Gino pointed at more unfortunate individuals being escorted out to the main street.
The Germans were also erecting road barriers to ensure no one went into certain areas in the ghetto as they made their way toward the railroad station and were loaded on trains. It looked like the Germans were herding cattle for the market.
As Giacomo headed for the area where the electric poles were dropped off earlier in the day, there was a shout in their direction.
“You two come here!” yelled a German officer in the familiar black jacket of the Gestapo. Gino and Giacomo looked at each other and proceeded toward the officer in the alley.
“Yes, Herr Officer. What can we do for you?” asked Gino.
Giacomo stood next to Gino, looking down at the significantly shorter German officer.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked, looking at Giacomo and noting the patch covering one of his eye sockets.
“We’re the electricians running the lighting for this area,” said Gino. He had learned in the past not to let Giacomo talk—Giacomo had a way of insulting the officers when he spoke, and the two electricians didn’t need additional attention; the officer was now in a staring contest with Giacomo, which wasn’t a good thing.
“Herr Officer, can I talk to you!” yelled a junior German soldier.
“Continue with your work and report to me when you are completed,” replied the officer without taking his eyes off the one-eyed soldier.
“Yes sir,” answered Gino as he grabbed Giacomo and directed him away from this tense situation. Gino looked back to see the German still staring. “What is wrong with you?” he asked Giacomo.
“I don’t work for the Germans; I hate them.”
Gino smiled and nodded in agreement but admonished, “Let’s do our jobs and stay out of trouble.”
The men moved the poles in place and began attaching electrical lines. Each pole was about three meters in length and needed two strong individuals to carry them. The alley was about a hundred meters long. As they finished laying out the poles, Gino heard noise at the entrance of the alleyway. Giacomo stopped to look up. A couple of soldiers at the entrance were setting more barriers to guide whoever was coming to this sketchy area in the city.
***
Major Schmidt decided to read Hilda’s letter before the making the call to Berlin. He wanted to start the day off in a good mood. He was about to start reading when the phone rang in the secretary’s office.
“Herr Major, your car is ready when you are ready to leave,” said Marta.
The major didn’t answer his secretary, instead continuing with his letter as he drank his strong German coffee. Hilda always started her letters simply, stating that she missed him. This one was no different, and was shorter than most and to the point. She was looking forward to her visit in the spring, and the hospital was busy with German soldiers who needed care. The major smiled, thinking of his beautiful nurse and how she had cared so diligently for him.
“I’m going down to the ghetto to see how it’s progressing,” the major told Marta as he exited his office, grabbing his jacket and hat.
***
As Gino and Giacomo made their way back to the main street, the purpose of the electrical lines became apparent. Giacomo was getting ready to lift the last pole when a sedan pulled up next to the railroad station.
“Stop what you’re doing. I want to see what this is all about,” Giacom
o said.
Gino stopped working and looked toward the railroad station. As the driver got out of the sedan to let the major out, a junior officer in charge of the railroad area arrived to greet his immediate supervisor. The two saluted.
“Herr Major, we have removed all the residents as you requested. We are waiting for the train to arrive.” The young lieutenant walked beside the limping Major Schmidt as the major inspected the way station. The major stopped in front of the crowd corralled behind barriers. Heading toward his next stop, he heard someone yelling.
“You can’t load us like cattle and ship us off to another city!”
The major stopped in his tracks. Without saying a word, he turned to see a small, upset man pressing his body against a barrier.
“I want to talk to whoever is in charge!” yelled the man, who was looking at the major.
Schmidt grabbed his head as if he was in pain and looked in the direction of the visibly angry man. Just behind the angry man was a group of about ten other men wondering what was about to happen to their makeshift leader.
“Lieutenant Muller, escort this individual inside the train station so he can meet with the officer that is in charge of this operation,” ordered the major.
Lieutenant Muller, who had just reported to Rome from Berlin, wasn’t going to let this small Jew make the major look bad. He and a sergeant moved the barrier so the man could come with them. The major continued his walk toward the ghetto while the lieutenant and the sergeant escorted the angry man to the other side of the train station.
“Where are they taking the guy?” asked Gino.
“I don’t know, but the major is headed in our direction, so we need to look busy,” answered Giacomo, grabbing the last pole to put into position.
Gino helped his friend finish setting the pole as the major walked by them. There was no time to salute since they had their hands wrapped around the final pole.
