The Garden of Letters

by Alyson Richman

  When they are done with her, they tie a dirty bandage across the spot in which they gouged out her eyes and throw her into a van. They drive to Via Pelliciai and throw her bloody body in front of her family’s apartment.

  “You still have time to save your life, Lena Galvetto! Your parents are upstairs. They can still take care of you. Just tell us those names!”

  Lena, now on the street pavement, doesn’t make a sound. Though upstairs, with the windows thrown open, her mother’s screams pierce through the air.

  Then, at the officer’s nod, without hesitation, one of the soldiers lowers his rifle and shoots Lena in the head.

  THIRTY

  Verona, Italy

  SEPTEMBER 1943

  The men who have not been arrested or killed are now scattering through the city, trying to hide like hunted animals. Others try to make their way to the mountains. The next day, after the battle at the Piazza delle Poste, Luca’s bookstore is stormed by the Germans. Although all the hidden guns had already been pulled out of the books in the storeroom, the remaining books with the incriminating holes and the anti-Fascist newspapers are discovered in the back, and a warrant is placed for his arrest.

  Luca finds Elodie back at her apartment with Orsina. He does not have the heart to tell her that the Gestapo had blinded Lena before shooting her, and that Beppe had died in front of a firing squad.

  Instead, he tells her the obvious. “It’s too dangerous for any of us here now. They’re hunting everyone down. It’s time for us to get to the mountains.”

  Orsina is shaking her head. “We can’t go to the mountains, Luca. Neither Elodie nor I could ever survive in the wilderness.”

  She looks at Elodie. “No, if we go anywhere, it’ll be Venice. We can easily lose ourselves there.”

  Luca disagrees. “You two can’t go anywhere now on a train with your own identity cards. Given her friendship with Lena, there’s probably already a warrant out for Elodie’s arrest.”

  “Well, what choice do we have?” Elodie says. “We can’t just wait here for the Gestapo to knock on the door.”

  “There is someone up with my brother who can make false papers for you. Give me photographs of each of you and I’ll take care of it.”

  “You’re more likely to get caught coming back down into the city,” Elodie says. “Let me go with you and get them, and then I will leave for Venice with mother.”

  The women exchange silent looks. Orsina does not want Elodie to go into the mountains, and Elodie does not want Luca to risk reentering the city once he’s left.

  Orsina is not budging. She is filled with a newfound strength that surprises her daughter.

  “Mamma,” Elodie says, her voice soft, yet insistent. “We don’t have time to argue. I will get us the new identity cards. Then, Venice. I promise.”

  Outside, the sounds of gunfire still ricochet in the air. Luca walks past Orsina, who is standing rigid as a soldier in her own living room.

  He pulls aside the curtain and peeks out to the piazza.

  “I am worried about Lena and Beppe being held at the Palazzo dell’INA.”

  Luca looks at her and Elodie interprets his eyes.

  “No . . . you don’t think they . . .”

  He doesn’t answer her, and his silence pierces through her like an arrow.

  Luca wants to take her into his arms and soothe her, but Orsina has gotten to her first.

  “They will execute us, too, if they find us,” Luca tells Elodie and Orsina. “We need to leave today.”

  Luca cannot return to the bookstore, so he plans their escape as the women quickly pack a few things.

  He tells Elodie to ride her bicycle to the base of the mountains where they had previously met. “If I’m not there, start hiking up to where we met Rafaelle and the others the last time. Bring photographs of yourselves.”

  He looks at Elodie, who is still shaking from the shock of Lena’s and Beppe’s deaths.

  “Signora Bertolotti,” he says. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done. You are incredibly brave.”

  “I am not brave, Luca. I have lost my husband to the Fascists, and I will not lose my daughter to the Germans.” She looks at him with fierce eyes. “I am entrusting Elodie to you. Guard her with your life.”

  Luca nods. “That goes without saying.”

  Elodie embraces her mother and whispers in her ear to pack lightly. “We’ll need very little now, so take just a few things. We don’t want to carry too much on the train and draw attention.”

  Orsina nods. “Come back quickly, carissima. I’ll have our things ready by then.”

  She pedals fast toward the gates of Verona, the air in her hair and her skirt lifted above the knees. Once she clears the city, she will still have many miles to go until she reaches the mountains. German soldiers are everywhere. They stand at each corner in their olive-green uniforms, their rifles leveled, and their hard eyes staring from beneath the rim of their steel helmets.

  There is a roadblock when she gets to the Porta San Zeno, with several soldiers inspecting the papers of civilians who want to pass through.

  She stops pedaling and pushes her feet to the sidewalk to halt the wheels.

  “Papers?” a German asks her. He is staring straight into her eyes, and Elodie wonders if he can see the streak marks on her cheeks from her tears.

  She doesn’t want to give her identity card over to him, fearing her name might already be on a list from the Gestapo.

  She smiles and reaches into her bag to feign a search.

  Blushing, she turns to him and says, “It must be here somewhere.”

  Her face is flushed from pedaling. The top button of her blouse has come undone, and she can see the soldier trying to peek at her breasts.

  She bends over her purse again, lower this time. “I know it’s in here. Silly me. I rushed out so quickly . . .”

  Elodie looks up at him and tries to channel Lena’s spirit. She gives him her brightest smile and flutters her eyelashes demurely.

  “I live just down the street. Let me go home and get it. I must have left it on the kitchen table.”

  She touches the button on her blouse slightly and smiles at him again.

  “No need. But don’t go far; you’ll be searched again at every gate. We’ve been alerted to be on the lookout for traitors trying to escape today.”

  “Well, that’s clearly not me,” she said, saluting the German. He seemed delighted by her gesture.

  “No, clearly not,” he said, waving her through.

  She continues riding on the path that leads to the mountains. She passes many Germans on her way there, but none of them bother to stop a young girl on her bicycle, pedaling away happily with the breeze in her hair. She cannot fathom how Luca will get past all of the soldiers. She prays he already has his own set of false papers.

  After an hour, she arrives at the same spot she had met Luca nearly a week before. He is not there, so she stashes her bicycle in the bushes and begins the long walk up into the mountains.

  All around her, the scent of the juniper and pine trees is invigorating. She had not yet had a moment to detect the scent of autumn in the city, with all the upheaval from the German invasion. But alone in the quiet of the woods, she now walks with the sun’s golden light on her back and savors a moment of not having to be on her guard.

  She finds her way without difficulty, using visual landmarks to guide her. She remembers the rock where she had tied her hair back with her handkerchief, and next remembers where she had stopped to gather her breath. She follows each curve of the path, remembering where she had gazed at Luca and he at her. Finally, she mounts the last part, where she has to push away branches and go deep into the brush.

  Suddenly from out of the woods, she hears footsteps under the brush.

  “Halt!” a voice shoots out at her.<
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  She first sees the rifle. Then the body who holds it. It’s a tall, thin boy no older than seventeen. He is dressed in faded green fatigues, a worn V-neck sweater over his shirt and a bandanna tied around his neck. Elodie looks down and sees that he is wearing a belt studded with ammunition.

  “I’m Dragonfly,” Elodie says calmly. “I work with the Dolphin.” She has never called Luca “the Dolphin” before, but she realizes she must use battle names now.

  He looks her up and down, acting as he thinks a man, not a boy, would. She is unsure if he’s trying to figure out if she is who she says she is, or if he’s just hungry to look at a woman.

  Elodie starts walking toward him. The boy lowers his rifle, turns, and begins walking farther. He says nothing, and she quietly follows.

  After walking in silence for several more minutes, he brings her to a makeshift camp. Five men are sitting around a low fire, warming tins of meat.

  She sees Rafaelle first; his large body and overalls are easy to identify. He has a long musket over his lap. Before she has a chance to speak, he looks up.

  A smile crosses his face. “Dragonfly . . .” he greets her. He lifts his musket and drapes it over his shoulder, then walks over to her.

  “Now, you’re a welcome sight . . .”

  The other men by the fire look in her direction, each of them smiling with appreciation.

  Rafaelle places a hand on her shoulder. “I know my brother will be happy to see you.”

  She smiles, relieved that Luca has already arrived safely at the camp.

  “He is out patrolling. Should be back in an hour. Did you bring the photographs of your mother and yourself?”

  She nods, patting her bag.

  “Good, then. Let me introduce you to our expert forger, Giorgio. Also known as the Falcon. He’s in that tent over there.”

  They walk over to a pitched tent, which contains a table with a small wireless radio. Giorgio walks out, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Falcon, meet Dragonfly. A friend of my brother’s and one of our staffette.”

  He extends his hand. “Piacere. A pleasure.”

  “She’s brought the photographs for the new documents. Can you do it now? She won’t be staying up here with us very long . . . unfortunately.”

  “No? What a shame.” Giorgio smiles. “I think Jurika needs a little female company. That little blonde teacher who arrived the other day doesn’t seem to be taking a shine to her.”

  Rafaelle lets out a big laugh and slaps Giorgio on the shoulder.

  “Give him the photographs, Dragonfly.”

  She hands them over, and Giorgio takes them back into the tent. “Shouldn’t take me too long,” he says, winking. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  She watches as Giorgio withdraws two identity cards from a metal box. The Fascist seal is on their covers. He strikes a match to light a gas lamp and begins to work.

  Elodie is sitting quietly. She begins to hum an Albinoni piece to distract herself from thinking about Lena and the upheaval of the previous few days. Elodie senses Luca’s arrival before he walks into the tent.

  He places his hands on her arms, and she feels herself grow warm just from his touch.

  “Thank God you made it here safely,” he whispers to her. “The Germans are everywhere, like flies.”

  “Take it outside,” Giorgio grumbles. “I can’t work with all your chatting! This has to be exact, or your girlfriend and her mother are going to get a bullet through their eyes.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry,” Elodie apologies. “I’m so grateful for what you’re doing, Falcon.” His name catches on her tongue like a nail caught on a piece of cloth.

  Giorgio grunts, and Luca waves for her to join him outside the tent.

  “Once he’s done, I want you out of here. I want you on the next train to Venice.”

  “How will you find me there?”

  “There is Resistance in Venice. Let your mother find a safe place for you both. And then wait for us to find you. Don’t worry about anything else. I will find you. I promise.”

  They are still talking when suddenly three partisans arrive in the camp. A sense of commotion erupts.

  Luca turns. “It’s Rita and the others. They seem to have news.”

  Elodie turns and sees a blonde woman with two other men conferring with Rafaelle and some other partisans. The woman is young, in her early twenties, with a round face and small features. She, too, wears a bandanna around her neck and carries a musket that seems nearly as large as she is.

  Elodie has never heard the name Rita Rosani before. She looks around to see if Jurika is close by, but doesn’t see her in the group and assumes she is now out on patrol.

  “We shot two Germans just some distance away. They’re approaching. We need to get ready.” She is breathless; her adrenaline lifting off her skin.

  Elodie whispers into Luca’s ear, “Who is she?”

  He still has one ear listening to Rita, as he whispers, “She’s a schoolteacher. Jewish. Family moved from Trieste to Verona. She just arrived in the mountains with a band of three other partisans who call themselves the Eagle.”

  Elodie looks at Rita’s face and sees the Slavic features typical of people from the Trieste region.

  “She was a schoolteacher?” Elodie can’t contain her surprise. She looks at this young girl now draped with a musket rifle, and tries to imagine her instructing little children.

  “She’s a natural fighter, like our Jurika. She took out three Germans in Valpolicella. Let me introduce you,” Luca says as he ushers Elodie in Rita’s direction.

  “Glad to see we have another woman joining our troop,” she says to Elodie. She pushes her rifle over her shoulder and extends a handshake.

  “She’s not joining us,” Luca interrupts. “She’s just waiting for the Falcon to finish up with her papers.”

  Rita looks at Elodie to see if this is her decision or one that’s been made for her. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Again Luca speaks for her. “Dragonfly has already completed several missions for the Resistance.”

  “I see,” Rita says looking her over.

  Elodie is about to say something when Giorgio walks over and hands her the two new identity cards.

  “I present you with two of my best masterpieces. Dragonfly, you are now Anna Zorzetto from Venice.”

  Elodie studies the cards; she can’t begin to tell them apart from the real ones. They are masterful. He has applied the embossed seal over her and her mother’s photographs. Orsina is now Maria Zorzetto.

  She hardly has time to thank him before she hears gunfire. Rafaelle orders the group to disperse in different directions.

  A musket is thrust into Elodie’s hands and Luca, now swearing, pulls her by the arm into the cover of the woods.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Portofino, Italy

  OCTOBER 1943

  Elodie has been a guest in Angelo’s house for ten days. At night, she sleeps in the white room, the blue coverlet pulled to her chest. She dreams of people who are no longer beside her: Luca in the forest, his hair black as bramble, and her mother’s voice floating from the bath. She also dreams of her cello, silent and pleading, desperate for her to bring out its song.

  She feels the nausea lifting. The crippling fatigue has lessened, freeing her ability to move.

  Angelo calls her Anna, and she feels her body stiffen. She lifts her head and meets his eyes. She wonders if he can read her like a map, or a sheet of music, knowing that this is not her real name. That somewhere beneath the skin and bone, her blood belongs to a girl named Elodie.

  He notices her spine straighten. Her eyes flicker. She is like a cat, suddenly on guard. He wants to show her that she is safe here; that his offer to give her shelter is without obligation. He wants to tell her that it gives him co
mfort to help the person who is too scared to ask. That he’s doing a form of penance for leaving behind the woman he loved, the child he longed to hold. He wants to tell her not to be afraid.

  He sees that she is drawn to his books. He sees how she glances at the titles when she thinks he’s not looking, and how she secretly tries to touch a cover, or trace a finger over a deckled edge. His Dalia had loved books, too. The paper, the smell, the texture, even the placement of the words on the page, all were forms of beauty to her. And he knew one thing: A woman who loves books has a dreamer’s soul, with each story she has read woven into her own.

  As she stands in the living room staring at the books, he pulls out two from the shelf.

  “Do you like Moravia or Dante? Stendhal, or perhaps Fitzgerald?” He smiles, as the title Gatsby Il Magnifico slips from his lips. And, suddenly, with his list of names, Elodie feels as though she is back in Luca’s bookstore.

  “I have a favorite book,” she says softly. “Il Piccolo Principe.”

  “The Little Prince,” he says. “I know it very well. One must have experienced love to understand its hidden meaning.”

  She smiles. “Yes, I have my own copy with me.”

  She is surprised by how openly she answers him, but she finally wants to tell him at least one truthful thing about her.

  “Do you?” he says. “May I see it?”

  She walks back to her room and takes the book out of her bag. She sees the cover with the boy clutching the parachute made from birds, his feet lifting from the moon, and the sight of it makes her want to cry.

  She returns and hands it to him.

  He smiles, and the kindness on his face is overwhelming to her. “Come, let’s find a place to sit. Zaccharia has a fever, but he’s just down the street. Francesca has a broken leg, but I’ve already plastered it and she won’t be going anywhere for several days. Gherardo is ninety-two and has a headache, but he’s had it for the past fifteen years.” He lets out a small laugh. “Plus there’s the kommandant, of course, who needs an insulin shot . . . but he likes me to wait until five o’clock after he has his schnapps to dull the pain from the needle. A brave German he is, obviously.” He smiles again. “So, I can certainly take a few moments and read to you, Anna, before I have to go.”