Between Enemies

by Andrea Molesini

  The non-commissioned officer barked something in Grandpa’s direction; he remained silent but did not drop his eyes. Loretta burst into tears, covered her face with her hands, and ran down the stairs as the soldiers left, slamming the door behind them.

  I threw my arms around Grandpa.

  ‘We’ve been sleeping side by side for months…and this is the first time that you’ve hugged me, laddie.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We can only put our hopes in Donna Maria,’ he said in a soft voice, walking over to the dormer window, which was open. Brian, staggering, was walking flanked by the sergeant and the private. We watched as they crossed the garden; they were going to the baron’s office.

  Thirty-One

  IT HAD BEEN RAINING FOR HOURS. THE TABLE IN THE BIG dining room had been set at the baron’s orders; he had sent to Pieve di Soligo for lamp oil. That afternoon, Teresa had ironed the one lace tablecloth that cunning and a bit of luck had allowed her to save from the looting. The invitation had been conveyed to my aunt by a sergeant who, according to Grandpa, had the charming manners of a guard dog on a chain. Von Feilitzsch wanted the whole family to be present; and he even had the impertinence to arrive a little late.

  When he came in, I stood up, as did Grandpa, but the baron gestured for us to remain seated. He flashed a quick smile at the ladies and told the cook’s daughter to go ahead and serve. He knew that he would offend both Grandma and my aunt by addressing one of our servants directly, and they both feigned indifference.

  From the roasted flesh the cartilage of three thighs protruded. The two chickens were a gift from the baron and he, with a hint of coquettishness, told how he had won the fowls with a single roll of the dice from Major General Serda Teodorski, the commander of the garrison of Sernaglia. Loretta wore white gloves as she served. The baron and my aunt, seated face to face, were scrutinizing each other without a smile. My grandparents were sitting at the two ends of the table, while I sat next to my aunt and looked at the portrait of my great-grandma on the wall behind the major, set between windows illuminated by the last light of day.

  Grandma always said that a gentleman reveals himself at table: whether that’s a dining room table, a card table, or a conference table. We all sensed that, on account of the two chickens and their thighs, our reputation as respectable people would somehow be put to the test that night.

  Loretta’s hands shook slightly as she stood by Grandma’s shoulder; the old woman took an angular wing and a small piece of breast meat. Then it was my aunt’s turn, who opted for the risk of taking the thigh, leaving at least one of the three gentlemen present – I enlisted myself, duty-bound, in that category – with the burden of drawing on his native reserve of good manners. The baron hesitated for a scant second before plop-ping the thigh onto his plate, surrounded by a plentiful helping of boiled potatoes. Grandpa looked over at me, but I don’t think he felt much pain as he renounced the opportunity to make the handsome gesture, and his plate too welcomed a juicy thigh, accompanied by its drumstick and a fitting portion of potatoes. Still, I was happy to console myself with breast and drumstick.

  The clacking of forks filled the dining room. The weight of the humid air bore down on everything. Grandpa and my aunt never lifted their eyes from their plates, while Grandma ate as if it wasn’t her mouth that was chewing her food, staring all the while straight at the baron who looked up every so often, pleased to see us all nicely subjugated, humiliated by our gluttony.

  ‘We are indebted to you for the kind of dinner you’d expect in peacetime, Major,’ Grandma Nancy said abruptly, as Loretta was making the rounds, serving second helpings.

  ‘I was hoping to earn your forgiveness for the departure of Donna Maria’s horse,’ the baron replied, with his customary courtesy, but I thought I detected a hint of resentment in his tone.

  Taking a thigh and setting it on her plate, my aunt looked up: ‘With everything that’s happened in the past few days…Those two young men hanged from iron hooks, all those dead men, down in the church…Do you really think I have had time to think about my horse?’

  ‘I thought…forgive me, Madame…but I thought that you liked horses more than human beings.’

  ‘That’s what I thought myself,’ said my aunt, looking down at her food.

  The reserve supply of good wine was down to the last drops and Grandpa had been reduced to diluting what wine he could get with water: ‘It’s going to be weak in any case, we might as well have plenty of it.’

  ‘But here we’re missing a thigh…and a drumstick,’ the baron pointed out. ‘There were two chickens.’

  Loretta took a step backwards, straightening her back, and the serving plate in her hands trembled.

  ‘It was my fault, Major,’ said my aunt. ‘The cook and her daughter shared them, at my invitation, of course.’

  Loretta blushed. Then mouths and forks resumed the fervent ballet in which they were engaged, giving way to a silence that was barely broken by the clatter of metal, until an abundant salad of lettuce, arugula, and cress cleansed our palates.

  Gradually, as the time approached for coffee to be served, small and increasingly anxious cracks begin to run through the silence. We weren’t at all comforted by the thought that the chickens were a gift. ‘Nothing comes free of charge, and a gift costs more than anything else’: this was one of Grandpa’s axioms, and for years Grandma had insisted that there was a mathematical basis to that truth. I knew that if Grandpa and Grandma agreed on an axiom – something that happened only rarely – it became a law of the universe, neither more nor less certain than the law of gravity.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the baron, patting his lips with his napkin and setting down his demitasse, ‘I’ve invited you together to inform you that you’re all under arrest.’ The baron felt the need to pause at this point, and he filled the interval with a faint cough. ‘Until matters have been thoroughly cleared up, your comings and goings will be kept under surveillance. You’ll be able to go to chapel and to stroll freely in your garden and the immediate surroundings, you can even attend mass, but any other excursions you may make will have to be under guard, and I’m referring especially to you, Signor Guglielmo, and to you, Signor Paolo.’

  ‘You have no authority, Baron, only power,’ said Grandma as she got to her feet and looked the officer in the eye. ‘Your only law lies in your weapons.’

  ‘Madame, mind your tone! We’ve found three soldiers buried in the woods…and that pilot…we’re familiar with his insignia.’ The major was speaking in a low monotone; his voice sounded like someone else’s, and he was enunciating his syllables distinctly.

  ‘Are you telling us,’ my aunt broke in, ‘that from now on this house has become a prison?’

  ‘For a few days, Madame, but only for a few days, I hope. Tomorrow the Englishman and your…steward…will be interrogated by two officers from our office of counter-espionage.’ The officer pretended to cough and then, after a pause that he used to raise his empty glass to his lips, he added: ‘Apparently Signor Manca knows quite a bit about it.’

  Grandma sat down again.

  ‘Your severity, Baron von Feilitzsch,’ said my aunt, ‘is prompted by your anger at your defeat, and…it does you no honour.’

  ‘Severity, in wartime, is a duty to which there is no alternative, Madame.’

  My aunt stiffened. The portrait of Great-Grandma Caterina was suffused with the glow of the fading light of day. And while Loretta made the rounds of the room to trim the lamp wicks and light the candles, the major muttered something that no one understood. Then he looked me straight in the eye and added, in a clear voice: ‘To conceal an enemy is a crime: neither your youthfulness nor your grandfather’s advanced age constitute an excuse, nor will they serve to shield you. I had warned you, Signor Paolo!’

  Grandpa cleared his throat, but said nothing.

  ‘Then this is a very serious matter,’ said Grandma, standing up again. Her pale face, looking as if it had been carv
ed with a hatchet, riveted our attention. ‘Indeed! My husband and my grandson hid an enemy of yours, but he was their – our – friend. You are an officer, you understand the meaning of honour, wouldn’t you have done the same thing in their place?’

  ‘Madame,’ and the major got to his feet in turn, ‘what I might or might not have done is of no importance. The soldiers who were killed were under my orders, and now it is up to me to do justice.’ There was sadness, but also satisfaction in the officer’s eyes, and he turned his back on us and left without clicking his heels.

  Thirty-Two

  THE SENTINEL STOPPED GIULIA AT THE FRONT GATE. IT was the first time such a thing had happened. One of the soldiers unslung his rifle and, holding the muzzle low, sketched out an indolent figure eight with the tip of his bayonet on the parched dirt. Giulia took a step back. The other soldier went to the barchessa at a run and re-emerged immediately with a young lieutenant, polished and buffed to a high glow.

  The officer offered Giulia his arm, he stroked her hand, and together they walked into the garden. I realized that duty and love of country count for very little in the presence of a shapely bosom and the inviting smile of a woman willing to lead you on.

  Grandpa, who had been shut up in his Thinking Den for the past several hours, joined me at the window. He leant out, at my side: ‘Ah, Signorina Candiani…come, we need to talk.’

  I followed him to the desk which – one of Teresa’s miracles – was bare and uncluttered, with not even a speck of dust. Now Beelzebub reigned uncontested, a black and silent queen, while the little Buddha had been exiled to a place among the books and stacks of paper on a shelf.

  ‘Look how neat it is, have you given up writing?’

  ‘Writing…doesn’t suit me. It’s such an unnatural thing to do…my pages wander here and there, just like Pagnini’s feet… Go ahead and light your pipe, I want the smell of your tobacco.’

  I sat down and pulled out the leather pouch.

  Grandpa’s eyes were slow and dull. ‘You know that they’ll kill us, don’t you?’

  ‘The baron said that we are forbidden to leave the Villa, but… Aunt Maria has a certain amount of influence over that man.’

  ‘Last night, that friend…of Maria’s tried to warn us, don’t you see? It’s time to cut and run.’

  I struck a match and lingered for a moment, with the flame just a finger away from my pipe.

  ‘Those three soldiers…if Renato buried them in the woods… then we’ve been betrayed! And then the Englishman…We were reckless and foolish, and now Austria wants its pound of flesh.’

  I raised a hedge of pipe smoke between us.

  ‘Grandma has asked your aunt to begin negotiations with the baron. There is nothing that can be done for Renato, but perhaps for you…’ The smoke thinned. Grandpa’s eyes were glistening. ‘You have to run away, go hide at Giulia’s, you could make your way to Venice, perhaps even with her.’

  ‘What about you? Grandpa, are you going to stay here and let them hang you? And anyway, how would I get to Venice?’

  Knuckles rapped at the door. Grandma entered without waiting for a reply. ‘Guglielmo…did you tell him?’

  ‘We’re talking about it now.’

  Grandma looked me in the eye.

  ‘Grandma…I don’t want to escape. I don’t even believe that the baron wants to kill us. He stormed and shouted yesterday, but I don’t believe…’

  ‘This is wartime. And in wartime, certain things…sentiments…everything loses importance, and everything becomes dreadfully clear. Renato and the pilot are going to be interrogated…harshly. It’s not about the code or the information that we transmitted…Now the baron has three corpses to avenge.’

  ‘But, when it happened…I was there! You weren’t, Grandpa.’

  Grandpa slapped his hand down on the desk. ‘Paolo, listen carefully to what I have to say. There are three corpses with the two-headed eagle on the collar badges, and three Italians is what Austria is going to want to see dangling at the end of ropes. Renato is the first…but we are the ones who concealed the pilot, you understand? Von Feilitzsch has no choice…now…I’ve seen plenty of the world, but you…you need to take it on the run!’

  Grandma nodded her head yes: ‘I’ll let you talk, you men understand each other,’ she said, and left the room.

  Everything had happened far too fast. I couldn’t seem to make sense of things. And I wanted to see Giulia again. My pipe went out.

  Grandpa stood up and opened the window behind him. ‘Come, laddie, let’s go for a walk in the garden, fresh air will help clear our heads.’

  Giulia was deeply upset. She had used all her charms and wiles to learn what was going on, but she had been unable even to gain an audience with the baron. All we knew was that two officers were on their way to interrogate Brian and Major Manca. ‘I know that one of them is tall and skinny with dark eyes, a medical officer,’ she said, caressing my cheek and speeding up her stride a little. Taking advantage of the benevolent distraction of the soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder, who was following us twenty paces back, we took refuge in the silkworm hatchery. There was still a hint of the disgusting smell of sulphur in the air, and there were streaks of soot on the dry walls. A breeze pushed in through the little window, and outside the soldier was strolling back and forth, whistling. ‘Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso.’ I shot the bolt. ‘It’s the baron who set that guard on our heels,’ and, as I was getting out the last words, Giulia was already kissing me. She kissed greedily, and I was even more voracious than she was. She slipped her warm hands under my shirt as I unbuttoned her blouse and lowered my lips to her hardening nipples. We tumbled on the cold damp dirt. Then she sat atop me and rode me until I couldn’t see straight. I felt the churning blood inside me take control. That’s when I turned over and got on top of her while she was still moaning. I thought I could hear the soldier singing his mocking little ditty still louder: ‘Non più andrai…’ The blood was exploding in my groin, in my chest, in my temples. Until, stifling my shout of pleasure, I collapsed on top of her, with all my weight. That’s when I heard two sharp blows at the door.

  The guard was kicking the door and the bolt made the sound of a hammer. We jumped up and quickly got dressed, smoothed our hair with our hands, and looked at each other as if we were saying goodbye. We walked out and the soldier assaulted us with a phrase in German. Then he added, in a courteous tone and in fractured Italian: ‘Now you will stay where I can zee you, official orders.’ He’d done us a favour by letting us be alone, out of some sense of rascally camaraderie, perhaps, seeing that he next slapped me on the back while staring sly-eyed at Giulia.

  We headed off towards the chapel. The Austrian let us get a dozen steps ahead of him before starting after us. Giulia, wordless, eyed me with a gaze that was really a question mark.

  My legs felt rubbery and loose; I was happy. And happiness doesn’t know or say, happiness just is.

  Thirty-Three

  ‘WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO KNOCKING?’

  ‘The door was open.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Do you mind if I light up?’

  The priest smiled. ‘Afraid of a whiff of my bad breath?’ He looked me right in the eye, as his fingers groped for his breviary.

  I stuck my pipe back in my pocket. ‘Now don’t tell me that you’re going to urge me to flee too.’ The damp patches on the plaster sketched out an unknowable archipelago.

  Don Lorenzo kept running his fingers back and forth over his filthy, tattered breviary. He looked into my eyes: ‘There’s no reason to get yourself killed.’ He lifted the breviary high over his head and slammed it down onto the table; the violent noise made me jump in my chair. ‘You’re still just a boy, and you think that death has nothing to do with you, you think it’s something for others to worry about. You’re a fool, this is war, and they’re out for blood, Italian blood to avenge German blood. It’s a pretty simple matter, it’s not hard to figure out. You’re
not immortal, my boy!’

  I found the priest’s sudden presumption offensive. But I also realized immediately that he was right. I wasn’t afraid of death because I couldn’t sense it coming, I had a whole life ahead of me, I had no time to die, I had too many other things to do. That’s why I’d been indifferent to the words of my grandparents. I believed that death wasn’t meant for me. I’d seen it, I’d caught a whiff of its scent in that cursed church, I’d seen how it drops down unexpectedly onto men shattered into bits by cannons, I still had the death rattles of the wounded in my ears, I’d seen those empty men, the ones whose souls had fled far away, who stood there mindlessly staring at the canteen. I knew what war was, and I knew fear from having experienced it myself, with Renato and with Giulia, and I’d seen those boys, who weren’t much older than me, hanged by the neck until they were dead. Still, I didn’t believe in death. I looked at the breviary that the priest’s fingers were gripping and twisting. His lips were pressed tight, his face was hard under his bald head shining with sweat.

  ‘How am I supposed to escape? The river is swollen and then…there’s a man with a bayonet out there who follows me everywhere I go.’