by Alexa Kang
Milton followed the three nurses out of the room, leaving Tessa and Ellie behind in their disappointment and their patients in sympathetic helplessness.
As dusk turned to night, the army vehicles arrived one after another at Count Zeffirelli's villa, bringing officers and enlisted men, and nurses from the different hospital units. Some even carried civilian volunteers working for humanitarian aid efforts. The army band's music welcomed the guests as they entered. For one night, the villa's ballroom, which had lost its luster after years of being used by the German troops as an operational post, regained a shade of its former glory and reverted to a place for snazzy entertainment. A large banner with the words "Merry X'mas" hung above the ballroom's entrance. A fully decorated Christmas tree stood next to the long buffet table on which the army kitchen had laid an unexpectedly sumptuous spread of food. On another table, men gathered around hundreds of bottles of low-grade liquor of every sort. Their minds were already half gone in drunken bliss.
Standing by the side with Warren, Anthony glanced now and then at the ballroom entrance as they watched the crowd.
"Captain, Lieutenant." Jonesy came up to them with a bottle of wine. He poured a glass and offered it to Anthony. Anthony took it while Ollie gave Warren a glass.
"I have to give it to you," Warren said. "This is some party you two are pulling off."
"Thank you, thank you." Jonesy took a bow. "I don't mean to brag, but," he spread his arm out toward the ballroom's floor, "sixty-three Florence Nightingales here with us tonight, and we did not—let me emphasize, did not—even bring Lieutenant Garland with us when we invited them." He raised his drink.
Warren laughed and clinked his glass.
Jonesy sidled up to Anthony. "Don't get too excited now, Lieutenant, but Lieutenant Graham was there when we invited the 33rd Hospital brigade. When we told them we were having a party, and I told her you'd be here waiting for her, she had this look on her face, like she was ready to..."
Anthony swiped the back of his head.
"Oww! That hurts!"
"You're drunk," Anthony said, then laughed. "You say anything more and it's going to hurt even more."
"Come on, Jonesy," Ollie said, "let's go ask some ladies to dance." They took off as Alice came up to them.
"Lieutenant Ardley," she said.
"Alice?"
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but Tessa's not coming."
"She's not coming? Why?"
"Captain Milton. She's our head nurse. A real bitch." Alice lowered her voice and made a face. "I don't know what's gotten into her tonight. She showed up when we were all leaving and ordered Ellie Swanson to stay behind to work. Tessa, well, she tried to stand up for Ellie and asked to take Ellie's place. It backfired and Milton decided to make them both stay and work."
"You're kidding me!"
"No. I'm very sorry. I told Tessa I would let you know."
While news sunk in, he thanked Alice. She gave him a sympathetic look and walked away.
"That's terrible," Warren said. "I'm sorry."
Anthony looked at the roomful of people. The party had lost all its appeal. "I'm leaving," he said to Warren.
"Where are you going?"
"To the hospital. She can't come here. I guess I'll have to go to her." He gave Warren his glass. "I'll see you later."
Warren raised his glass in a toast as Anthony took off. "Merry Christmas."
Farther away at a table, Jesse watched Anthony depart while drinking with a group of nurses and officers. He wondered why Anthony was leaving. Where was Tessa? Many of the nurses from the 33rd had arrived. Tessa should be here by now. If Anthony left, did that mean those two had changed their plans?
He looked to the other side of the room. A lanky bald man with a gray beard and gold-rim glasses meandered about, looking lost in the sea of American men. His worn, outdated tuxedo needed an upgrade, but that was impossible given that Naples had been under German occupation for the last few years. No one noticed him. Everyone ignored him even as he smiled at them.
Jesse excused himself from the table. There was a bargaining opportunity here, he thought as he approached the man. He could feel it. But what exactly was on the table? He had to find out.
"Conte Zeffirelli," Jesse said to the man.
The man looked at him, surprised. "Ah… oh... yes."
"May I introduce myself? My name is Jesse Garland."
"You're an American officer?"
"Yes. I'm a medic." Jesse put on his most sincere smile. "Thank you for inviting us tonight. It is very generous of you."
The count seemed pleased. "My pleasure," he said. "Anything I can still do to show my gratitude for liberating us from the Nazi scum." His voice turned bitter, unaware that Jesse was observing his every reaction.
"Lord." Jesse stepped closer. "I wonder, are you by any chance related to the Marchese de Sforza?"
As soon as the count heard the name, his hand trembled, causing a turbulence in his wine glass that only Jesse noticed. The count put his other hand on Jesse's arm, his mouth agape. "Leopold! Do you know him? Where is he? Do you have news about him?"
Jesse glanced at the count's hand on his arm. "No recent news, I'm sorry to say. He and I haven't corresponded since I was deployed, but I do know him. Very well in fact." He in fact did not know the Marchese. He had seen the man a few times in a private club in New York and had heard about him from the other club members. It was a wild card to bring up his name, but it was worth a shot. "The Marchese lives in New York now. He was lucky he escaped before the Nazis got a hold of Bologna and his fortune." He watched the count's shaken reaction, then added, "His son and I were classmates at Yale."
"Leopold and I are distant cousins," Zeffirelli said. His face had lightened up as if he had woken up from a bad dream.
"When I left New York, the Marchese was working all available channels to get the Italian nobilities out of the country and to help them to recover all their assets," Jesse said. He was making this up. The Marchese, as far as he knew, was doing no such thing. The pathetic, selfish man was nothing but the last of a dying breed trying to hold on to the remains of his glory in a world that was rapidly changing and moving beyond him.
"I lost everything." The count stared at Jesse, like a castaway lost at sea who had seen a float, "I've been cut off from all my Swiss bank accounts. My money here too, it's all gone. All the Italian banks are gone. My art and antique collections," he looked up at the wall of the ballroom, his grip on Jesse's arm tightened, "the damn Nazis took everything from me."
"That's a shame, my Lord," Jesse said. "I'm sorry to hear that." He intentionally cooled his tone to sound detached with just the right note of sympathy. He did not want to appear too enthusiastic. He could not let the count know he wanted anything from him. He wanted the count to be the one in need.
The count reacted just as he expected. "Are you still in touch with Leopold? Do you think he could help me? My overseas assets…"
"I'm sure the Marchese will be thrilled and relieved to hear from you if I could reach him. The thing is," Jesse lowered his voice, "the army censors all our communications with people back home. Where your assets are and who owns these assets are not the kind of information you want everyone to know." He glanced around the room, then leaned into the count with a more hushed and serious tone. "To send the kind of information you want me to pass along, and to make sure the information goes only to the right hands, I'll have to grease the wheels with the right people. If you've lost everything, I'm afraid it's going to be difficult." He drew back and studied the count's expression. The man was weighing something in his head. Obviously now, the count did not lose everything. He still had something, but what?
"I have something here the Germans never found," the count whispered.
"What?"
The count looked around him, then said, "Follow me."
He followed the count to the basement through a long corridor to a room at the end. A musky smell hit them when the count op
ened the door and switched on the light. The light was dim, but Jesse was able to make out it was an old storage room. The wallpaper was either stained, torn, or peeled. The parts of the walls not covered by wallpaper were chipped. The few paintings still on the walls were hung crooked and the colors of the artwork had faded. Used and broken furniture, wooden boxes, and other old items of no value were scattered across the floor.
The count walked up to a bookshelf lined with a collection of rotting books.
"These are all I have left. Those Nazi scum never knew they were here," the count said proudly. He pushed the bookshelf across the wall to reveal another door behind it. He unlocked the door and went inside. Jesse went in after him.
Unlike the storage room that served as a façade, the hidden room was clean. Jesse looked around. The walls were lined with shelves and shelves of liquor. There must have been hundreds of bottles. Amazed, Jesse took a walk around. He took a cognac off a shelf, examined the label, and stared at the count. "Is this…" He couldn't believe what he was holding.
The count nodded and broke into a smile. "My private collection. I dare say you won't find many of these anywhere on this continent right now."
Jesse could not believe his luck. In this upside-down world where the rules of civilization had gone by the wayside, these liquors were even more valuable than cash. They would be good chips to have, a definite insurance policy in case he needed something to offer for a trade. Anyhow, if nothing else, he had just acquired himself a continuous supply of fine booze for the foreseeable future.
"This will make things easier," he said to the count. "You can count on me, my Lord. I promise you, I will find a way to contact the Marchese to let him know your situation. And then, we'll see what we can do to recover your assets. A great man like you deserves all the help he can get." He looked at the liquor bottle in his hand again. "These, of course, will get you a lot of help within the U.S. Army communications channels and beyond."
The count nodded. Jesse knew then he had sealed the deal. At this moment, the man would give him anything he asked for. There was nothing easier to bait than a man who was greedy and desperate. Someone in such a predicament would only hear what they want to hear and believe whatever they want to believe.
"What I'll need you to do is to send me some of these fine spirits whenever I get a message to you. It pains me to have to ask you to do this. You have a wonderful collection here. I hate to see you part with these, but it's the only way I can get the communications officers' cooperation to secure our messages to your cousin the Marchese."
"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Mr. Garland!" the count said. "Here." He pushed the cognac Jesse was holding further into Jesse's hands. "Take this. My token of gratitude." He had the look of someone holding onto his last hope.
"Thank you," Jesse did not refuse. "Shall we take this upstairs to celebrate? A toast to your upcoming reunion with the Marchese de Sforza?"
The count readily agreed.
Back in the ballroom an hour later, the count sat among a group of American soldiers, all of them drunk as they passed around the last drops of his bottle of aged cognac. Sober, Jesse stood by and searched the room again for Tessa. There was no sign of her or Anthony anywhere. He lowered his eyes and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.
"Jesse." A woman appeared next to him. He looked up. It was Irene. She came next to him, lit a cigarette, and exhaled with her arms across her chest. "Why don't you join us?" she asked.
Jesse shrugged. "Guess I needed a moment to reflect on the meaning of Christmas. Pray for peace on earth, all that good stuff."
She raised her brow and ignored his joke. "You having a good time?"
"Always!"
She waited for him to ask her to dance. When he didn't, she glanced at the table not too far from them. "Looks like you got yourself another admirer. Gracie over there's been staring at you all night."
"Who's Gracie?"
"The new nurse who arrived with Tessa a few weeks ago." Irene tossed her head toward Gracie's direction. "She's from Milwaukee."
He looked over to the table where Alice was talking and laughing with a group of nurses and soldiers. Next to her, a sweet looking girl with a heart shape face quickly turned away to avoid his eyes.
"Not interested," he said. "Too small town for me."
"Milwaukee's not that small."
"Small enough."
The band switched from fast jazz to slow songs and the men took all the nurses at the table to the dance floor, leaving only Marcy Sanford alone by herself. Marcy fidgeted and looked about, then went to the buffet table and began collecting the small plates with leftover food and used utensils.
"She's very cute," Irene continued, still talking about Gracie.
Bored by the subject, Jesse gave her one of his trademark seductive smiles. "You know you're the only one for me, Irene."
"I wish I could believe that," she said, her voice subdued and resigned, her eyes still full of longing.
He brushed her chin with his fingers and walked away.
He went to the buffet table where Marcy Sanford was busying herself with cleaning up the others' mess. A short woman about five feet tall, the evening dress looked all wrong on her. The long skirt wiped the floor as she moved. Several times, she nearly tripped over it. The soft satin fabric accentuated the plumpness around her waist and her unruly curls had fallen out from the hairpins again. But she tried. She even put on lipstick tonight. He had never seen her wear lipstick.
"Hello, Marcy," he said to her. "Merry Christmas."
"Jesse! Merry Christmas!" Her eyes instantly lit up when she saw him.
"You don't have to do that," he said, frowning at the plates in her hands. "Let the boys clean up tomorrow."
"Oh, it's all right," she waved her hand in dismissal. "I don't mind helping."
He watched her return to clearing the buffet table. "I hear you're leaving us after this week."
"Yes. My tour of duty's over. I can't stay anymore. My mother's dementia's getting worse. I have to go home and take care of her."
Jesse's eyes softened. "I'll miss you."
"You're very sweet to say that." She put the stack of small plates she was holding on the table. "Jesse, thank you for always being so kind to me. Sometimes, I feel so lost here. Everything can get so depressing. It means a lot to me that you always come by to see me."
He smiled. "Can I invite you for a dance?"
"Oh-ho! No!" She laughed. "You go dance with one of those beautiful young ladies out there. It's very nice of you to ask, but you don't need to amuse an old lady."
"You're not old, and I'm serious. Can I please have a dance? It'd be my honor."
Marcy looked at him, unsure and hesitated.
"Please? If you say yes, it'll be the best Christmas present I'll receive this year."
Marcy laughed again. "Okay. One dance. But you really don't have to do this."
"I want to." He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, then guided her with simple steps.
"I haven't danced with anyone since Bill passed away four years ago," she said, her voice choking up a little.
"Then I envy the lucky fellow you're going to meet and dance with all the time when you get home."
Her eyes teared up. "I'm going to really miss you, Jesse."
He smiled again.
"You take care of yourself, okay? When this war and everything is over, you go home, find yourself a nice young lady and settle down. You take real good care of yourself now after I'm gone," she said as the song came to an end.
"Goodbye, Marcy."
"Goodbye to you too, Jesse. And good luck."
When their dance finished, he left the ballroom and headed out of the villa. Outside, he lit a cigarette.
Another Christmas. Another year. Every year was the same. Even here in Naples thousands of miles away from New York, nothing was real. No one wanted him to be real. He couldn't be real.
How much longer must this charade continue?
A merry group of people was getting into a truck. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground, snubbed it out with his foot, and went over to them and asked the driver to drop him off at his base camp. The driver agreed and he hopped in.
38
At the hospital, Tessa and Ellie grudgingly made their rounds. The work they were doing was redundant. Captain Milton was making them do unnecessary busy work to punish them. For what reason, they did not know.
Ellie, at least, had made peace with their situation and took the opportunity to go around each patient's bed to wish them a happy Christmas. Tessa could not bring herself to be as forgiving. She went to each bed, mechanically taking each person's temperature and blood pressure. When she finished, she stomped out of the patients' ward to take the equipment back to the storage. The more she thought about what happened, the more irate she became. She tensed her hands around the rolling cart of medical tools as she pushed it along, passing everyone in the corridor without looking at them.
"Why such a cranky face on Christmas Eve?" someone asked behind her.
Her heart opened as soon as she heard his voice. With a wide smile on her face, she turned around. "Anthony!"
Anthony came and gently took her hand, intertwining her fingers into his own.
"You've come," Tessa said.
"We said we'd spend Christmas Eve together, remember? Alice told me what happened. I came straight away." He moved closer to her. "The party's no fun without you."
All her anger with Milton dissipated. "What will you do here?" she asked him. "Follow me around all night?"
"Nothing I want to do more in this world."
Ellie had now finished with her round. "Tessa!" she found them in the hallway. "Lieutenant Ardley, you're here!"
"Merry Christmas, Ellie," he said.
Ellie walked up to them. "Tessa, I was thinking, since we're here anyway, wouldn't it be nice if you and I go around and sing Christmas carols for the patients? It's not as exciting as the party at the count's villa, but it'll cheer everyone up." She looked to Anthony. "Maybe you can join us too, Lieutenant?"
