Roberto squeezed Maurizio’s hand.
A sob escaped Maurizio. “We moved on to Stalingrad, burning every school we passed, every barn, burning almost anything of value—numb now—unthinking. The huge city fought fiercely. We cut them off from all supplies. It was so damn cold already. We made forts in the snow out of fallen trees. Even the tanks froze up. We had the city without food, without water. And you know what the German lieutenant said? He said we should let the whole city starve. He said that’s what Hitler had ordered.” Maurizio stopped talking. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Roberto hung his head. He folded his hands, fingers intertwined, as though he were praying. His hot tears fell on his own hands.
“We deserted. Lots of us. Most followed the Don River back toward Rostov, but I set out across the land for Nikolajev. And that’s when I found you.” Maurizio sat up tall. “If they catch me, I’ll be shot.”
“What will happen to you when you get back to Italy?”
“If I get back.” Maurizio stood up. He brushed off his hands. Then he turned the boat over. “You hungry yet?” He grinned at Roberto. “That was a joke. I know you’re starving.”
Roberto reached for a can of food. He tossed it from hand to hand. “You’re not going back to Italy, are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’ll get shot.”
“I’m not going to turn myself in. I’m joining the partigiani.”
Roberto caught the can in one hand and handed it to Maurizio. “Who are they?”
“People against this war.”
“My mother marched in a protest against the war. I guess she’s a partigiana.”
“Maybe. But if she was truly active, you’d have known it. The partigiani sabotage the war.”
Roberto’s scalp tingled. He hated this war. He hated all war. “How?”
Maurizio opened the can. He searched around through the stuff and came up with the fork. “Here. You go first.” He handed the open can and fork to Roberto.
“Tell me. How do the partigiani sabotage the war?”
“With counter-guerilla activities—little mini-wars.”
Roberto shook his head. He would never shoot at anyone in his life. He knew this now, without a shred of doubt. “So they’re murderers, too.”
“No.” Maurizio’s voice rose. Then he sighed. “I guess it depends on how you look at it. But you don’t have to carry a rifle to be a partigiano. There are lots of them—and they don’t all agree with each other. They do all kinds of things.”
“Tell me.”
“They blow up bridges. They demolish ammunitions factories. They derail trains.”
Roberto thought of the burned reaper and tractor in the field outside his boy’s village. “Is everything they do destructive?”
“They smuggle Jews from one hiding place to another.”
A prickle of fearful hope climbed Roberto’s spine. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I’m going to be a partigiano.”
“You’re a kid.”
“I know about war.”
Maurizio rubbed at his bottom lip. “The partigiani run a lot of risks—and they suffer. They make trips over the Alps, dodging border controls, in the coldest weather.”
Roberto thought of how he’d hidden himself under the snow as the soldiers passed by just days ago. “I can manage cold.” He passed the half-eaten can of beans to Maurizio.
“Think of last night.” Maurizio’s eyes were hard. “The partigiani are the target of every German soldier.”
“What about Italian soldiers?”
“Half the partigiani, maybe more, are deserters from the army. Most of the Italian soldiers look the other way. They pretend they don’t see the bonfires.”
“The bonfires?”
“That’s how the partigiani send messages. They build bonfires on hills, and people know whether or not it’s safe to gather or to go ahead with plans.”
“I know how to build fires now.”
“Yes, I know. You told me.” Maurizio ate the rest of the beans in a couple of bites. He threw the can under a bush. “The partigiani are suspicious of outsiders. It’ll be hard to convince them to let us help.”
“We can do it.”
“Yes, we can.” Maurizio and Roberto shook hands. Then Maurizio looked around. “Help me find those biscuits. We need all the energy we can get. Our real work is just about to begin. Ah, here they are.” He opened the box, took a biscuit for himself, and handed one to Roberto. “This work is going to be harder than anything else you or I have ever done.”
Power surged through Roberto—the power of a strong spirit, as Samuele would have said. Power enough to share. “Feel this stone?” Roberto took the gift stone from the Polish girl out of his pocket. He held out his hand. “Feel it.”
Maurizio touched the smooth stone.
“All you need is stones, Maurizio. If you have enough stones and the water is shallow enough, you can build a city up through the waves. Like Venice.”
Maurizio looked at Roberto in confusion.
“I’m going to be a stone, Maurizio. I’ll be part of the new city. You’ll be a stone, too.”
Maurizio nodded. “I guess I see what you mean.”
Roberto smiled. “Want me to tell you stories as we paddle along? They help, I swear.”
Maurizio laughed. “Why wait till we get in the boat? Start now.”
“Once upon a time there was a hunchback boy.” Roberto talked on as they sat in the sun, with their things drying around them. He rubbed the gift stone in his hands and spoke of sprouting wings.
Donna Jo Napoli teaches linguistics and is the author of several novels for middle graders and young adults, including The Bravest Thing, Shark Shock, Soccer Shock, When the Water Closes Over My Head, The Magic Circle, Zel, and most recently, Spinners. She lives in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, with her family.
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