Love in the Land of Barefoot Soldiers

by Frances Vieta

  They were flying overhead and dropping more bombs. If anyone were still alive, these planes would destroy him. She was terrified that the planes would find her. She was praying and sobbing at the same time as tears rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks. But they couldn’t see her here. Rationally she knew that. Marco. Marco. Marco.

  CHAPTER 47

  IT WAS JUST AFTER six when Zeri reentered the cave. He could smell the mule, but in the dark he couldn’t see Ceseli.

  “You’re back?”

  “I promised you that I would be. But you weren’t sure, is that it?”

  “You’re right.”

  “I don’t know what I have to do to gain your confidence, Miss Larson. Save your life? Will that do?”

  She smiled. “If you’re thinking of doing that, perhaps you should call me Ceseli.”

  “All right, Ceseli. Can you get on the mule or should I help you?”

  “I can do it.”

  But he helped her anyhow. “Are they at least comfortable, these wacky wooden saddles?” he asked, trying to give some levity to the moment.

  “You get used to it.”

  “You get used to almost everything,” he said. “I brought you a hunk of bread. Can you eat while we walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  They started down the hill in silence and at the bottom made a sharp turn away from the human destruction in the valley of Maytchaw. As they walked, Zeri could not help thinking about Marco. What if Marco had not come to the Tigre? A few thousand Ethiopians would never have been treated for their wounds, but would have died, like hordes of others, on the well-worn caravan tracks at the edge of the plateau, without water, or medicine of any kind, poisoned, emaciated, gangrened, sun struck, and eaten with worms. Was that reason enough to die? He wondered if he would have had that courage.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to visit a Falasha monk. There’s a village not too far away and it’s the only place I think you might be safe. I was over there the other day and we can get to it quite easily.”

  “So your Falasha research did amount to something,” she smiled into the dark. “Why a Falasha monk?”

  “Because I trust him. And he lives in a pretty secluded place just outside the village. There won’t be anyone to see you.”

  “Well, at this point I guess you’re the boss.”

  They had been walking without speaking for more than an hour when Zeri suddenly stopped and drew his gun. “What’s wrong?” Ceseli whispered, alarmed.

  “I think there’s someone following us.”

  The two of them saw him at the same time because the light of the moon glinted off the barrel of his gun. “Stop!”

  Zeri didn’t move.

  “Ceselí!” the man called out. Then repeated, “Ceselí!”

  “Yohannes!” she cried out thankfully, starting to sob with joy.

  “Who is this man?” Yohannes asked, coming up to them, his pistol still pointed in their direction.

  “He’s an Italian journalist. He’s not trying to harm me. He’s trying to take me to safety. To a village of Falasha Jews. Don’t hurt him,” Ceseli said.

  “No, Ceselí. I have specific orders to bring you to my uncle,” Yohannes said. “We are going to Dessie. The crown prince has gone there to raise an army.”

  Ceseli looked from Yohannes to Bruno Zeri. “I think maybe he’s right, Zeri. And you won’t be in any trouble over this.”

  “All right,” Zeri said, hesitating as he turned to Yohannes. “Please protect her with your life and get her to the Americans. Italy and the United States are not at war. I will return to some unfinished business with Badoglio.”

  “Thank you, Bruno,” she smiled into the dark. “And if I get to Rome, I’ll look you up. That’s a promise.”

  Bruno Zeri took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I want you to have something,” he said, taking her father’s dog tag and handing it to her. “And these are some songs I’ve been composing for my harmonica. Guard them with your life. And here is my Afar girl,” he said, giving her the worn photo. Ceseli knew where he had found it. “Take care, Ceseli. Goodbye for now.”

  “Thank you for everything,” she smiled down at him before turning to follow Yohannes.

  CHAPTER 48

  “IT SHOULDN’T TAKE US very long. I’m probably as fast as your mule,” Yohannes said as they stopped for a moment of rest. “But it’s been a hard day.”

  “Has Yifru heard about the bombings against the Red Cross?”

  “Yes, and he also knows that Marco is dead. He thought you were too. That’s why he sent me to find out.”

  “Marco died saving my life,” Ceseli said as she started to choke up.

  “Let’s talk later, Ceselí. I can’t talk and run.”

  In the distance Ceseli could hear the howling of the hyenas. She thought of the compound garden. Strange, she had never heard the hyenas. She wondered if they were just a bad joke. But tonight, hearing their howls, she knew this was no joke. “I didn’t mean for you to have to take me to safety.”

  “Yifru certainly does. Remember on the ride north?”

  “You wondered why he ever let me go.”

  “But he thought it necessary. I cannot second guess my uncle.”

  Ceseli looked at him smiling to herself. There had been a time when she had said almost the same thing about Bruno Zeri. She wondered where he was as she pulled her burnoose tighter. It was very late when they reached the emperor’s cave.

  Yifru came out immediately. “Thank you. She’s okay?”

  “She’s alive,” Yohannes answered. “I’m not saying she’s okay.”

  Yifru helped her off the mule holding her tightly in his embrace and letting her dissolve into dry heaves of sobbing. “Go ahead and cry. It’s good for you,” Yifru said, taking a large white handkerchief from his uniform’s pocket. It was a long time before she regained her composure. “Now you need to rest. We’ll be moving at daybreak. You can ride, can’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll ask Yohannes to watch out for you.”

  “Please don’t do that. I can take care of myself and Yohannes has already done enough,” she smiled. “And I need to get back to my job.”

  “We need your help, Ceseli.”

  The next day, the twenty thousand survivors of Haile Sellassie’s once proud army were straggling toward Lake Ashangi carrying the wounded on crude litters made from tree branches. When they stopped to rest, Ceseli had time to change the dressings on those she expected to survive. “I don’t have enough supplies to help everyone,” she lamented.

  “Do what you can. Anything is better than what we had without your help,” Yifru said, encouraging her. Yifru knew that although the emperor might have overcome his immediate post-battle shock, he was so isolated from the reality of his situation that he could delude himself about organizing a new army when he reached Dessie.

  Haile Sellassie met with his surviving rases arguing about the possibility of another attack. Yifru, listening, looked around him, realizing what a small group it now was. Statistics of how many men had been lost meant little to the Ethiopians. They could easily see that their numbers had been woefully depleted, ammunition was virtually exhausted, and their morale was dismally low.

  Yet, despite the tragedy of the moment, it was a glorious morning. The graduated terraces that sloped down to the basin and the lake were festive with green corn waving as if in greeting. The approaches to the lake had no cover or protection as the long column of men approached the open plain. They were trying to put as many miles as possible between themselves and the Italians.

  Yifru held open the car door as the emperor got out. He donned a khaki cloak and allowed his anxious chiefs to press a steel helmet on his head. Standing at his side, Yifru thought of the moment when he was crowned, the moment when he was at the zenith of his power and seemed invincible. Now five years and six months later, his soldiers stumbled alo
ng the difficult mountain tracks, like automata.

  Suddenly they heard the roar of engines coming in from their right. Then the Caproni bombers were directly overhead. The deadly bombs began to explode among the dense mass of fugitives who bent double and clapped their hands over their ears as if they had been caught in a heavy hailstorm. Men and animals alike were blown to bits or fatally burned. The survivors of the imperial guard, who had fought so valiantly at Maytchaw, died in the cornfields, the easy targets of an enemy that had lost all sense of decency.

  Yet there was no time for emotion. Soon after the survivors had resumed the march toward the town of Quoram, a messenger brought news that the Eritrean Askaris were already there. So they turned right for Dessie, where ammunition and supplies had already arrived.

  CHAPTER 49

  “AND SUCH A WASTE of lives. I wonder if the League will even believe us. We don’t have any real proof.”

  Ceseli was quiet for several moments weighing what she would say. “Yifru. We do have proof.”

  “What proof?”

  She drew in her breath and began in a just audible voice. “After the planes left, I waited for them to return and they didn’t. I realized then that my cameras were up on the plateau. I needed to get them. So I walked quickly back up to where they were. Just in front of the tent. When I got there I looked around. I was scared, distraught, heartbroken, but when I looked around me what I saw drove me to a feeling of incredible anger. It was right then that I decided to avenge Marco. And Ethiopia. But I said to myself just that. I need proof. So I took first one camera and then the other and I photographed everything on the plateau. The charred canvas of the tent. The twisted poles and the big tarpaulin Red Cross markers, the dead. All of them and several of them singly.” She stopped. “Marco as well.”

  “Ceseli, I’m so sorry. He was such a courageous young man.”

  “But let’s transform the waste into something positive. If my photos can prove what Italy has done, let’s use them.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Help me get the film back to Addis where I hope I have enough developer.”

  He paused obviously considering different options. “I see two possibilities. You stay with the emperor and his entourage. It’ll take longer, but you are safer in the end. Or I can have Yohannes take you to Dessie and have Standish meet you there. Faster. Riskier from here to Dessie, but safe once the Americans can get to you. You can sleep on it, if you want.”

  “I don’t need that. I’ll go to Dessie.”

  “We will move only at night,” Yohannes said as they stopped for a moment of rest. “It will take longer, but we can’t risk the planes.”

  Several days later was the Coptic Easter Saturday, and Ceseli and Yohannes had reached a small mountain town a few miles north of Mugia. They met with the village chief and joined him in his small and humble tukul, eating the traditional raw meat and drinking tej to celebrate the Resurrection. Although Ceseli had never eaten raw meat excepting beef tartare, she devoured it realizing how hungry she was.

  On Easter Day, Yohannes made an extraordinary decision. Though he was sure the Italians must be traveling south with all possible speed, he decided to stop at the holy city of Lalibela where they could find safety. Traveling all of the night, they reached the holy church, Medhane Alam, the Savior of the World. It was the largest and noblest of the churches hewn from the mountain, and probably copied from the Church of St. Mary of Zion at Axum.

  Inside they were safe to rest and to sleep. The next morning, the light glanced on the graceful lines of the many columns and arches sending strange patterns of light through the arched doors and interstices of the pierced stonework. The church was safe. The priests and monks would protect them. It was somewhere where Ceseli could rest. “Sweet dreams, Yohannes.”

  “And you too, Ceselí.” Before he slept, Yohannes’s thoughts turned to his uncle. He was devoted to him as would be any young man whose father Yifru had replaced from an early age. His uncle had never married, and not for lack of possibilities. When he had asked him, he had said he had only one heart to break. But that was a long time ago and now he wondered whether Yifru was in love with Ceseli. Or whether he knew he was in love with her. What would happen if he weren’t able to get her to safety?

  The next morning, Ceseli and Yohannes climbed through the narrow alleys to reach the St. Giorgi Church. Excavated in the form of a Greek cross, it was the last of the rock-hewn churches and was dug twelve meters down into the red rock.

  It was difficult descending and Yohannes gave her his hand. Once inside, he walked to the altar to pray while Ceseli looked around her. As her eyes adjusted, she studied the dark ceiling and damp walls. It was quite by accident that she saw the cross high up on the wall. It was a Templar cross. She knew that she must live to tell Yifru that yes, there was a Templar cross in this most famous of the Lalibela churches.

  CHAPTER 50

  “MARCO’S DEAD,” STANDISH ANNOUNCED, walking into Warren Rutherford’s office and finding him sitting at his desk. “Yifru just called.”

  “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. He was such a fine young man. Ceseli must be devastated. Where is she?” he asked.

  “She was going to see Marco on the condition that she’d be back early in the morning. The Italians never fly until at least eight. He didn’t want her bombed.”

  “He hasn’t learned anything,” Warren said, taking his pipe. “Ceseli doesn’t believe in conditions.”

  “You know Warren, I don’t think that’s fair.”

  Warren Rutherford shrugged. “Maybe you’re right, I’m just uptight and worried. Damn it, Forsythe, I never should have permitted this.”

  “A runner came to tell the emperor that all the Red Cross hospitals had been bombed. Direct targets. That’s how he knows Marco is dead.”

  “Repeat that! The Red Cross hospital units were all bombed? That’s against the Geneva Convention. I’m sure the Italians know that.”

  “I can’t imagine them bombing without orders.”

  “No. You’re right, of course.”

  “Where is Yifru?”

  “With the emperor.”

  “Even I know that!” Rutherford snapped. “I knew this was a lousy idea. I was afraid it might end like this!” He filled his pipe, lit it, and then turned back to Standish.

  “Did he say where?”

  “He’s retreating with the emperor, but he wouldn’t say where he was. He thinks the Italians are intercepting their messages.”

  “Which is probably true.”

  “It has to be somewhere near Maytchaw. That’s where they fought the other day. His army was badly defeated.”

  “How far north is that?”

  “Above Dessie. But I’m not sure how far above. Ceseli is alive. Yifru has sent her with his nephew, Yohannes, to Dessie. He said it might take them awhile to get there because they’re only traveling at night. He wants me to meet her there.”

  “Will you go to Dessie?”

  “Yes, of course, but we’ll wait two days. I’m taking Daniele.”

  “Of course.” Rutherford walked over to Standish. He put his arms on both his shoulders. “Please take care of yourself, my boy. Enough with the dead.”

  “Thank you, Warren. And I will bring her back.”

  “I know you will, Standish. Good luck.”

  CHAPTER 51

  “CESELI, CAN YOU HEAR me?” Standish asked, kneeling next to the inert form on the goatskin rugs. “Ceseli?”

  The form moved and the burnoose lowered. She nodded her head. “Standish?” She took his hand and smiled. “How did you find me?”

  “Yifru called to say you and Yohannes were going to Dessie and that I should come up and then bring you back to Addis. Daniele and I drove up and then we looked for Habtu. Can we leave tomorrow? Warren is anxious that we get back. The Italians are here now, but they won’t hurt us. The emperor is no longer coming.”

  “You heard about Marco?”

  “Let’s
talk about that when you feel better. Try to rest now.”

  As he left the cave, Standish thought about the emperor who was now in danger of losing his life, as well as his empire. As important as it was for Badoglio to destroy the Ethiopian army, he now faced another equally important task: the capture of Haile Sellassie. If he failed, and the emperor could succeed in his flight south to Addis Ababa, he could escape the Italians and reach the safety of some hospitable country where he could tell his side of the story. He might be an embarrassment and a nuisance to Italy for many years to come.

  Yohannes was waiting for him just outside the cave. The two shook hands.

  “Will you come with us to Addis, Yohannes? The car has diplomatic immunity.”

  “If it won’t be a problem.”

  “I assure you it won’t,” Standish said. “And thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “Then I gladly accept,” Yohannes said, shaking his hand.

  They noticed the young boy standing behind Yohannes. “It’s Habtu,” Standish said. “Do you want to talk with Ceseli?” he asked, in his faltering Amharic.

  The boy nodded and Yohannes took his hand. “Come then.”

  Yohannes and Habtu walked to Ceseli. “I’ve a very good friend who wants to say goodbye.”

  Ceseli straightened up. “Of course. Habtu, you must thank your mother for her kindness. And I need to thank you for all your help,” she said, reaching into her satchel. “I’d like you to have this,” she said as she fished out her compact. “Now you can see yourself as you grow, and remember me.” The young boy’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. “And the next time we see each other, you’ll be a young man like Yohannes.”

  That’s going to take a very long time, Yohannes thought.

  CHAPTER 52