by Derek Hansen
Friedrich ran his hand tiredly across his scalp, his fingers tracing the line of the old scar from France. ‘Cecilia, I can’t defend Hitler or the German people for the terrible things that happened. I can only tell you what happened in Dresden. I can’t explain the war or how things were allowed to occur. You know yourself that the war was far too complex for any single point of view, whether German, Russian, British or Jewish. We all see the war in our own way with a different perspective, according to how we were affected. I don’t think anyone will deny that the bombing of Dresden was an atrocity, but I think you will be surprised at how few know the full extent of it. Are you aware that in the entire war, German bombers killed fewer than 52,000 people in the whole of the British Isles? Allied bombing killed more than 635,000 Germans, around 135,000 in Dresden alone. Yes, we committed more than our share of atrocities and for that many of my former comrades were damned as war criminals. But if they were guilty, isn’t Churchill equally guilty, and Bomber Harris? Does all the guilt have to be concentrated on the side of the losers?’ Friedrich looked up to see his point strike home.
Colombina slumped back in her chair and stared at him. It was now clear to her what he’d been doing all along. The old man may have aged but his brain was still as sharp as ever.
‘Were you ever accused, Friedrich?’
‘Of a war crime? No, they didn’t catch me to accuse me. If they had, I probably would have been, as you well know.’
‘Then you would have been accused falsely.’
A ray of hope flickered across his face. ‘Do you mean that, Cecilia?’
‘Yes.’ She waited to see his look of relief, then struck. ‘What you did wasn’t a war crime, was it Friedrich? It was a crime of passion, revenge for what had been done to you. For Dresden and for me. What you did, Friedrich, wasn’t a reprisal but revenge. It was murder. Cold-blooded, premeditated murder.’
‘No! Don’t say that!’
‘Yes, Friedrich. Yes!’
He stared at Colombina. All his years on the run had come to nothing. He’d been caught just as salvation and perhaps even forgiveness had beckoned. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know!’ How could she know? Nothing was clear cut any more. After all, she’d just learned she was the cause of the shooting. How could she blame him and not herself?
The four friends stared at Lucio willing him to continue, but it was clear that he’d finished for the day.
‘Jesus Christ, Lucio, and all the saints on little motorbikes, you can’t stop there!’ Neil turned to the others in exasperation.
‘Oh yes he can!’ Milos broke into a broad smile. ‘Ramon was right. We’ve all underestimated Lucio. I tell you now, if I have to crawl on broken glass and old razor blades to get here next Thursday, I’ll do it. We would all do it, no?’
‘No.’
They all turned to Ramon. His voice was hard and showed none of the delight that Milos had found in Lucio’s storytelling. ‘The truth is, we may all be better off if none of us comes next Thursday.’
‘Explain yourself, Ramon.’
‘You show delight in Lucio’s storytelling, Milos, but I still don’t believe you are listening to him. Lucio says his story is true and Gancio confirms it. So let me ask him once more.’ Ramon turned his body so that his sightless eyes faced Lucio. ‘Has the story you are telling already been resolved? Has it reached its conclusion? The truth please, Lucio.’
Lucio hid his face from Ramon even though he knew his friend could not see him. But the others could and he didn’t want them to meet his eyes either. He kept his head hung in an attitude of shame. His voice barely rose above a whisper yet no one had the slightest difficulty in hearing his admission. ‘The story is not yet resolved.’
‘I knew it!’ Ramon thumped the table in anger. ‘You lied to me Lucio, you lied to me! Mother of God, you have some explaining to do.’
‘Shit! If the story’s not yet resolved that means we could all be party to …’ Neil’s voice faded away as he realised the sickening implications.
Milos sat stunned, a look of horror on his face. Only Gancio’s doleful expression remained unchanged. ‘I warned you. I warned you at the start. I didn’t expect Lucio to pull a trick like this, but we should never have let him tell this story.’
‘Who are you, Lucio? Where do you fit in?’
‘Haven’t you guessed, Milos?’ Gancio looked around the table. ‘Haven’t you all guessed? Colombina did not have a son but she did have a beautiful daughter, the sort that would undoubtedly appeal to our little fat friend. Lucio is Colombina’s son-in-law. Right?’
Lucio nodded.
‘Holy shit!’ Neil closed his eyes. ‘Holy shit!’
‘So now Colombina is planning to kill the man who ordered the execution of her mother.’ Ramon tried to keep his voice even and matter-of-fact, but the way he measured his words served only to underscore his anger. ‘The trouble is, she is no longer as sure as she was and has asked Lucio for his advice. That would have taken place six or seven weeks ago when Lucio usurped Milos’ right to tell a story, so we can draw some comfort from that. Colombina is obviously in no hurry to consign herself to hell and us possibly to prison as accessories. Lucio warned us at the start that he would need us to resolve the ending, a warning some of us chose not to heed. The point is, do we assist Lucio in his job as judge and jury and implicate ourselves in a murder, if that is what Colombina elects to do? Or do we blow the whistle on her and ring the police? Now! Right now! In that event, Colombina would get off with a warning but we would probably lose Lucio’s friendship forever. I for one am not convinced that would be a bad thing. After all, what sort of friend implicates his companions in murder?’
‘I didn’t implicate you in a murder,’ said Lucio quietly. ‘Nor did Colombina tell me this story so that I could become sole judge and jury.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘What I am saying, Milos, is that it was Colombina not me who implicated you. It was Colombina who chose to make you—all of you!—judge and jury. She knows all about you and our storytelling. She learned about you through me and through me is asking you for your help. That is the truth! She respects your independence and trusts you to be fair. She swears she will abide by your decision. She wanted to come and tell you her story herself and beg your assistance but I wouldn’t let her. I thought it would be too hard on her and she has suffered enough. So I volunteered to tell her story for her. And now as your friend, I’m asking for your help. I’m sorry I had to lie to you, Ramon, but I had no choice. I’m mortally ashamed of what I did, you should know that, but I couldn’t let Colombina down. She is counting on us. Please help us! Help her!’ It was a cry from the heart and his plea had not fallen on deaf ears. But that didn’t make his audience any happier.
‘Dear God, Lucio, and you had the audacity to accuse me of testing our friendship.’ Ramon put his head in his hands, pushing his dark glasses up so that he could massage the bridge of his nose. ‘I need a drink.’
‘I will get the coffee.’
‘No, Gancio, you stay right where you are. Maria can bring our coffee. I can hear her making it. Just make sure she brings some good grappa. You’re going nowhere until we’ve worked out what we should do.’ Ramon removed his glasses altogether, an act so rare and unthinking, it brought the table to immediate attention. ‘I assume we accept Lucio’s request for assistance whatever the consequences may be. Alternatively, Milos, I must ask you to make a phone call to the police. Well? We hold Friedrich Eigenwill’s life in our hands. Do we help Colombina, or call the police?’
‘I think for the moment at least we should accept Lucio’s request. His story is not yet finished. I want to know what happened to Cecilia. Remember the Oberstleutnant said that he shot the women for Cecilia. I want to know about that. I want to know what happened to Cecilia that enables him to say that. I want all the evidence before I make up my mind. From what Lucio has told us, I don’t believe Colombina
will act precipitately. We must have at least another week. I don’t believe we need to make a final decision today.’
‘Milos, how do you think the police would regard somebody who is in the position to prevent a murder yet waits a week before doing anything about it? No! We must decide today! Now!’
‘Then I will support Lucio for the sake of our friendship. Besides, I don’t think we can presume that we will sentence Friedrich to death or even that we can reach unanimity. I don’t think there can be any presumption of guilt until we’ve reviewed all the facts. We may well advise Colombina against taking any action against Friedrich. Tell me, where is the crime there? Neil, what do you think?’
Neil often gave the impression that he would have liked nothing more than to be a barrister and was in his element. ‘I said earlier that I like to see war criminals hounded to their graves. I don’t believe that time excuses anything. By the same token, I don’t believe that millions of taxpayers’ dollars should be spent on bringing them to trial and gaining a verdict. We have the opportunity here to administer justice. If the circumstances demand an acquittal, then we will acquit. If they don’t, then we can let Colombina get on with what she has to do.’
‘Neil, sometimes I get the feeling you are living in the wrong century and wrong country. The American west could have done with you. But I gather you are in favour of assisting Lucio. Gancio, what do you think?’
‘We help Lucio. This is just another sorry chapter in a war that is best forgotten. I don’t think we should bring in the police. I agree with Neil that there is no point in going to the police and bringing this business to trial. It would just drag on and probably fail to reach a resolution because of insufficient evidence. I think Friedrich would be lucky to survive the process. To commit him to trial would be the same as condemning him to death. That would not be fair either. No, it is better that we deal with this matter, honestly and honourably. I disagree with Neil on one point. I believe time does excuse. We live in different times. It is impossible for us to make judgements relevant to the time these events took place. I think we should forgive and forget. However, I am prepared to listen to all arguments. Besides I know what happened to Cecilia. Ramon, what do you think?’
‘I think I am out-voted. I don’t believe we have any right to be anybody’s judge and jury. However, Lucio is our friend—despite the fact that he lied to us—and he has asked for our help. I think his request is outrageous. Nevertheless it is also genuine. I may never forgive him for asking or myself for accepting. God help us!’
‘Then we are all agreed?’
‘Yes, Milos, we are all agreed. Isn’t that just what I said?’
Maria served the coffees and grappa and retreated to the kitchen. She listened at the door to try and hear what had gone wrong and why everybody was upset. But the silence that had greeted her arrival at the table remained unbroken. After a while she gave up and went to stack dishes.
SEVENTH THURSDAY
Gancio watched the four men arrive as he attended the tables of other diners. Their usual jaunty steps and smiles were absent, replaced by grim looks that mirrored the television images he’d seen of jurors filing back into court, head down, burdened by the weight of their decision. He cursed as more diners arrived. He wanted to be with his friends but his other obligations demanded his attention. He made up his mind to serve his friends slowly so that they wouldn’t start the story without him. They’d grumble, but what the hell? As Ramon had remarked, they were all in it now.
The table was unusually subdued and the tension palpable. All four men would have gladly skipped lunch to get on with the story. They waited impatiently with no appetite for small talk either, sitting like poker players unwilling to say anything that might give the others an indication of the cards they held. They carefully avoided the subject they’d come to discuss until Neil could no longer stand the inertia and prolonged silences.
‘Well, I haven’t changed my mind,’ he announced.
‘That’s a pity,’ Ramon snapped. ‘Any mind would have been better than the one you’ve got.’
‘Thanks.’
Milos smiled. ‘Whatever your decision, Neil, I think you should keep it to yourself until Gancio has joined us and Lucio has finished his story.’
‘That’s fine by me. We can always discuss the wallpaper. Anyone have any idea why Italians have such a passion for shitty wallpaper? And look at those bloody lights. Who in their right mind would choose lights like that?’ He stared at the wall morosely until another thought occurred to him. ‘Hey, Lucio, speaking of our absent restaurateur mate, what do you make of his assertion that he already knows your story?’
Lucio looked up, grateful for the opportunity to speak and ease away some of the tension he felt. Nevertheless, he was determined to tread carefully. He’d come too far to lose control now. ‘Does this mean that you no longer think that Gancio and I have cooked up this story between us?’
‘I gave that away a long time ago, Lucio. Now answer my question.’
Lucio looked thoughtful for a few moments. ‘To be truthful, I really don’t know where he fits in. Don’t think I haven’t given it a lot of thought. He really rattled me that first day. My guess is that he knows the story from the point of view of one of the other participants. He said as much. There were plenty of them if you think about it. At one stage there were more than three hundred partisans in Guido’s brigade. Then you can add in everybody who lived in Ravello and Menaggio—in fact, any of the towns around that part of Lake Como. The story of Cecilia and what happened to her couldn’t help but spread. Even after the war people were split over whether she was a heroine or a Nazi sympathiser. Doubtless they argued the pros and cons of her case in cafés, some to justify what had happened, others to see justice done. There are many people who know her story, or at least parts of it. That is why Colombina wanted to leave Italy and why she replied to Mario Galli’s letter in the Lecco newspapers. Of course, you could argue there was nothing to keep her in Italy. Her mother was dead and so was her father, executed alongside the mayor of Menaggio by the communists after the shooting of Mussolini. But the truth is, her name could never be cleared completely. There would always be nagging doubts and suspicions about her. Always innuendoes. She had to get away where nobody knew her, recognised her name or told her story. You ask me, how does Gancio know Cecilia’s story? I think you’d better ask him.’
‘What did happen to Cecilia?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Neil! Does nothing penetrate that cottonwool mind of yours? We have talked about this and agreed that it is unfair to have these discussions in Gancio’s absence. Do you think we might do him the courtesy of waiting for him?’
‘Jesus, back off!’
‘Ramon’s right. And Ramon … back off. Don’t ride Neil so hard. We’re all aware of what today means and we’re all concerned. But turning on each other isn’t going to solve anything. Neil is no different to any of us. He can’t sit still and his mind is bouncing off everywhere. This is not normal Neil behaviour, no?’ Milos looked away from Ramon to Neil and Lucio. ‘Old habits die hard, my friends, but we must all get used to the fact that we are now five.’
‘And we are also hungry. Well I am anyway.’ Neil scanned the restaurant. ‘Where the hell is that wog bastard anyway?’
Lucio was apprehensive about telling the remainder of his story. With only one exception he knew how the vote would go and would vote accordingly himself. All the same he knew he had to confirm Milos and Gancio in their opinion without shaking Neil. The exception was Ramon. Only Ramon was undecided which was exactly how he hoped it would be. Ramon would wait to hear the others out before finally making up his mind and casting his vote. Then he would understand the true measure of friendship. Ramon would be made to decide.
Chapter Forty-two
By the beginning of March, the German army in Italy was in a critical position and its collapse was imminent. It still held its defensive positions along the Po Valley as the Allies
prepared for their spring offensive, but its forces were continually being depleted by the demands of the Russian Front. Division after division was pulled out and sent to shore up the Reich’s eastern defences as the Russians surged towards Berlin. The remnants of Mussolini’s army were used to fill the gaps but their reliability was, to say the least, questionable. Seemingly overnight, the numbers of partisans doubled as Italian soldiers defected to their ranks.
For days following Gottfried’s phone call Friedrich retreated into the responsibilities of command. He was riven by grief and guilt. It wasn’t just his loss that haunted him but the memory of what he’d been doing the night his wife and child were killed. His self-recriminations were bitter and damning. Yet he didn’t attempt to blame Cecilia or turn from her. She may have been the source of his guilt but she was also his only source of comfort. He needed her by him and it was unthinkable that he should lose her too. She was the life-raft he clung to in his despair. She stood by him and it was her strength, her seemingly bottomless reservoir of strength, that he drew upon. No, he didn’t blame her. She was all he had left, apart from his duty.
The war did not wait for Friedrich to recover from his grieving. As the cold weather eased, the partisans once more made their presence known. He was forced to concede that he’d lost control of the hills, and that it was only a matter of time before the partisans took them on in set battles as they had further south. But he still had to keep the road open to Switzerland and keep Kesselring’s desperately needed supplies flowing, as ambushes and air raids claimed more and more convoys. The Lugarno–Menaggio road was hardly a major arterial road, but as the USAF and the partisans attacked the more direct supply routes to Como, an increasing number of arms shipments were diverted their way. He’d escort them down as far as Menaggio then transfer them by ferry to Bellagio or Ravenna so that they could bypass Como.
