by Fiona Palmer
‘You seem a million miles away. If you tell me you were thinking about our lambs going on the truck this week, I’ll leave you behind!’
Toni laughed. ‘No, I wasn’t. I was just lost in all of this.’ With one last glance they walked back to their little borrowed house and got ready for their day trip.
They headed out for the car and Toni noticed Flick eyeing the restaurant for signs of the young Mr Stefano.
‘No shops open for breakfast yet,’ Flick said.
‘We’ll find something on the road,’ said Toni as they reached their rental. They were yet to get to a shop for some breakfast supplies. Maybe after they’d found Rocco. If they found Rocco.
Toni was impressed with Flick’s driving as she navigated down the extremely narrow roads, slotting the car between the parked cars and the rock wall. ‘Your car would never fit down here,’ Toni laughed. They passed another one of those three-wheeled small utes. It was so small that a man was lifting it to change the tyre. Flick stopped the car.
‘Quick, Mum, take a photo of it. We have to show Jimmy.’
‘Yeah, he’d find that really funny.’ Toni reached for the camera and quickly leant out her window and snapped a shot.
They continued down the hill towards Umbertide.
With Flick in the driver’s seat, the navigating was up to Toni. Putting on her reading glasses, she unfolded the map. ‘Okay, we need to get onto the E45 and then the SS219 and SS76.’
At some point things no longer made sense on the map, so they stopped at a roadhouse off the main road. ‘I think we took a wrong turn,’ said Toni.
Flick rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s grab something to eat while we’re here.’
Inside the roadhouse was a massive coffee machine. They ordered two cappuccinos and two sweet croissants, all for two euro – less than two dollars fifty Australian – and ate at the bar like the locals.
‘Best coffee ever,’ said Flick licking her lips.
Toni couldn’t disagree. She was fast learning that you didn’t get a bad coffee in Italy, no matter where you went. She studied the map.
‘Whoops. We seem to be heading in the wrong direction to where we want to go,’ Toni said, and they burst out laughing, as they’d done something similar on their way to Montone.
Luckily there were so many little towns that it was easy to pick up on the mistake and turn around, and it had been a beautiful drive through the mountains and experiencing the tunnels. How could they be upset about taking a different route? They’d hoped to see the Mediterranean but only caught odd glimpses between the houses. They drove straight in to Chiaravalle and parked on the main street.
Toni got the parking ticket sorted before they locked the car. Flick fished out the Italian words she’d looked up last night. ‘I think it would have been easier to have Stefano help us with this,’ she said.
‘I’m sure people will work it out. Let’s try in here first,’ said Toni, pointing to an open door. It was hard to know what the shop was from the outside as there were no large display windows, just a sign they couldn’t read over the wide door. But inside was a big display fridge with fresh meats and cheeses. Toni was a farmer – she knew her different cuts of meat and varieties – but this was Italy, where rolls of cured meat ruled: pancetta and prosciutto, plus others she’d never heard of like speck, culatello, coppa and guanciale. It was a feast for the eyes and made her mouth begin to water.
Flick bypassed the array of deli food and went to an older lady waiting in line to be served. ‘Ciao, mi scusi,’ said Flick. She pointed to her sheet of paper, at the Italian words she hoped meant, ‘Can you help me, please? I’m looking for . . .’ Then she pointed to ‘citta municipio’, ‘palazzo comunale’ and ‘consiglio comunale’. To hedge her bets she’d written down the translation for ‘city hall’, ‘town hall’ and ‘town council’.
‘Si,’ said the lady, who then rattled off words they had no hope of understanding. She took them back outside the shop and gestured further down the road they were on.
‘Grazie.’ They continued down the street, which had cars parked on the right while one-way traffic drove past, making it feel like a bustling city. The buildings on either side of the road were two or three storeys, with shops on the ground floor. Some of the shops had cute little awnings arched out over the pathway.
‘It’s so hard to see what these shops are. There are no big signs on the buildings,’ said Flick. Only the pharmacies had a neon-green cross that made them easily recognisable.
‘There are signs, we just aren’t familiar with their branding so we don’t see them. We just have to keep looking.’
When they had walked as far as they dared, Flick asked another person on the street. But this woman only waved her hand further up the street, with a left turn in there somewhere.
‘Grazie,’ said Toni, and off they continued, wondering how they’d ever imagined they could just turn up and find what they needed.
A small courtyard opened up to the left, and they saw an oval logo on a large glass-fronted building. ‘That might be it. Looks quite official.’
Inside they found an empty foyer with stairs. They climbed these and reached a long corridor with many doors leading off it. All the signs were written in Italian. Just then Flick spotted a man in a police uniform.
‘Ciao, um . . .’ She faltered, then shoved her trusty piece of paper towards him. ‘We are trying to find records,’ she said while pointing out words.
‘Help?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please.’ Relief for them both. ‘We are trying to find information on Rocco Valducci. He was an Italian prisoner of war.’ Flick shuffled the sheets until she found the record sheet from the National Archives showing Rocco’s name and date of birth.
By the look of the policeman’s face, his English wasn’t too good.
‘Slow down, Flick,’ said Toni.
Flick tried again. ‘We came from Australia to find information on Rocco. Is this the right place?’ she said more slowly.
The policeman took the record sheet and gestured for them to follow him to the desk at the end of the corridor. Then he started talking rapidly in Italian to the lady who sat there. He finally turned back to them. ‘You need down,’ he said, pointing down through the floor.
He obviously took pity on them and their blank faces, as he smiled and said, ‘Come.’ He was a nice-looking man, probably in his thirties.
‘Thank you. We really want to find out if Rocco is still alive, or find his family. He stayed at our farm during the war,’ said Flick.
Toni wondered if the policeman understood any of what Flick had just said.
They followed him back downstairs and into an adjoining building. He ushered them through a queue of locals to an office lady who tried to assist them but unfortunately she knew no English. They could only stand there like mutes as the policeman spoke to her in Italian.
The lady started waving her hands wildly across her body in what looked like an emphatic ‘No!’ Then she was shaking her head and saying words like ‘personale’ and ‘privato’. Toni knew she had to try another option, as this lady clearly wasn’t going to share any private information.
‘He’s my father,’ she said clearly while pointing to his picture and then to herself. ‘Papà?’
‘Padre?’ said the policeman.
Toni smiled and nodded.
He spoke to the lady again and Toni got the feeling he’d just gone in to bat for them. It sounded like he was trying to persuade her. Australia was mentioned a few times, as if he was pointing out how far they had travelled. Then they disappeared back into the office.
‘Okay,’ said Flick, sitting on one of the chairs against the wall. ‘I guess we just wait then.’
‘I think he was trying to help us,’ said Toni.
‘Poor guy. I hope we aren’t taking him away from his work.’
The locals in line glanced at them curiously.
‘Man, what are they doing in there?’ Flick sighed heavily.
It had been nearly ten minutes. ‘I hope he’s not organising our deportation.’
Finally the policeman reappeared. He handed over a piece of paper with a name and number on it. ‘His brother,’ he said. ‘You call him.’
‘Oh, wow, thank you,’ said Flick, taking it.
‘Oh.’ Toni felt a swell of emotions. Excitement, nerves and even panic. She had an uncle?
‘Speak no English,’ the policeman warned, shaking his head.
Flick smiled. ‘That’s okay. We have a friend who may be able to help.’
Toni knew straightaway who she was thinking of.
‘Thank you so much for helping us.’ Toni realised she’d forgotten her manners in all the kerfuffle. ‘My name is Toni,’ she said. ‘My daughter, Felicity.’ She smiled at the friendly man who looked so smart in his uniform.
‘Mimmo,’ he said.
Toni touched his arm briefly. ‘Grazie, Mimmo, thank you so much. We wouldn’t have this without you.’
He smiled, nodded and opened the door for them.
Outside they just stood there, trying to process what had happened.
‘Wow,’ said Flick looking at the name and phone number.
Toni was dying to see the name written on it but her hands stayed by her side. ‘If it wasn’t for Mimmo we wouldn’t have that. We might not have even made it past the lady at the desk on the second floor.’ He had helped her get that much closer to finding her real father. Only she couldn’t express just what that meant to her. Not when she didn’t fully understand it herself. All she knew was that with each passing day, finding Rocco had become more and more important to her, as if she was searching for the other half of her soul.
‘We were sent an angel, I think,’ said Flick with a grin. ‘All in a day’s work for the local policeman, right? But I think he has his words mixed up. This isn’t Rocco’s brother. It’s a girl’s name, see?’
Toni took the scrap of paper. Block print spelled out a name: Valducci Francesca.
‘I guess they write the last name first,’ Flick said.
But Toni wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring at the name in front of her. Francesca. Was this her aunty? Was it really possible?
‘So you think this could be his family?’
Toni shrugged. ‘Let’s just wait and see. We should head back and see if Stefano can help us get in touch with this person. I don’t think we’re going to find anyone here who can speak English and I think we’ve taken up enough of Mimmo’s time.’
‘I agree. Let’s go see Stefano! Just because his English is so impeccable, of course,’ she laughed.
Toni wished they could just call Francesca now.
Then all of a sudden she was hit with a terrifying thought. Why had they just been given Rocco’s sister’s number and not his own?
23
ON the way home, they stopped into Umbertide, a bigger town near Montone, and stocked up on some lunch and fruit before heading off to their little hillside home. Flick merged with the traffic and found her way out of town. She was starting to love the little grey Mercedes. It was so compact and fun to drive around the narrow streets.
They parked and walked to the Piazza Fortebraccio, where Flick glanced at the restaurant.
‘Why don’t you go see and if Stefano is there and I’ll put the kettle on? Maybe he can come back and use our phone?’ Toni suggested.
Flick smiled at her mum, noticing that her legs looked amazing in her soft blue skirt. She appeared so different out of her work clothes and with the unfamiliar scenery behind her. Toni may have looked carefree and beautiful, but Flick saw an anxious, almost confused, look in her eyes. This would be a really hard time for her.
Flick headed straight past the outside tables and into the restaurant. The last of the lunchtime crowd was just about gone. Inside were more beautiful rock walls. It made her wonder about the person who had built them, and what life was like back then.
‘Felicity,’ said Stefano, waving, and she waved back and made her way to the counter. She loved the maroon polo shirt on him as it brought out his dark eyes, plus it fitted him nicely too. He turned to an older man beside him at the counter and said something in Italian before turning back to her.
‘Ciao, Felicity. This is my father, Massimo.’
He spoke more Italian to Massimo. He was a lean man, his eyes were wrinkled with wisdom and age but his smile was youthful and just like Stefano’s. She heard her name mentioned and had to admit she loved the way it rolled off his tongue. Felicity – so playful and romantic.
Massimo asked his son a question and Stefano replied, ‘Australia’, then turned back to Flick. ‘My parents speak no English, I am a translator,’ he said. ‘How did you go today?’ He leant in, his whole face captivated as he waited for her reply. Chad had never seemed that engaged with her unless she’d just taken her clothes off.
‘That’s actually why I’m here. We need your help, but only if you’re free?’ she asked, wringing her hands.
He grinned as if she’d just done him a huge favour. ‘Of course I can help.’
Beautiful straight white teeth and perfect plump lips; no wonder his smile was so fascinating. ‘Oh, thank you. I don’t know what we’d do if we hadn’t found you.’ Flick waited while Stefano cleared things with his father. Massimo waved him off good-naturedly.
‘So, how can I help?’ He gestured to a table. ‘You want to sit?’
‘Actually . . .’ Flick felt awkward propositioning him. ‘Would you mind coming back to our place?’ She gave him her most innocent smile. ‘I promise we’re not out to harm you,’ she teased.
Stefano held his hand to his chest. ‘I’m sure I be okay. So tell me how it went. You find him?’
Side by side, they headed out of the restaurant. ‘Kind of. You wouldn’t believe what happened . . .’ Flick told him the whole story, and how Mimmo had come to their rescue. ‘Only thing is, she doesn’t speak English.’
‘You need me, yes?’
‘If you don’t mind, we were hoping you could call her for us and see if we could meet with her. We could either meet here or at her place, if she didn’t mind . . . only, then we’d need a translator to go with us.’ Flick made a sweet face.
Stefano waved his finger at her. ‘You need me more.’
She chuckled. ‘Yes, but only if you want to. We will pay you for your time. How much time do you have? I don’t want to take you away from your work,’ she said.
They paused by the big double doors. Stefano was just that bit taller so she had to look up to meet his dark eyes. He smelt good too, like the seasoned steak and white truffles from the restaurant.
‘No, no. I help you. It is nice to be with an Aussie.’
Flick realised that he was probably waiting for her to let him in. Feeling a little silly, she pushed the door open. ‘Come in, just head up the stairs.’
Toni was sitting at the table looking over Rocco’s records. ‘Oh, wonderful,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for coming to our aid, Stefano. Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Please take a seat.’ Stefano sat down beside Toni, and Flick sat opposite. ‘How long can you stay?’ asked Toni.
‘I am free until six,’ he said with a relaxed smile. His hands, fingers woven together, lay on the table. They were long, lean fingers and his hands were clean, unlike the calluses and dirt ingrained in Jimmy’s hands.
‘We won’t keep you that long, I promise.’
Flick slid the sheet with Rocco’s photo and details to Stefano. ‘This is Rocco, and here’s a photo of him on our farm.’ She took the photo of Rocco and the kangaroo out of the folder for him.
‘Wow, that is a big kangaroo. Do you have many?’
‘Yes, we do.’
He was focused on the photos, and from this angle she realised just how long and dark his eyelashes were.
Stefano looked up. ‘So you want me to ask the sister if Rocco is her brother and if you can visit her?’
‘Yes, please. We’d still like to meet up with her, if she doesn’t mind. We could give her the records we have of Rocco’s. And show her the photos.’ Flick was picking at her nails while she spoke. She wasn’t sure why this was nerve-racking. Maybe it was Stefano and his eyelashes, or maybe it was being so close to finding out more on Rocco.
‘Actually, Stefano,’ Toni said, ‘I’ve just found out that Rocco is my father. So this lady could possibly be my aunty.’
His face lit up. ‘Ah, so you half Italian,’ he said warmly, as if she were his relative.
‘I guess so.’
Flick felt a surge of pride for her mum. It seemed like she’d just taken another step forward. Maybe by the time they got home she’d be happy to see Nan and put her anger behind her.
‘I call her now?’ asked Stefano.
Toni reached for Francesca’s phone number. ‘That would be great. The phone is upstairs.’
‘This way,’ said Flick, standing up, thankful she’d at least made the bed this morning.
All three went up the stairs and gathered near the desk by the window. Stefano stuck his head out and looked around. ‘Ah, you get the music,’ he said, pointing to a large building with a wide front staircase. ‘The children do music lessons there.’
‘I wondered,’ said Flick. She’d heard drums and violins. ‘It’s beautiful, something we certainly don’t get at home.’ She pulled the chair out for Stefano and Toni gave him the number. Then they stood back by the stairs to give him some breathing space.
Stefano had the phone to his ear and was soon speaking rapid Italian. He nodded his thanks when Flick handed him a pen and he began writing things down. Flick stepped back beside Toni.
‘I wish I knew what they were saying,’ whispered Toni.
Stefano looked up. ‘Can you go back to Chiaravalle tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes!’ they both said.
Stefano smiled and nodded while jumping back into Italian, then finally ending the call.
‘Well?’ Flick couldn’t contain her curiosity. Toni was wringing her hands.
