Casualties of War: The Advocate Trilgy

by Bill Mesce

  This last was for the tailor who had disappeared and returned with a billowing volume of scarlet cloth draped over his arm. “It is always a pleasure to serve His Eminence any way I can. Shall we try the cappamagna?”

  “Let’s.” The tailor tied one end of the voluminous cape about the Cardinal’s shoulders while carefully running the nine–foot drape down his back and spreading it across the floor much as a bridal tailor might do with a wedding dress train. “From my visits to your headquarters, I understand you to be involved with issues concerning the repatriation of Italian prisoners of war being held in the United States?”

  “Among other things. I’m one of a staff that’s compiling recommendations and suggestions on a number of issues that, to varying degrees, require some kind of legal finding. The repatriation issue is just one of them.”

  The Cardinal raised his eyebrows as if this clarified some great puzzlement. “I’m told that one of those issues involves the possibility of a number of Italian prisoners remaining in the United States after the war?”

  “Well, technically, the men we’re talking about are no longer PWs. After the surrender last year, they volunteered for Service Units that were stationed around the country filling in where there were manpower shortages. Apparently, some of them are saying they’d like to stay in the States.”

  “This is a hard time for Italy. I’m sure the horn of plenty in a country untouched by war can be tempting.”

  “That might be the case for some of them. But there’s others, they’re doing work they like, some have met girls – ”

  The Cardinal frowned. “Yes, while they’re wives are waiting for them here at home.”

  Harry grinned a boys–will–be–boys grin and continued “ – and some already have relatives living in the States. There are those who want to stay for the same reason people in my neighborhood came to the States voluntarily. Be all that as it may, be assured that my government will abide by the Geneva Convention. All PWs and ISU volunteers will be repatriated at the end of the war. There may be some special consideration given to ISU volunteers, particularly those who contributed directly to the war effort in some way, if they want to apply for visas after the war.”

  “I am not a lawyer, Colonel, so excuse my ignorance, but with the end of hostilities between Italy and the United States, shouldn’t they be repatriated now? In fact, is there not some disagreement between the Badoglio government and your government over the United States’ custodial authority?”

  Harry frowned. “That’s true, but… ” He sighed helplessly. “Cardinal, I don’t know why you’re bringing this up with me. As I said, I’m just –”

  “One of many.”

  “This is a policy discussion that’s going on at a level much higher than mine; between my government and yours.”

  “My government, Colonel,” the Cardinal said, studying the sanguinary flow of his cape in the three mirrors, “is the Kingdom of God.”

  “With the Badoglio government, then.”

  The Cardinal nodded approvingly at his reflection. He untied the cape, relieved to be rid of the weight, and handed it to the tailor. “I hope that some day they do away with these things! One day I will trip over it and be suffocated inside! Oh, please, maestro, it has nothing to do with your handiwork! As usual, it’s a beautiful piece! Let’s have the galero, then!”

  The tailor reached behind the changing curtain and came out with a wide–brimmed scarlet felt hat. The Cardinal placed it over his skullcap, and again studied his reflection. “Exemplary as usual! Please, pack it away carefully with the cape. I’ll wear my old one in the rain.”

  The tailor bowed, picked up the garments and glided out. The Cardinal stepped stiffly down from the stand, looked considerately at the doorway through which the tailor had disappeared. “I should not have said anything about the cape. He takes it to heart. He is a very devout man, and very proud when it comes to his work. Perhaps because his work serves the church, the two – his pride and his devotion – come together for him. In his eyes, a flaw – to do less than his best – is a form of sin.”

  “He must spend a lot of his time unhappy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He looks for perfection in an imperfect world.”

  The Cardinal sat across from Harry, poured himself a cup of tea and took a crunching bite of one of the biscotti. “These are delicious.” He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a pressed, linen napkin. “His wife makes them. Are you sure you won’t have one? No? You are not Catholic, Colonel, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Russian Orthodox.”

  “A sister church. But if where you live, they are mostly Italian…it must be very hard to find an appropriate house of worship.”

  “There isn’t one close by.”

  “Do you not attend church then?”

  “I have two children.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “Boys.”

  The Cardinal nodded approvingly.

  “My wife always thought they should have some kind of religious exposure. So, she takes them to the Catholic Church that’s just a couple of blocks away from us. Not to convert them, but just so…well, you know.”

  “Yes. But not you?”

  “I say Russian Orthodox because that was the church of my mother and father in the old country. But in the States…we were not a church–going family. That’s how I grew up.”

  The Cardinal nodded gravely. “How sad. I find that people who have no church, no spiritual anchor, there’s a sense of incompleteness about them. Even if they don’t feel it themselves, it’s there.”

  “If you say so, Cardinal. I’ll defer to your expertise on spiritual matters.”

  The Cardinal rose with a slight grunt and closed the fitting room door. “I think particularly in times like these, when men try to understand a world that seems beyond understanding, they feel that lack all the more.” He returned to his seat. He smiled for he could see the awareness dawning in Harry: “As you’ve probably guessed, this is all preliminary cordiality. I, too, am one of many who – as you do – concern themselves, on behalf of the Vatican, with a number of issues and questions. Repatriation is one of those issues. And one of those questions – if you’ll forgive the presumptuousness – I wonder what there is about repatriation that has prompted you to investigate the tragedy at the Ardeatine Caves?”

  Harry smiled. “You’re very well informed.”

  “We do not care idly for our flock, Colonel, whether they are in custody overseas, or suffer here at home. On the Holy Father’s behalf, we many work very closely with members of the Italian government, and with representatives of the governments and military authorities of the Allies. Again, forgive my pressing the issue, but what brought you to investigate the event at the Ardeatine Caves?”

  “I’m not investigating what happened at the caves.”

  “You have been making inquiries.”

  “Yes.”

  “And today you escorted a representative of the American government to the site.”

  Harry gave up an amused sigh. “Maybe you’re not so well–informed, Cardinal. He’s a member of a state assembly – the equivalent here of a provincial government. He was…I don’t know the word in Italian. Back home we would say, ‘grand–standing.’ A display for the people at home.”

  “I see.”

  “He wanted to see where the attack happened, and where the killings took place. He wants to impress people at home with his sincerity.”

  “Is he sincere?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “How did he come to ask for you?”

  “He got my name from people back home. As I told you, some of the PWs have relatives back in the States – some from my neighborhood. Some of these PWs have relatives in Rome they haven’t heard from. They’re worried they might’ve been part of the massacre. As I’m sure you know, a lot of the victims are still unidentified. So, they talked about it with my neighbors – ”

&n
bsp; “And your neighbors – being good neighbors – asked if you could look into it.”

  “I’ve looked into it.”

  “And what will you do with what you’ve learned?”

  “It’s not my job to do anything with it. Cardinal, I know you know the Allies and the Badoglio government have formed a joint commission to investigate what happened at the Ardeatine Caves. Whatever I’ve learned, I’ve forwarded on to them as a matter of routine although I figure anything I know, they already know.”

  “Will you make recommendations? Suggestions?”

  Harry took a long breath signaling impatience. “Cardinal, again: that’s not my job. I’m not on the committee, and I don’t work for them in any official capacity. As I told you, and keep telling you – ”

  “Yes, a favor for your neighbors,” the Cardinal said implacably. “If someone were to solicit your views…”

  “Then I would tell them: ‘Be careful.’”

  The Cardinal’s thick, gray–dusted eyebrows came together in puzzlement.

  “The Italians want to prosecute Fascists who’ve committed crimes against Italians,” Harry continued. “Last year, Roosevelt and Churchill agreed that the Italians should also prosecute Nazis who perpetrated criminal acts in Italy. But there’s also discussion among the Allies about the possibility of some kind of international tribunal after the war. What that jurisdiction will be, what crimes it’ll try, whether the Ardeatine business will be something for the Italians or for this tribunal…”

  Though the Cardinal appeared to listen attentively, Harry detected an air of impatience.

  “The point is – ” and here, the Cardinal seemed relieved “ – we – the Americans – should be very cautious about what we become attached to, even in an advisory capacity.”

  The Cardinal took another bite of his biscotti and awaited amplification.

  “Two months ago the Italians were going to try a man for helping the Nazis with the massacre at the caves.”

  The Cardinal nodded. “Pietro Caruso. He was a Questore at the time.”

  “Some of your ‘flock’ didn’t want to wait to see how the trial came out. They broke into the Palace of Justice looking for him. When they couldn’t find him, they grabbed a man named Donato Carretta. They knew Carretta had run one of the jails where the Germans got some of their victims, so that was good enough for them. They threw him in the Tiber River and beat him with oars until he drowned.”

  The Cardinal sipped his tea, then said, “People still feel strongly about what happened at the caves. I’m sure they will continue to do so for some time to come.”

  “There was even a picture in the newspapers of them drowning the man. Somebody from one of the wire services I think caught it. My wife wrote to me about seeing it in a paper back home. The caption said something about some Fascist pig getting his just desserts or words to that effect. She thought it was a horrible thing, but she said, well, all things considered, she understood.”

  “That is very generous of her.”

  “What I didn’t tell her – and I wonder if she and all the other people at home would still ‘understand’ – was that Carretta tried to keep the Germans from taking prisoners out of his jail. He was in the Palace of Justice to appear at Caruso’s trial as a prosecution witness. Your ‘flock’ killed the wrong man. If I was asked my opinion, I’d say that for the sake of American credibility, morale, and just so I could sleep nights, we keep our hands away from anything and anybody not willing to abide by ‘due process.’”

  The Cardinal closed his eyes. “‘Due process,’” he said, as if mulling the phrase. His eyes opened; that small smile, ironic now. “They have no such tragedies in America?”

  It was a riposte; not a response. Harry said nothing.

  The Cardinal took another sip of his tea, then pushed the cup away. “Cold,” he pronounced. “And if you were asked about the Church’s connection to the sad events at the caves, what would you say?”

  Ah, Harry thought with a smile to himself, at last we have arrived. “I’d say there’s questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as why the Church made no effort to intercede with the Nazis.”

  “Do you really think the Germans would have listened to us?”

  “Why not? The Church seems to have had a pretty comfortable diplomatic relationship with the Germans. And before them, the Fascists. My information is that an SS officer who was part of the German diplomatic mission thought the reprisal was a bad idea and met with his liaison at the Vatican to try to get papal support for an alternative.” Harry held up his hands like a magician announcing, See? Nothing there!

  The Cardinal toyed with his biscotti, then set the biscuit down and rose from his chair with a grunt. “This is why I am glad we are talking, Colonel. To you, you are asking a few questions in aid of some neighbors at home. But a query taking place outside the official investigation of the Ardeatine committee denies the Church an opportunity to clarify information that may be incomplete and misleading. And any misunderstandings you reach might be carried on by whomever you share them with and so on. You see our concern?”

  “Oh, I’m getting a pretty good picture.”

  The Cardinal let the barbed tone pass unremarked. “The Church’s spiritual mission does not take place in a vacuum, Colonel. We tend to the spirit, but must function in a temporal world. And in that world, the Mother Church has many enemies.” The Cardinal stood within the arch of the three mirrors, but seemed oblivious to the three papal vicegerents coolly studying him. “Many enemies. Which puts us in the position of having to prioritize.”

  “Make it easy on yourself. Stick to worrying about Satan and leave the Nazis and the Fascists to the Allies.”

  “You mock. But Satan shows himself in very real, non–spiritual ways. Perhaps you might understand my meaning better if we don’t give it a mystical name; don’t call it Satan. Or sin. You surely believe in evil. In wrong–doing. This manifests itself in many forms. Most virulent is among those whose goals include the elimination of the Church – any church; who would erase the concept of ‘God’ from the hearts of men because they consider Him a distraction; to use their words, an ‘opiate.’”

  Harry was an inherently polite man, or at least had been for much of his life. Catholic, Russian Orthodox, or raving pagan, Harry – by his nature – was obliged to be respectful of the Cardinal if, for no other reason, that he was a Cardinal. But it was becoming a long war, and now that he could discern the path upon which the Cardinal was conducting him, he found himself with as little use for the Cardinal as for the transparently aspiring Mr. Hauser.

  He conveyed his change of mood by slouching slightly in his chair, throwing a muddy boot across his knee, and reaching into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes without requesting the Cardinal’s by–your–leave. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to jump ahead but please, correct me anywhere you think I’m not clear on your meaning. You figured out a way to deal with Mussolini and his gang, and with the Nazis. But the Communists, that’s another story. They’re very active in the partisan groups. They are most of the partisan groups, and you’re worried about how much political muscle they’re going to have after the war. Right so far?”

  The Cardinal said nothing, showed nothing.

  “The partisans who carried out the attack in the Via Rasella were Communists,” Harry went on. “The Vatican has been making sure every Roman knows it. In fact, the way the Vatican makes it sound, the Communists are more responsible for what happened at the caves then the Germans.” Harry lit his cigarette. There was no ashtray. He tossed the smoking match down on the tea tray.

  The Cardinal turned to Harry and the three prelates in the mirrors turned their backs to the two men in the fitting room. “I don’t believe you appreciate the precariousness of our position during these unsettled times.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If we had spoken out against the Fascists, or against the Germans, what do you think w
ould have happened? They would have moved to close the Church – or at least silence Her.”

  “And Catholics by the thousands would’ve risen up against them.”

  “Yes!” For the first time the Cardinal showed something besides coolness; an angry flash in his small, dark eyes. “And they would’ve been slaughtered like cattle! Since the war, the Holy Father has advised peace out of concern for his children. It was precisely a tragedy such as took place at the caves he has been trying to avoid!”

  Harry picked up his cap from the floor. “Cardinal, the pope condemned the Allies for dropping bombs on targets in Rome. He damned the partisans in the Via Rasella. But he didn’t say a word about the Nazis putting bullets through the heads of 335 of his children. So, you’ll forgive me if I’m still confused.”

  “Your home and family are a long way from Rome, Colonel. If the actions of someone here could cost you your boys, perhaps you would better understand our position.”

  “Touché.”

  The Cardinal made as if to speak further, but Harry shook his head to declare that, for his part, he was done. He placed his cap atop his balding pate and rose. “When my oldest boy was three, he came down with a virus. We were new parents; we didn’t know how bad it was. All we knew was he had a high fever. We knew he was hurting. One of the priests from St. Lucy’s came by. He’d heard from one of the neighbors about our son. He’d seen enough sick kids in his day to know this would pass. He showed us how to keep him cool with rubbing alcohol, to make sure he drank a lot of fluids. He asked if we’d mind him praying over my son and blessing him. Every parent with a sick child becomes very religious; I said sure, please. He never asked us if we were Catholic, or Communist, or Democrat or Republican. He didn’t even ask if we believed in God. All he knew was our little boy was sick. But, like you said: we were a long way from Rome.”

  Harry stubbed his cigarette out on the silver tray, and left.