Birmingham Rose

by Annie Murray

  ‘That Virgin parade in the town,’ she said to Tony suddenly. ‘Those costumes the girls were wearing. A lot of that was army mozzie nets wasn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly looked like it,’ Tony said, bemused.

  Rose snorted with laughter at the memory. ‘Virgin parade!’ she said with her deep chuckle. ‘God Almighty, have you ever seen anything like it?’

  The young women in the town’s parade had been wearing an astonishing collection of clothes, many trimmed with netting dyed in dazzling colours. They marched through the streets of Caserta to display their chaste beauty.

  But as these ‘virgins’ passed, voices of Allied soldiers had piped up in the crowd, ‘Eh – that’s Rita (or Theresa or Maria); I was with her last night!’ which caused raucous outbursts of laughter all round.

  Seeing Tony look rather embarrassed at her forthrightness she asked, ‘D’you think it’s wrong to steal from the army?’

  ‘I suppose it’s wrong to steal from anywhere really. But you can’t help thinking when you see some of the poverty around this place that we probably wouldn’t miss a bit. Why – thinking of joining the black market?’

  Rose laughed rather nervously. ‘When d’you think I’m going to find time to do that?’

  They passed the rows of tanks until they were at the bottom of the cascades, where white water rushed down over the stones. It was possible to scramble up the rocks alongside the water, but on the hillside round behind the cascades, pathways had been cut on both sides, zigzagging up steeply until they rejoined at the top. Up there, where the water gushed out of the ground, the spring was covered by a great rock, carved round and hollow inside like a shell, so that it made a small cave.

  Rose suddenly felt full of energy and mischief. ‘Tell you what, I’ll race you to the top. You go that way and I’ll go up here. Go on, I dare you!’

  ‘Are you joking?’ he asked. Clearly, this time it was his mind that had been elsewhere.

  ‘No, course not. Come on.’

  Tony roused himself. ‘All right then. You’re on.’

  They set off, each taking a path on opposite sides of the cascades. Immediately she lost sight of him and stared up the path, Rose began to feel frightened. There was a gate behind the cascades which opened on to the rest of the mountainside. There was no knowing who might be wandering about up there, and the darkness was falling fast. But she enjoyed the sense of danger, scrambling up in the half-light smelling the sweet scents of herbs and plants by the path. All her senses were alert and her body felt strong and capable.

  She reached the top a fraction later than Tony, her lungs heaving, and stopped beside him panting and laughing.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ she gasped. ‘I thought I was going to get caught by bandits down there and never make it to the top!’

  Tony laughed, leaning over to get his breath back. She could see the sheen on his honey-coloured hair in the last of the light.

  There was something about the scented warmth of the air, the loneliness of the place, that allowed feelings to come to the surface. Rose knew she was not in love with Tony. She had not come out of herself as far as that yet. But she was aware from the evening they went to Naples together, as well as from many small acts of kindness and affection, that Tony cared for her. And she felt that, given time, she could love him. His very reticence had broken through her fear and mistrust. But there was never more from him. Never a touch, any other sign, except for his quivering emotion when she had disappeared in Naples. What was it? Was he afraid of her? She felt very strongly that she needed to understand.

  Tony straightened up and saw her dark eyes watching him. It was a look he had never seen on her face before. Whether serious or full of fun, he knew that Rose had strong defences, usually showed you herself only at one remove from what she was feeling. Now her expression was disarmingly naked. Even in the half-light he could read bewilderment, sadness and a kind of hunger. It was a moment he had feared would come.

  ‘Shall we go up on top?’ he asked softly. A short flight of steps led up to the flat top of the rock, which gave a marvellous view of the palace, the town and over to Naples and Vesuvius. Tony let her climb up first and they stood together in the light breeze looking at the gleaming ribbon of water below, and the sky still rimmed with light. Over the volcano the light deepened to a pink incandescence.

  The pressure for one of them to speak increased every moment. Rose struggled to find words that would not sound complaining or critical.

  ‘Tony, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’ He didn’t turn to look at her. ‘I think I can guess.’

  ‘Can you?’ This confused her even further. ‘I just feel muddled up about . . . well, how to feel about you. I feel a lot for you, as a friend, but—’ She broke off, feeling that each of her words sounded more clumsy and unfortunate than the last. ‘When we’re together we’re not like – well, like a man and a woman can be. Oh dear. I can’t say this properly. I’m sorry. You must think I’m ever so forward.’

  ‘You mean I don’t hold you or try to kiss you?’

  ‘Well I don’t mean you should,’ Rose said hastily. ‘I mean I don’t want . . . mostly I don’t want men touching me.’ She could feel her cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment in talking like this, but she knew Tony well enough to be certain she could confide in him.

  ‘Because you’re supposed to be engaged?’

  ‘No. Not really. That’s what I tell people. I mean I am – supposed to be. But it’s not that.’

  Taking a deep breath she told him quickly about Mr Lazenby and Joseph. When she’d finished she saw he had turned and was watching her, his sensitive face full of emotion.

  ‘My poor Rose.’ He stepped close to her and took one of her hands in his and stroked it. His hand was very warm and reassuring and surprisingly soft.

  ‘You really pick your men,’ he said, and she was startled by what sounded like anger in his voice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, her own voice turning high and tearful. ‘I just don’t understand you.’ She felt tears running down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know how to feel about you!’

  And then to her distress she realized that he too was weeping.

  ‘Tony,’ she cried. ‘What is it?’ She moved forward to comfort him. To her surprise he accepted, and for the first time they held each other. She felt his slight body in her arms, smelt the familiar salty smell of him, and she could feel his heart beating against her.

  ‘Please tell me what’s the matter.’

  ‘I’m afraid to.’

  He was silent again and she reached up and stroked his face with her hand. He removed her arms until he had hold of her hand again and wiped his eyes. He led her to the low parapet which ringed the rock and they sat down, leaning against it.

  ‘Rose – I want you to know that I feel a great deal for you. Much more than I ever believed I could—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘You’re a marvellous person, so bright, so full of life. I can’t express very well what you mean to me. But I can’t . . .’ He stopped again as if he simply could not bring the words out of him.

  ‘You can’t love me?’

  ‘I do love you. That’s what I’m trying to say.’ His voice grew louder with frustration. ‘But not . . . You have to understand. I can’t love women. Not like a man is supposed to love a woman.’

  He loosed her hand and lowered his head nearer his bent-up knees as if to shelter from a blow.

  ‘You mean . . . ?’

  ‘I mean that, sexually, I love other men. Only men.’ He spoke very deliberately and slowly. ‘Ever since I can remember, Rose.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She was silent. Eventually he looked up, interpreting her silence as disgust or disapproval.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone. Please?’ She shook her head. ‘Rose, I’m so sorry if you feel I’ve been deceiving you. I do love you, in a way which is very important. But I can’t make love to you. It’s not in my nature.’


  ‘It’s all right.’ She looked up at him and he saw how powerful her gaze was even in the poor light. ‘I’m just trying to think about it. It’s the first time I’ve ever known anyone . . .’

  ‘Homosexual?’

  ‘Yes.’ She could feel herself, like a sea anemone that had begun to reach out slowly and tentatively towards love, touched by something unexpected and shrinking back. But her thoughts were more objective. Those very occasional knowing looks when she was young, hushed talk of ‘queers’. How different it was when it was real. When it was someone you . . . liked.

  ‘I’m glad you told me. I wanted to understand, and now I do. You got me confused, and the reason I liked you to start with was that you left me alone – you know – like that. But now I know where we stand I won’t do anything stupid. We can be friends without spoiling it, can’t we?’

  Tony watched her. ‘I don’t disgust you?’

  Rose considered this for a moment.

  ‘The father of my son disgusted me. What he did to me had nothing to do with love or kindness or anything good. I know you better than that. No – you don’t disgust me.’

  The conversation stopped and started with patches of thoughtful silence.

  ‘D’you have anyone. A bloke, I mean?’ she asked after a while.

  ‘I think perhaps, yes. It looks like it. You don’t know him. He’s an American. His name is Lewis.’

  ‘And you care about him too?’

  ‘I don’t know him as well as you. But we have certain things in common.’

  ‘Like both going for other blokes.’ Rose cursed herself immediately for her sarcasm.

  ‘You’re right to be angry.’

  ‘I’m not angry. I’m sorry. Anyway . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve just thought. You can help me out.’

  ‘Me? Of course. How?’

  Suddenly excited, she confided to him her discovery of Il Rifugio. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want people to know about you and Lewis, you can carry on letting them think you’re going about with me. If you’re my chaperone to Naples on leave weekends, you can meet Lewis and that way I’ll get left alone as well and I can go and help with these kids!’

  Tony burst out laughing in pure astonishment. ‘My God, Rose Lucas, you’re one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met! You mean to say you’ve been wandering about in the slums of Naples dressed up as an Italian because you’ve fallen in love with an orphanage?’

  She nodded happily. ‘That’s where I was, that night I went off. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but it all seemed like a dream at the time. And I hadn’t realized I was going to get so involved. But you should see the kids, Tony. They’re poor little mites who’ve been left on the streets by their families. Some of their moms and dads are dead, but not all. Some of them were even sold into prostitution. I want to find ways of getting more food for them. We’ve got more than enough here and there must be some way . . .’

  ‘So that’s what that was all about. Now wait a minute. Just wait a minute. Are you talking about diverting army supplies? Because if you are, you could get yourself into one hell of a lot of trouble.’

  Rose looked down at the ground, away from him. ‘I don’t know what I’m talking about really. I haven’t thought it through enough. But it’s not right that they’re hungry and that Margherita and Francesco have such a struggle. It’s not the kids’ fault there’s a war.’ She was becoming quite emotional, trying to convince him.

  Tony sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. Relative morals, I suppose. You can count on me to help – I think. And yes, the Naples weekends are a grand idea.’ He touched her shoulder gently. ‘You must believe that I wish with all my heart I could marry you, Rose, if things were different.’

  She reached up and stroked the hand on her shoulder and they sat in comfortable silence.

  As they did so they became aware of a strange sound, a distant roaring as if a massive beast was roaming somewhere in the sky behind them.

  ‘What the hell . . . ?’ Rose said.

  Tony was on his feet instantly, looking back towards Naples. ‘Good Lord!’ he cried. ‘Look! She’s going up!’

  The sky round the volcano had turned blood red, and from the top of the crater they could see what looked like great clumps of fire being hurled into the air, with giant orange sparks, as Vesuvius spat fury and venom out into the night sky. From lower down the sides trickled bright streams of lava, bleeding down the volcano’s flanks from points like giant stab wounds.

  There was nothing they could do except stand watching in petrified silence. A massive belly of cloud had gathered over the volcano, the eruption a low, growling roar beneath it. Every now and then they heard a louder sound, like a great hoarse voice, and a pillar of fire shot up from inside the cone, hurling itself up towards the cloud and the terrible sky.

  They watched for a long time as the night air around them grew colder. It reminded Rose of the nights of the Birmingham blitz: such complete helplessness when faced with destruction all around.

  ‘Will Naples be all right?’ she asked, and Tony knew immediately whom she was most afraid for.

  ‘It’s quite a way round the bay, so it should be. But God help all those towns and villages underneath it.’

  After a while he said, ‘It’s enough to make you want to pray, isn’t it?’

  And Rose nodded. Prayer did not come naturally to her, but she was praying with her whole heart tonight.

  Twenty-One

  By the time she returned to Il Rifugio in April – this time for a whole precious weekend – the force of the eruption had abated. While it was going at full strength, the sky had stayed grey and soupy for days, and soft grey ash fell to a depth of at least half an inch for miles around. Walking through the streets of Naples, Rose saw that even the graffiti of the multitude of political parties, and the large black letters proclaiming ‘DUCE! DUCE’ (now often crossed out with blacker paint), were dusted over by a layer of ash which clung to the crevices in the walls.

  Naples, now convalescing from its days and nights of fear and prayer, had been spared the full destruction of the volcano. Many of the population were convinced this was due to the beneficence of their patron San Gennaro, who had watched over them for fourteen centuries since his martyrdom in Pozzuoli, just along the coast. His protection had, however, been of no help whatever to the inhabitants of the towns and villages strung along the fringe of coast between Vesuvius and the sea, many of which had been engulfed once more by the lava.

  Francesco opened the door to her, and she saw at once the strain and exhaustion plain in every line of his face.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘It has been a terrible time.’

  Rose searched around with her eyes. ‘Where’s Margherita?’

  Francesco pulled one of his hands through his unruly curls. ‘She’s gone to visit her father. He had found a place to stay. He was away from home when the eruption started. Her mother and sister – both gone.’ He made a wiping motion with his right hand, his face full of pain and bewilderment. ‘The house was destroyed.’

  ‘You’re saying that . . . ?’

  ‘Now she has only her father and one sister. She has two older brothers who are in the army.’

  In English, Rose said, ‘My God. How terrible.’

  She wanted to comfort Francesco somehow, but felt shy of him. After all she barely knew him. If Margherita herself had been there it might have come more naturally.

  They were still standing in the gloom of the hall, Rose holding her two parcels of rations. From the big room, where Magdalena and Assunta were keeping the children occupied, came the sound of singing.

  Francesco seemed to rouse himself. ‘There is something else I need to tell you. Another person has come to live here. A friend of ours called Paulo Falcone. We were at the university together. He is a bit older because he was a medical student. He arrived two days ago from Rome – God
knows how, across the lines. He says he has been with a group in the resistance, but he will not talk to me any more about it. Perhaps if Margherita were here . . .’ His expression seemed to sink further into tiredness and pain. ‘I am telling you to warn you that he is not easy to be with at the moment.’ He pointed to the small room to the left of the big room, where they stored and prepared food for the community. ‘He is sleeping in there now, but we can go in. He won’t wake.’

  Francesco suddenly reached out and touched her hand in an unexpected gesture of gratitude. ‘I’m glad that you have come, Rosa.’

  She smiled sadly at him, picking up the parcels which she had put down while he was speaking. ‘I hope I can relieve you all a little. You must be so tired.’

  They carried the food parcels to the storeroom. Rose felt how small and inadequate they were. How could she do better?

  She could hear the man’s deep breathing from where he lay in shadow under the window on two poor straw mattresses laid end to end. He was lying very straight as if sleep were a duty rather than a relief. She went and looked down at him, intrigued to encounter another of their educated friends. The young man was sleeping with a slight frown on his face. He looked well built, though thin, but his naturally rounded jawline had prevented his face from turning gaunt. The closed eyes were fringed by long dark lashes, and his black wavy hair had grown untidily down to his shoulders. The lower part of his face was shadowed by several days of stubble. It was hard to picture him as a doctor, reassuring and authoritative, perhaps smartly dressed. He lay vulnerable as a child battered by the hurts of the day before. Rose surprised herself with an impulse to reach down and stroke his brow, to smooth the perturbed expression off his face, but she held back.

  ‘Come,’ Francesco whispered, surprised by her attention to the stranger. ‘Let’s go.’

  She went and joined Magdalena and Assunta, who greeted her with delighted though tired smiles. On seeing her arrive, one of the boys, a three-year-old waif called Emilio, ran to Rose crying, ‘Bacio! Bacio!’