by Angela Arney
‘It’s none of your business,’ was the only response he had provoked.
A spasm of coughing shook Eleanora’s sparse frame. Raul poured himself some broth and sat beside her. He watched her objectively. Whatever Liana did to earn the food, and he was sure she did it for Eleanora, she was wasting her time. In his opinion nothing on this earth could save Eleanora; her lungs were riddled with tuberculosis, and soon she would die. He hadn’t been in the disastrous Greek campaign in the winter of 1940 for nothing. He’d seen young men, once stronger and fitter than he, succumb in their hundreds to the disease, and he knew that once it got a firm hold in the lungs there was nothing to be done. There was no cure, and now with the wet and cold of winter to be endured, he was sure Eleanora’s time with them grew less as each day passed. He said so to Liana the last time she’d been up at the castello. Eleanora had been feverish all week, and had hardly eaten so that she had become more emaciated than ever. A terrible cough tore at her lungs from morning until night.
‘You do know it is only a matter of time, don’t you?’
‘A matter of time for what?’ Her voice was sharp, as though she didn’t understand what he was talking about.
Raul persisted. ‘Before Eleanora dies.’
She had turned on him then, her face twisting in desperate fury. He was reminded of a vixen they’d cornered once when he was a boy out hunting. The vixen had turned on the huntsmen, and, regardless of her own safety, had defended her young until the last breath had been beaten from her pulped body. Liana had that same expression, the same wild possessive glitter in her eyes. It was then that Raul realized, with something close to humility, that there was nothing Liana would not do for Eleanora, because she loved her with a fierce, unreasoning, passionate love. It was a love so pure that it seemed to blaze like an awesome spiritual power. But love was not enough. Raul knew nothing could save Eleanora.
‘She will never die. Not while I’m alive. As soon as she’s a little stronger, I’m taking her down into Naples to see a doctor.’
‘She’ll never be strong enough, and anyway how could you pay? There isn’t a doctor in Naples who’ll give free treatment.’
‘I will pay,’ Liana answered quietly. ‘I’ll do anything to get Eleanora well.’ A radiant determination illuminated her face.
Helpless, and infuriated at her refusal to face facts, Raul was harsher than he’d intended. ‘It’s hopeless, can’t you see that? All the money in the world couldn’t make her well. Eleanora has advanced tuberculosis and there is no cure.’
‘She has a weak chest, that’s all.’ That was the end of the conversation. Her face closed and shuttered, Liana turned away.
Raul despaired. The cynicism he’d cultivated until it had become an integral part of him had been ripped apart in that brief conversation. His heart faltered in unfamiliar compassion. Shocked and saddened, he wondered how Liana would cope with death when Eleanora’s time came.
The coughing spasm over, Eleanora managed a wan smile at the watching Raul. ‘Have a sip of broth,’ he said gently, dragging his mind back to the present, ‘and then tell me about Liana.’
Obediently Eleanora drank some broth, then laid the bowl aside and made herself more comfortable on the bed. ‘I thought you knew,’ she said innocently. ‘Liana is a cleaner in one of the palazzis of Naples, used now as offices by the American and English army, although I don’t know exactly where.’
‘She is very highly paid,’ said Raul knowing full well that the civilians working for the army were paid a pittance. Liana was not a cleaner. Women who worked at scrubbing and washing had rough, calloused hands. Liana’s hands were soft and her nails beautifully kept.
Eleanora smiled. Confined by her illness to the environs of the castello, most of the recent horrors of war had passed her by. She had still managed to retain a childlike innocence. It was reflected now in her proud answer. ‘That must be because she is very highly thought of.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must.’
The wry tone of Raul’s answer was lost on Eleanora. Her mind was on other matters, back in the past. She looked at Raul seriously. ‘Do you know that we were starving before Liana went down into Naples and got this work? We ate weeds from the fields, berries, nettles, anything we could find. In the end there were not even any weeds left. We had nothing.’
Raul pulled a sympathetic face. ‘You don’t have to spell it out for me. I, too, know what it’s like to starve.’
‘You? But you were in the army.’
‘The Italian army!’ Raul was scornful. ‘An army composed of ignorant peasants and run by fools, ordered about by an even bigger fool, Mussolini, the great blustering buffoon. Everything was botched and bungled from beginning to end. Not enough equipment, not enough uniforms and certainly not enough food.’
‘But you’re not a peasant. Why were you in the army?’ Eleanora dared ask the question which had been puzzling the two girls. ‘You said once you were at university, so why weren’t you exempt like the other students?’
The room rang with a bitter laugh, and Raul turned and put his hands gently either side of her pale face. ‘Your memory is too good, little one,’ he said. He had hoped that they had forgotten he’d told them he was once a student. It was a fact he hadn’t intended to let slip out. Now, he shook his head. ‘Many, many evil things have happened since Il Duce came to power. One day Eleanora, when this wretched war is over, then perhaps I will tell you. But not now.’ He kissed her pale cheeks and adroitly changed the subject. ‘How long has it been like this, just the two of you up here? It’s strange a marchesa and her friend living alone in a ruined castello. What happened to your parents and Liana’s?’
The ruse worked. Eleanora’s mind slid back to poignant memories. ‘It was not always like this,’ she said softly, ‘and we were not always poor. My mother I don’t remember very well. She died when I was little. Liana’s mother was my nurse, and Liana was my sister, although not my blood sister. My father, the marchese, was killed in Spain at the battle of Guadalajara in March 1937.’ She looked at Raul defiantly, a little unsure of his reaction. ‘He was fervently anti-Fascist and joined the Garibaldi battalion. He died fighting for the Spanish republic,’ she paused before adding bitterly, ‘killed by his own countrymen, the Italian Fascists.’
‘He was not anti-Semitic, then?’
Eleanora shook her head, surprised at the inflexion of relief in Raul’s voice. ‘Of course not. He hated Mussolini and everything he stood for. That was why, after his death, the Black Shirts came and . . .’ her voice faltered, trailing into nothingness.
Suddenly Raul understood the poverty and emptiness of the castello. ‘The Fascists came and sacked your home?’
Eleanora nodded. ‘I remember I couldn’t understand why no-one wanted to know us. Liana’s mother explained that it was too dangerous. All the servants ran away. We were quite alone except for Liana’s mother and Miss Rose, our English governess and teacher. And of course, Don Luigi, our old priest, stayed as well. The Fascists couldn’t frighten him. For a while we managed quite well. We had a goat for milk, we grew enough to eat, and some banking friends of my father made sure we had enough money for other necessities, although, of course, they had to help us secretly.
‘Then in June nineteen thirty-nine Miss Rose left, too. She decided it was getting too dangerous, and went back to England. She wrote once, and then we had a letter from her brother telling us that she had died of a heart attack.’ Eleanora sighed. ‘We were very sad. She was here for ten years and we spoke English with her every day. I still miss speaking English, although Liana was always much better than me, much better at everything. Miss Rose used to say that her English accent was nearly perfect, not Italian sounding at all, and that she was very clever, clever enough for university.’ She stopped lost in thought.
‘And then,’ Raul prompted.
Eleanora shrugged expressively. ‘And then Italy joined Germany in the war. At the same time, in nineteen forty, the money suddenl
y stopped coming. That was when everything started to go wrong.’
‘You can say that again,’ interrupted Raul with feeling. ‘The war ruined everything for everyone.’
‘Liana’s mother was killed in January nineteen forty-two.’ Eleanora blinked back impulsive tears at the memory. ‘She was raped by some men and then beaten to death.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Even Raul was jolted out of his customary composure. ‘Why?’
‘Because she tried to stop them from stealing our food supplies. The men were deserters from the army.’ Eleanora shuddered. ‘It was terrible, terrible. I thought Liana was going to die, too, when she tried to save her mother. I’ve never seen anyone like it before. She was so brave. She fought them like a fury. But it was useless. There were too many of them and they were too strong. They just picked her up and threw her to one side like a rag doll and then killed her mother.’
She fought like a fury. Yes, Raul thought, I can well imagine it. That might explain some of Liana’s hostility towards him, and he couldn’t blame her for that, for, by his own admission, he was a deserter, too. It was an understandable reaction, although he was sure there was more to her animosity than just that, much more, and he needed to find out. No, needed wasn’t really the right expression. He didn’t need to, he wanted to. He wanted to find out what really lay behind that beautiful but inscrutable face. What he had learned so far impressed him. She was certainly different, seeming to possess an emotional strength so powerful it enfolded her, impenetrable, like chain-mail armour.
‘At least she had a decent funeral,’ said Eleanora, wiping her eyes as she continued the conversation about Liana’s mother. ‘She lies in my father’s family vault down there.’ She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Naples. ‘But when Don Luigi died . . .’ She shuddered violently.
‘What about Don Luigi?’ Raul leaned forward eagerly, sensing something unusual.
Raul listened for the most part in silence as the harrowing story unfolded. Don Luigi had died of old age at the end of September 1943, just a month before Raul himself had arrived at the castello and when the Germans were retreating back up to Rome. In the mayhem following the Allies’ blanket bombing, a funeral had proved impossible to organize. All the villagers, except those too infirm to move, had fled from the continual bombing and gone to hiding places in the hills; there was no-one left to help the two girls.
‘We tried to go down into Naples to get help, but turned back when we reached the outskirts. We just couldn’t go on. It was so awful.’ Eleanora’s voice convulsed into momentary silence as she struggled with emotion at the memory. She took a breath, then continued. ‘Where tall buildings had once stood there were only mountains of bricks. And everywhere, everywhere we looked there were dead bodies. Some had been run over by tanks, and they were flat. We didn’t even realize that they were people until we were actually standing on them, because they were like grotesque mats covering the road. And oh Raul, the flies. I shall never forget the flies, how fat they were, their bodies bloated, shining blue and green in the hot sun. They were feeding on the remains like vultures.’
Raul said nothing for a moment. Eleanora’s description evoked powerful memories for him, too. He had been part of such scenes himself, sometimes on the side of the perpetrators of such violent atrocities. He closed his eyes, blotting out memories of Greek villages that the Italians had ravaged. War, how he hated it. The whole thing was a nightmare whichever side you were on.
‘So what did you do?’ he said at last.
‘Liana made me promise not to tell.’
‘You’re already told me half, so you might as well tell me the rest.’
But Eleanora was distressed now. ‘I promised,’ she said. ‘I can’t break my word. It wouldn’t be right. I wish I hadn’t said anything.’
‘But you have, and you might as well finish the story.’ He took her hand. ‘I promise you faithfully that I shall keep it a secret. We’ll never mention it again, and Liana need not know you told me.’
Eleanora took a deep breath, and looked at Raul. She wanted to share the burden of knowledge, he could see that. He smiled encouragingly, and she made up her mind.
‘We . . .’ she stopped. ‘Liana buried him. Out there in the earth by the old chapel. He had no coffin, no service, nothing at all. We did it at night, and I shielded the lantern so that Liana could see. She wouldn’t let me touch him, said I needn’t sin, but that it didn’t matter about her.’ Tears slid silently down Eleanora’s cheeks. ‘Do you think Liana is doomed to eternal damnation?’ she asked.
‘Of course not,’ said Raul, knowing how devoutly religious Eleanora was. ‘God understands.’ Empty words as far as he was concerned, but ones which comforted the distraught girl.
Wiping her eyes, she continued, ‘When Don Luigi lay in the earth, Liana said . . .’ She stopped, closing her eyes, reliving the moment.
‘What did she say?’
Raul was impressed. He remembered thinking the very first night he’d met Liana that there was a hint of steel in her expression. Now he knew why. He could think of no other woman who could have stomached the task, and got on and done it without help from anyone. He’d always sensed she was a fighter and courageous, but now he knew she could do anything. He imagined her viewing their situation with resolute, clear objectivity. A man needed to be buried, so she did it, refusing to let superfluous emotions stand in her way. Liana was a survivor, like him. She would never flinch from anything that stood in the way of survival. Whatever it was that needed to be done, she would do it.
‘She said a strange thing,’ continued Eleanora slowly, speaking with her eyes still closed. ‘She said, “I loved him when he was a man. But now he has changed into an old black crow. That is what we’re burying Eleanora, a dead bird not a man.” Then she shovelled the earth on top of him and has never mentioned it from that day to this.’
Raul got up. He prowled around the room restlessly. The story disturbed him – not so much the gruesome facts, because, awful as they were to Eleanora, he’d built a protective shield of immunity from such horrors during his time in the army. What disturbed him was the disconcerting insight it had given him into Liana’s character. He shivered suddenly.
‘You’re cold.’ Eleanora was concerned.
Raul shook his head. He was not cold, but felt shivery. Something like fear tightened in an iron band around his heart. He couldn’t explain it. He tried to think clearly, to analyse the mental images suddenly flashing before his confused mind, but found he couldn’t, because nothing made sense. Why should he be afraid? Was it Liana he was afraid of? No, that was ridiculous. She had nothing to do with his future life. Once he left this place, their paths were hardly likely to cross again. He had ambitions of fame and fortune, and had no intention of hanging around the Naples area any longer than necessary. Whereas Liana, for all her courage and determination, was only a girl. Marriage to some Neapolitan boy was her only hope, if she was lucky. The farthest she’d go would be to her mother-in-law’s house. But the feeling of apprehension persisted, a shadowy presage of a price he would pay. She, Liana, would demand it, and the price was shame and bitterness.
How fanciful he was being – too dramatic as usual. He laughed, the disturbing, fragmented thoughts dismissed already. ‘No, I’m not cold. A ghost must have walked over my grave,’ he teased.
‘It’s mine they should be walking over, not yours,’ said Eleanora quietly. Raul turned and looked at her. She was sitting composed and still, resignation at the knowledge of her impending death clearly written in her eyes. ‘Look after Liana for me,’ she said suddenly.
‘I will,’ Raul heard himself promising.
Without realizing it, he had picked up the threads of their lives, his and Liana’s, and tangled them together.
*
Eleanora died sooner than even Raul had expected. Liana was back at the castello for a few days, and Eleanora was pleased and excited as she always was whenever Liana was with her. It was the m
iddle of December, and the day was unusually warm. There was no hint of the drama to come as Raul watched the two girls walk across the courtyard to the gateway. Eleanora seemed less weary than of late, and the two girls laughed and chattered as if they hadn’t a care in the world. When they reached the shelter afforded by the great gate, Liana spread out the blanket and they both settled themselves, soaking up the unexpected warmth of the winter sunshine.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ said Eleanora softly. ‘I think Naples must be the most beautiful place in the whole world.’
The great sweep of the bay spread before them, enfolded protectively by the purple haze of distant mountains. The sea, an ocean of serenity under the sun, shone grape blue, tranquil and enchanted. Naples itself sprawled lazily along the shoreline. The city looked peaceful, distance blurring the jagged outlines and skeletons of the bombed buildings. A soft, blueish, shimmering haze diffused ugly reality into a radiant dream. Only the occasional perpendicular skein of grey smoke, hanging motionless in the still air, denoted that somewhere in the city, a building was burning.
‘From here it is,’ agreed Liana.
She marvelled at the changes of perception that distance made. It could have been another planet, and yet at the same time it was impossible for her to ignore its existence. Staring down in disbelief, Liana tried to equate the cynical streetwise prostitute with the girl now sitting with Eleanora in the sunny gateway. I am two people she thought, but which one is the real me? Turning, she looked at Eleanora, the gentle girl who could not have been closer, even if they had been blood sisters. Eleanora smiled lovingly, and, reaching over, clasped Liana’s hand. Suddenly Liana wanted to weep with relief. How could she have ever doubted it? In spite of everything, this was her real world, and she would let nothing, nothing, spoil it.
