A Pair of Silver Wings

by James Holland

  The chickens were delicious, served with bread and some of last year’s oil crop. Edward made the most of every mouthful, all too aware that he might not taste such food again for some time. In between mouthfuls, he was asked a barrage of questions from Gino. What aircraft had he flown? How many planes had he shot down? What did he think of the German and Italian planes? Had he always wanted to be a fighter pilot? Edward tried to answer the questions as best he could, although struggled with some more technical words. But he did tell Gino about his first flight in a Spitfire: about the immense power, the lightness of the controls, and the sense of joy and exhilaration of flying at such speeds and dancing through the sky. ‘It was like touching heaven,’ he said, ‘I felt like a God up there.’ He suddenly realised the whole table had been listening too, and felt himself redden. ‘Well, not a God – I didn’t mean to be disrespectful – to take His name in vain – but it was certainly a wonderful feeling.’

  Orfeo raised a hand. ‘You’re not being disrespectful. I’m sure I would have felt the same.’

  After lunch, the party began moving outside. It was warm and the sun high in the sky. They took their wine and settled beneath some apple trees a short distance from the well. Within minutes, Orfeo was snoring gently.

  ‘Reminds me of the old days,’ Eleva smiled. ‘Enough food to eat, the worries of the world forgotten for a day.’ She sighed. ‘Ah, well.’

  ‘Those days will come again,’ said Federico. He turned to Edward. ‘Let me show you something.’ He got to his feet. ‘Come with me.’

  Edward followed him as they climbed the terraces and went up through the orchard away from the others. ‘Look here,’ he said pointing to a tree. There, etched into the bark were three initials and a date: FGC, 12.x.01. ‘We have a tradition here,’ he said. ‘We plant a new tree every time a new member of the family is born. When the tree is big enough, the initials and the date of birth are carved into the bark. Eventually, of course, the trees grow so big that it becomes hard to read, but we all know whose tree is whose.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Edward. ‘I hadn’t noticed the carvings before.’

  ‘Here’s Carla’s, just here,’ he said, walking further on. ‘Smaller than mine, but coming on. Bears lovely apples, this one.’ He stopped and sighed. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘when do you think the Allies will come?’

  Edward thought carefully for a moment and then said, ‘There’ll be a new offensive soon. It’s been a bad winter. We have material advantage, but that’s not much use in deep mud. But now that it’s getting drier – well, events should start moving pretty quickly. I don’t think anyone believes Germany can win the war now. Perhaps the Allies will get here this summer. I hope so – I’d like to think we can. But honestly, I don’t know. I couldn’t say for sure.’

  Federico nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about landings? There’s been talk of the Allies landing somewhere north of Rome.’

  Edward shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard of any such plans. But nor would I. Most of these things are kept secret.’

  Federico was quiet again, then said, ‘We had such hopes after the armistice. Mussolini gone, the King and Badoglio ending the war. We thought the nightmare was over. But in fact it had only just begun. We’ve eaten well today – Orfeo jokes about it, but things are getting really bad, you know. There’s almost nothing in the shops. People are going to starve. The rationing –’ He raised his hands to the sky. ‘It’s terrible.’ He turned to Edward, and patted his back. ‘Anyway, thank you. You’ve given me some cause for hope.’

  Who would be a father now? Edward wondered, then his thoughts turned to his life just a few weeks before, when he’d still been at Termoli. His world had been so much smaller then: the RAF, his squadron, where they would be flying that day. He’d barely thought about the millions of Italians caught up in this increasingly brutal war; had never even considered there were men like Federico and Orfeo: good, honest men, trying to do their best for their family, when all around them the life they had always known was gradually crumbling before their very eyes. Some time this summer, he had told Federico, the Allies might be here. He prayed he had not given him false hope.

  Italy – May, 1944

  The first day of a new month; the first day of summer. Morning, and Edward was sitting on a three-legged stool clutching a hand-held mirror and shaving, wearing only his trousers and a vest. It had become something of a morning ritual before joining the others for the ersatz coffee. The soap, made from animal fat, had been given to him by Eleva, the razor and mirror by Carla. He took his time. Perhaps it would be his last morning in the hayloft: the previous evening, word had reached him that Volpe and Giorgio would be visiting him that night. His time at Pian del Castagna was all but over.

  A light knocking on the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

  ‘Eduardo – good morning.’

  ‘Carla,’ he turned. ‘Sorry, I didn’t –’ He looked frantically for his shirt and she laughed.

  ‘Do you think I’ve never seen a man in his vest before? I see my father almost every day.’

  He relaxed. ‘Well, I’ve nearly finished. You’re here very early.’

  ‘Don’t you want me to be?’

  ‘No, no – I mean yes, of course. It’s unusual, that’s all.’

  ‘I woke up early. It’s the beginning of summer, and a beautiful day. So Christina and I both walked up right away. Anyway,’ she said, sitting down on an old box next to him. ‘There’s somewhere I’d like to show you after breakfast.’

  The ground was still damp with heavy dew when they walked through the orchard and out up the lane. Cobwebs twinkled in the sunlight, insects hovered and bees crawled over the wild flowers growing abundantly either side of the path.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Wait and see.’

  She suddenly parted two newly leafed branches to the side of the track. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘follow me.’ Beyond was a hidden path through the undergrowth and trees that headed up the mountain. Edward heard scurrying away to his right. It made him start. He looked round to see a wild boar hurrying away.

  Carla laughed. ‘There are still quite a few in these woods. They hide themselves pretty well most of the time – the partisans have been learning from them.’ It was cool in amongst the trees, but the climb was quite steep and muddy underfoot and Edward soon felt himself begin to sweat. He felt slightly disorientated, but guessed they were heading back on themselves, on the side of Monte Luna that overlooked the Pian del Castagna.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing through a narrow clearing in the trees. ‘There’s Monte Torrone. It’s hidden from Pian del Castagna, but we can see it when we walk up and down the mountain. The top is clear – that means it’s going to be sunny all day. If there’s cloud covering the summit, it’s going to rain. There’s a saying: when Torrone’s got his hat on, take your umbrella. If he’s got his hat off, you can leave it at home.’

  Edward breathed in deeply. The wood smelled damp and comforting; like the smell of damp woodland at home. He leant his arm against a chestnut tree and felt the moss growing around its trunk. A mass of muddied, russet leaves covered the ground and he looked up to see a jay hurry past and disappear amongst the branches.

  They continued on and a short while later came to a larger clearing, where there was a crevice in the rock. The ground beneath was quite flat, and behind two small oaks and an underhang on one side of rock, stood a small wooden hut with a door and a tin chimney.

  ‘Here,’ said Carla triumphantly.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Edward.

  ‘It used to belong to an old charcoal burner, but no-one’s been here for years. They know about it at the farm, but I don’t think the partisans do. There’re lots of hidden paths and caves in these mountains and Volpe’s men are using a number of them, but this place is still a secret.’

  Edward looked at it and shook his head in amazement. ‘You can’t even really see it from the path.’<
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  ‘No. You’d walk right past if you didn’t know.’ She opened the door and beckoned him to follow. Inside it was dark and simple: a chair and a small table, a cot at the far end and a shelf with candles and two old tins. Once again, Edward felt his heart begin to pound. They were alone, no-one knew where the were; it would be so easy to reach down and kiss her. The stillness in the room was total.

  She sat on the cot. ‘I brought you here because I want you to know there’s somewhere you can hide. Your shoulder’s much better. Volpe and Giorgio are coming to see you later and you’ll have to go.’

  He looked down; his desire was so intense, he could hardly bear to look at her.

  ‘I want you to know that if things get difficult, you’ll have this place, somewhere safe where you can hide for a while.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Edward. ‘You’ve all been so good to me. More than I can ever repay.’

  She smiled. ‘Everyone’s liked having another man about the place. There are not many around here any more – not young ones, anyway.’

  ‘I know about Franco.’

  ‘Well, he’s in Russia. We all pray daily that he’s still alive. But most of the men have simply fled to the mountains. After the armistice, lots of the men around here came home. But then they announced that all former soldiers and anyone born in the years between 1922 and 1925 had to sign up immediately and fight for the fascist army. No-one did, so they said there would be an amnesty, but after that anyone who still had not reported for duty would be considered a traitor and shot. Everyone’s in hiding. It’s why Volpe’s suddenly had all these people flocking to him in the last couple of months. God only knows how many of them there are at the moment, but they’re all hiding in barns and caves all over the mountains.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Edward. ‘What sort of people decide these things?’

  ‘Evil people,’ said Carla. She looked down and picked at her nails.

  ‘Carla, please be careful,’ said Edward.

  ‘I was scared at first, when we found you. I know the fascists wouldn’t have liked that. But when the doctor told us the Germans thought you were dead I relaxed. But it’s the young men they’re after – they don’t seem so bothered about the women.’

  ‘Are there many fascists around here?’

  Carla shook her head. ‘No. Most who used to be pro-Mussolini in the old days realise now that he’s just a puppet for the Nazis. There’s a fascist shopkeeper in Montalbano, but I don’t know of any others. The carabinieri are supposed to be fascists, but I don’t think many of them are now. Not really. There was a fascist in Veggio who denounced a few people, but although the carabinieri arrested a number, they were soon let go again. No-one wants war around here, but the Blackshirts pester everyone. So do the Germans. Not many come up here into the mountains, but some do and then they make a nuisance of themselves, frightening and threatening people. Well, you’ve seen it first-hand. One girl in Sant’Angelo was raped. It’s terrifying.’ She sighed and Edward watched her chest rise and fall. ‘Volpe and his men haven’t done anything much – they only have a few old rifles. But if that changes . . .’ She let the sentence trail, then turned to look at him once more. ‘If you join the partisans and they catch you, they’ll try and shoot you too.’

  ‘I have to help them.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But, you know, I’ve been in this war a while. Every time I used to fly I might have been shot down and killed. I’m probably safer now than when I was still flying.’

  ‘Perhaps, Eduardo.’

  For a moment they said nothing. The silence in the hut overwhelmed him; he felt sure she would be able to hear the hammering in his chest. His desire to hold her, to kiss her – to tell her that he loved her and had done so from the moment he set eyes on her – was so overpowering, he thought he would burst. In the coolness of the room he could feel the warmth of her body next to him. Her face, her hands – they were so close and yet so completely out of reach. He stood and walked away towards the door, the knot in his stomach tightening so that his legs felt as though they might give. But Carla stood up too, and walked towards him. For a brief moment he rested his left arm against the doorway then turned and said, ‘Carla.’ She looked at him, her eyes searching his face, and he lifted a hand to her cheek. She did not flinch, or recoil, but closed her eyes, and lifted a hand to his. As he leaned down towards her, and felt his lips brush hers, a lightness enveloped him, so that the pain inside vanished in a trice and his spirits began to soar so rapidly he wondered whether he might faint from the giddiness of this ecstasy.

  ‘Eduardo,’ she said, ‘I love you.’

  He kissed her again and this time felt her lips part. He could taste the soft heat of her mouth, feel her hands on his cheeks, around his neck, running through his hair. He pulled away and began kissing her cheek and her eyes, her forehead and underneath her jawline, down onto her neck, and she preened and sighed and laughed all at once; and when he kissed her eyes again he tasted tears. Only then did he stop kissing her.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Because I’m so happy and because I’m so sad.’

  ‘Carla,’ he said. ‘I’ve been in pain these past weeks, not from my shoulder, but because all I’ve wanted to do is hold you and kiss you.’

  She laughed again. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I never thought you could possibly love me too.’

  ‘But my darling Eduardo, why ever not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because I’m English, because I’m not Catholic. Because.’

  ‘I don’t care where you are from or what you believe. I love you – I can’t help it. I loved you almost the moment I saw you. You looked so young, so helpless. And you looked so kind. You have kind eyes. Gentle eyes.’

  He leant down and kissed her again, then she ran a hand over his chest. ‘Eduardo, what are we going to do? I can’t let you go now.’

  He sighed, and a stab of melancholic dread came over him; the joy he had felt just moments before seemed to wither. ‘I’m never going to let you go,’ he said. ‘Never.’ He wondered whether he was telling the truth; he hoped so. Please God, he thought, let it be so.

  ‘The war can’t go on forever,’ said Carla.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wish we had longer. I wish Volpe and Giorgio weren’t coming tonight.’

  ‘Maybe I can stay a while longer in the barn,’ he said.

  She laid her head against his chest and linked her hands around his neck. ‘I’m never going to forget this,’ she said. ‘Never. Not as long as I live.’ She kissed him again then said, ‘We must go back to the farm.’

  Edward pushed open the door and there was the world again. It seemed to him as though a spell had been broken. Outside, the birds were singing, the woods were alive with sound. Through the trees, he saw a pair of buzzards circling. Carla gripped his hand.

  ‘Eduardo, never tell a soul about this place. It must be our secret.’

  ‘I promise.’ He stopped and held her tightly to him once more. ‘Carla, I’ll never let you down. Never. I promise you that.’

  Over supper, he did not listen to the others’ conversation. He could not stop thinking about the momentous events of that morning. Since she had left for home an hour before, he had felt delirium one moment and anguish the next. He longed for the next time he would see her, and wondered whether she was thinking about him too. ‘Will you tell your parents about us?’ he had asked her as they’d walked back down to the farm.

  ‘I think they’ve already guessed what you mean to me,’ she had told him. ‘I haven’t been known to spend so much time with a man before.’ That had relieved him, too. ‘But anyway,’ she had added, smiling coyly, ‘it’s none of their business.’

  He was surprised no-one else seemed to have noticed the sea change in his life; but neither Eleva, Orfeo, nor the girls looked at him differently or said anything that would suggest they knew what had happened between him and Carla, and so he said no
thing.

  ‘You’re quiet tonight,’ said Eleva eventually, as Edward helped her clear the plates. ‘Are you all right?’

  Edward nodded. ‘Yes – sorry.’

  ‘There’s much to think about these days,’ she said, smiling kindly.

  ‘There is,’ he agreed.

  Outside in the yard the dog suddenly began barking furiously. ‘They’re here,’ said Orfeo, and banging his fist on the table, told the girls to go upstairs. ‘We have things to talk about,’ he said, waving them away. ‘Eleva, get some more wine, will you?’

  Volpe and Giorgio came in and Orfeo gestured to them to sit at the table.

  ‘We’ve left a guard outside on the lane,’ said Volpe. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  Orfeo shook his head. ‘No, of course not, although we have the best guard in the world in that stupid hound of ours.’

  The two men chuckled.

  ‘How’s the shoulder?’ Volpe asked Edward.

  ‘Not so bad. Pretty good, really.’

  ‘Good enough to fire a rifle?’

  ‘I haven’t tried. Good enough for my pistol, though.’

  ‘Good – you still have it?’

  Edward nodded.

  Eleva brought the wine, and placed some chipped tumblers on the table.

  ‘So, how many are there of you now?’ Orfeo asked them as he poured out four glasses.

  ‘More and more,’ said Volpe. ‘Since March people have been coming daily. A few old soldiers, but mostly men from the class of 1922–25. The problem is the lack of arms. There are a few fascist barracks around here, so we can raid those, but really we need help from the Allies. A few air drops, before the Germans work out what we’re doing up here.’

  Edward nodded. ‘I want to help, but what do you think I can do?’

  ‘A lot. You’re an officer, to start with. That gives you authority, and you have military training.’

  ‘I’m a pilot. I’ve no infantry training.’

  ‘Listen, you’re a squadron leader. I know you are – I could see that on your battle blouse. You know how to organise men.’ Edward wondered about that, but Volpe continued. ‘And you speak English. That will be helpful when we try and make contact with the Allies, and when the armies in the south finally reach us. Tell me, Eduardo, how much do you know about what is going on here?’