A/N : Hey guys! I really hope you like this story! I know I should be updating "Running Ghost" before I start writing another fic, but I just have to get this one out there while I still want to write it! Thank you all so much for the suport you've shown me... you're the reason I keep writing! Love you guys!
"Look at the wide-eyed little one. Bet he's not even old enough to shave."
"I'll bet his mother ain't, either! Damn Italians!" The German soldiers laughed as they passed around vodka, knowing that David Malucci couldn't understand a word they said.
Luka sat near Dave with his head bowed, resting.
"Here boy! Take a drink!" The intoxicated soldier pushed the bottle into Dave's face. Although he may not have understood what the German soldiers were saying, it was clear that they were mocking him. Dave tried his best to ignore the men. He knew what it was like to be teased.
"What's the matter? Not man enough to drink?!" The German laughed and held the bottle closer to Dave's face as his friends behind him laughed hysterically. Encouraged, the soldier continued with what he thought were his humorous antics.
"Come on, say something!" Dave tried not to look at him. His breath reeked with alcohol. "Did your dirty whore of a mother breed you in a gutter?!" The man didn't get a chance to laugh at his own obscene joke as Luka quickly reached out and grabbed his arm that held the vodka. The drunken soldier turned to face him. Luka's face was hard as stone.
"Leave. Him. Alone."
"Or what? You'll kill me? You'd hurt a comrade for having fun with a damn wop? You and I both know the only reason fuhrer shipped them Italians here was to die in masses while we cover our backs!" Luka grabbed the bottle and quickly smashed it against the wall, causing Dave, who had been watching attentively, to jump slightly. He looked to Luka who kept his tight grip on the soldier's arm a moment as they continued to lock eyes before letting go and slowly leaning back against the wall of the abandoned livery.
The soldier silently scuffled back to his friends, muttering curses in German.
Dave continued to watch the now calm Luka. "Why did you do that?" he asked in Italian.
"Do what?" Luka's gaze was fas fixed on a bombed out portion of the stone wall.
"Defend me."
Luka smiled. "How do you know I was defending you? You don't speak German."
Dave chuckled and looked down as there was a pause between them.
"Because of what he said..." Luka broke the silence. "Because, he thinks that he is better than us just because he is German."
"Better than us?"
Luka smiled faintly. "I am Croatian. I was born and raised there. It is my country, my heart... I miss it."
"Then, why are you in the German army? And how did you learn Italian?"
Luka's smile broadened. "I know many languages. Italian, German, French, English... Croatian."
Dave smiled. "I wish I knew so many."
"Maybe, someday, if you practice. I can teach you some." Dave smiled and glanced at their superior officer who sat in a dark corner and had watched the earlier dispute without interest. He now hummed a patriotic German song to himself and rocked back and forth. Luka also watched, then sadly tore his eyes away. "I first came to Germany to hear the fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, speak. He had many interesting things to say and ideas to share. It made much sense, and I listened to him. He inspired me, and I believed in the dream of a better Germany, and therefore a better world. I joined his army," he gazed out of the shell hole once more, his eyes distant. Dave struggled to understand what he was talking about. Nothing in his short life had prepared him for war, and he sensed that it must be the same with the man before him. "I've done terrible things, David. Terrible things. And the worst part is... I don't believe anymore. All I see is death and despair when we are supposed to be helping better the world... I can't believe anymore. Do you understand what I mean?"
Dave was silent, drawing aimless shapes in the dirt with a stick. Luka waited for a response. "Luka?" When Dave finally looked up his brown eyes were innocent. "What's a fuhrer?" he grinned sheepishly, happy to see Luka laugh at his comment.
"A fuhrer is a leader, a commander. Like Mussolini."
"I hate Mussolini."
"Why?"
"My father believed in him. He went to battle because of him. Mussolini thinks he can make Italy as powerful as it was in the days of the Ceasars. I think he's crazy, but my father told me I was too young to make a judgment like that. Now he's dead."
"I'm sorry."
Dave shrugged and continued to doodle on the ground.
"If you hate Mussolini so much, why do you fight?"
"Soldiers came to my house. They told me I had to. I didn't want to make my mother cry but I went anyway. All of my friends are in the war. They told me I have to do what is right for my country. I don't see how killing the English and Russians will help my country, but I suppose others do. There has to be some sense in it all, doesn't there?"
Luka paused before answering. "I don't know."
Dave's face was hard with anger.
"So," Luka cleared his throat, prepared to change the dismal subject, "where are you from?"
Brown met blue again.
"Southern Italy; it's warm there... an ocean wind... my house is on a cliff overlooking the sea. When you stand on the ledge or on my roof you can see the water for miles," Dave was smiling now, remembering his beautiful home. "My grandmother and mother keep the most beautiful garden. Flowers, vegetables, and tomatoes. The best tomatoes in Italy. My mother's family has always kept tomatoes ever since we can remember. They are descended from the plants of our ancestors."
Luka laughed at his spike in enthusiasm. "What do you do with the tomatoes?"
"We sell them. My mother always loved to set up shop in the market and talk to the people who wandered by."
"She sounds lovely."
"She is..." Malucci's face turned contemplative. He glanced at the German soldiers who were now falling asleep. The sergeant continued to rock back and forth, humming. Dave tried to ignore the dread that crept up into him when he surveyed the scene. God, he wanted to be out of this place. Anywhere... he'd die just to feel the Mediterranean sun again. "So... how old are you, Luka?"
"Twenty-five."
"Twenty-five?"
"Yes."
"Oh... you just... seem older..."
He smiled sadly. "War does that to a man. You already seem older than you were this afternoon when we met."
Dave laughed. "My birthday's in a month, I think. I will be twenty."
"We're just a couple of old men, then, aren't we?"
They laughed some more, grateful for each other's company in the stillness of the frosty night air.
"Well, I'm an old man who needs my sleep," Dave lay down.
"Goodnight old geezer," Luka laughed. He was more than happy to go to sleep with laughter on his lips; something that he hadn't felt in a long time.
The ground was cold and hard, like the air, but exhausted as they were the two men were soon sleeping just as deeply as their German comrades.
"Look at the wide-eyed little one. Bet he's not even old enough to shave."
"I'll bet his mother ain't, either! Damn Italians!" The German soldiers laughed as they passed around vodka, knowing that David Malucci couldn't understand a word they said.
Luka sat near Dave with his head bowed, resting.
"Here boy! Take a drink!" The intoxicated soldier pushed the bottle into Dave's face. Although he may not have understood what the German soldiers were saying, it was clear that they were mocking him. Dave tried his best to ignore the men. He knew what it was like to be teased.
"What's the matter? Not man enough to drink?!" The German laughed and held the bottle closer to Dave's face as his friends behind him laughed hysterically. Encouraged, the soldier continued with what he thought were his humorous antics.
"Come on, say something!" Dave tried not to look at him. His breath reeked with alcohol. "Did your dirty whore of a mother breed you in a gutter?!" The man didn't get a chance to laugh at his own obscene joke as Luka quickly reached out and grabbed his arm that held the vodka. The drunken soldier turned to face him. Luka's face was hard as stone.
"Leave. Him. Alone."
"Or what? You'll kill me? You'd hurt a comrade for having fun with a damn wop? You and I both know the only reason fuhrer shipped them Italians here was to die in masses while we cover our backs!" Luka grabbed the bottle and quickly smashed it against the wall, causing Dave, who had been watching attentively, to jump slightly. He looked to Luka who kept his tight grip on the soldier's arm a moment as they continued to lock eyes before letting go and slowly leaning back against the wall of the abandoned livery.
The soldier silently scuffled back to his friends, muttering curses in German.
Dave continued to watch the now calm Luka. "Why did you do that?" he asked in Italian.
"Do what?" Luka's gaze was fas fixed on a bombed out portion of the stone wall.
"Defend me."
Luka smiled. "How do you know I was defending you? You don't speak German."
Dave chuckled and looked down as there was a pause between them.
"Because of what he said..." Luka broke the silence. "Because, he thinks that he is better than us just because he is German."
"Better than us?"
Luka smiled faintly. "I am Croatian. I was born and raised there. It is my country, my heart... I miss it."
"Then, why are you in the German army? And how did you learn Italian?"
Luka's smile broadened. "I know many languages. Italian, German, French, English... Croatian."
Dave smiled. "I wish I knew so many."
"Maybe, someday, if you practice. I can teach you some." Dave smiled and glanced at their superior officer who sat in a dark corner and had watched the earlier dispute without interest. He now hummed a patriotic German song to himself and rocked back and forth. Luka also watched, then sadly tore his eyes away. "I first came to Germany to hear the fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, speak. He had many interesting things to say and ideas to share. It made much sense, and I listened to him. He inspired me, and I believed in the dream of a better Germany, and therefore a better world. I joined his army," he gazed out of the shell hole once more, his eyes distant. Dave struggled to understand what he was talking about. Nothing in his short life had prepared him for war, and he sensed that it must be the same with the man before him. "I've done terrible things, David. Terrible things. And the worst part is... I don't believe anymore. All I see is death and despair when we are supposed to be helping better the world... I can't believe anymore. Do you understand what I mean?"
Dave was silent, drawing aimless shapes in the dirt with a stick. Luka waited for a response. "Luka?" When Dave finally looked up his brown eyes were innocent. "What's a fuhrer?" he grinned sheepishly, happy to see Luka laugh at his comment.
"A fuhrer is a leader, a commander. Like Mussolini."
"I hate Mussolini."
"Why?"
"My father believed in him. He went to battle because of him. Mussolini thinks he can make Italy as powerful as it was in the days of the Ceasars. I think he's crazy, but my father told me I was too young to make a judgment like that. Now he's dead."
"I'm sorry."
Dave shrugged and continued to doodle on the ground.
"If you hate Mussolini so much, why do you fight?"
"Soldiers came to my house. They told me I had to. I didn't want to make my mother cry but I went anyway. All of my friends are in the war. They told me I have to do what is right for my country. I don't see how killing the English and Russians will help my country, but I suppose others do. There has to be some sense in it all, doesn't there?"
Luka paused before answering. "I don't know."
Dave's face was hard with anger.
"So," Luka cleared his throat, prepared to change the dismal subject, "where are you from?"
Brown met blue again.
"Southern Italy; it's warm there... an ocean wind... my house is on a cliff overlooking the sea. When you stand on the ledge or on my roof you can see the water for miles," Dave was smiling now, remembering his beautiful home. "My grandmother and mother keep the most beautiful garden. Flowers, vegetables, and tomatoes. The best tomatoes in Italy. My mother's family has always kept tomatoes ever since we can remember. They are descended from the plants of our ancestors."
Luka laughed at his spike in enthusiasm. "What do you do with the tomatoes?"
"We sell them. My mother always loved to set up shop in the market and talk to the people who wandered by."
"She sounds lovely."
"She is..." Malucci's face turned contemplative. He glanced at the German soldiers who were now falling asleep. The sergeant continued to rock back and forth, humming. Dave tried to ignore the dread that crept up into him when he surveyed the scene. God, he wanted to be out of this place. Anywhere... he'd die just to feel the Mediterranean sun again. "So... how old are you, Luka?"
"Twenty-five."
"Twenty-five?"
"Yes."
"Oh... you just... seem older..."
He smiled sadly. "War does that to a man. You already seem older than you were this afternoon when we met."
Dave laughed. "My birthday's in a month, I think. I will be twenty."
"We're just a couple of old men, then, aren't we?"
They laughed some more, grateful for each other's company in the stillness of the frosty night air.
"Well, I'm an old man who needs my sleep," Dave lay down.
"Goodnight old geezer," Luka laughed. He was more than happy to go to sleep with laughter on his lips; something that he hadn't felt in a long time.
The ground was cold and hard, like the air, but exhausted as they were the two men were soon sleeping just as deeply as their German comrades.
