Palermo, 1988
Antonio sipped his wine.
"They continued like this, for many months. Your father would join Ana in the kitchen any time she closed down the restaurant alone. She was a feisty one, your mother. Determined not to let someone else dictate her future. Your father was very patient, very respectful of her. I think he loved her from the beginning. But they were just friends, he never tried to kiss her - which was not like your father, if I am being honest," Tony and Antonio shared a smirk. "He wanted to earn her trust. But over time, they became closer, and I think she began to fall deeply in love with your father too. By then of course, they had a new problem."
"Her father?" Tony guessed.
"Si. Their parents. And the war. They had been almost like brothers since they were little boys. The war went on, and their fathers got in a very heated argument. Then they quietly never spoke again. You see, your grandfather was opposed to Mussolini, but only his closest friends knew. Even Vincente would not betray him. But your father was very disappointed in his friend, and Vincente in your grandfather. They called off the arranged marriage, of course. And so, Tomasso and Ana had to be more careful about being seen together."
"Gee, it's like Romeo and Juliet come to life," Tony said, glancing at Angela.
"It's very much like that," Antonio agreed. "So they began meeting at my place after Ana got off work. Just as friends, still. They were very different people but they – how do I put this – looked at the world the same way. It was my brother's apartment, but he had been drafted, and my sister and I were living there to look after it while he was away."
"Ah, so Ana could say she was visiting your sister," Angela said, putting the pieces together. She knew Ana's parents wouldn't likely approve of Ana going to a man's apartment after dark.
"Yes, my sister and Ana were close. She, and your parents," Antonio looked at Tony, "were the first members of our resistance network, formed by myself and my friend Leonardo. His codename was Paolo, studying medicine at the University. We called ourselves i Fantasmi - "the Ghosts. Leonardo had a crush on your mother, I think, but she was very guarded with her affections." He took a slow, pensive sip of wine before adding, "Her heart was always with Tomasso, I think."
Angela snuck a glace in Tony's direction; he had gone somewhere far away. Feeling his gaze on him, he met her eyes and gave her a soft smile.
Antonio continued, "Ana's parents lived just a few blocks from my brother, so it was easy for her to get to our apartment, and being a friend of Clara's, she did not arouse any suspicion. Tomasso and Ana's friendship wasn't known to their parents anyway, as he always managed to slip out before they got home, to avoid any concerns of impropriety. They were lucky it began as quietly as it did."
"Were you painting frescoes then?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I was. They took a darker turn back then," he said. "They provided a good cover. No one really suspected a small, quiet fresco painter to be organizing the resistance," he sipped his wine with a small, triumphant smile. Angela wanted to hug this gentle man. How many more quiet heroes were there still living with these stories?
"So Antonio, when did my parents...fall in love? Was it after the war?"
"Oh no, well before that," he said with a chuckle. "But it did take some time. They began working with me in the resistance, and, of course, now their love would not be welcomed by either of their families. And as the war went on, your father began spending more time in the country due to the heavy air raids in Palermo."
Eventually, he was drafted and refused to fight for Mussolini and Hitler. He had to go into hiding. At that point, we had connected with an English spy, who helped him train a sort of guerilla army of boys and young men. They were called the Gappisti- partisan fighters. Very dangerous work. The intention was to prepare them for Operation Husky. His code name was James Morton."
Palermo, late May, 1943
Ana stepped out into the street from her parents' restaurant, bathed briefly by the dimmed streetlamp's tangerine glow. The dimmed streetlights, which were dimmed on her street due to the nearby hospital, were now the only source of light in the city, as all the other in-tact buildings were dark due to the air raid blackouts. She stayed along the edge and hurried as she walked, darting through the patches of darkness, hoping she could make it to Antonio's without being stopped.
Tomasso was to be at the apartment for the first time in a month, or so she hoped. She had pinned back her hair and donned her tidiest looking frock for the occasion. By now, all of her clothes were dreadfully worn and repeatedly mended, but this one was at least a cheery dusty rose color, peppered with a ditzy floral print. The air was sticky and stifling; upon arrival at the apartment, she used a handkerchief to dab the sweat from her brow and neck.
She wasn't sure when or how things had changed between her and Tomasso. Initially, she bristled at his insistence on helping her in the kitchen, but she soon found she looked forward to his visits. There was so little to look forward to these days, and the warmth and security she found in his easy, amiable companionship took her completely by surprise. She realized somewhat guiltily that Tomasso was much brighter than she'd given him credit for. And, she admitted to herself, he had a smile that made her feel seen.
And he did see her. One day, walking back from the hospital where they had been volunteering, Clara invited Ana to her apartment that evening. When she arrived, she was surprised to find Tomasso there, along with Antonio and another man she didn't know, who was Paolo. She eagerly agreed to be a part, and found herself immediately invigorated by the mission; she didn't care that it was dangerous. She was relieved to be doing something - anything - to help. She learned later that it was Tomasso who had encouraged Clara to ask Ana to join their circle; he had felt strongly that she would be an asset to the group.
They had all become closely bonded these last few years in Antonio's cozy apartment, but their meetings always demanded that their attention remain fixed on the tasks at hand. Neither of them could afford to linger too long; there was far too much at stake. Just being found together could result in them all being arrested for questioning, or worse, killed.
Their tasks had begun with small but meaningful actions; taping propaganda posters up and dropping fliers in mailboxes. They dispersed all over the city and dropped them in different zones in the dark of night, and, when appropriate, during the day. They coordinated a prison break. As the war went on, Tomasso began recruiting and training a ragtag group of boys and men in guerilla warfare, many too young to fight; some, like him, too disillusioned.
In 1941, James Morton, an allied spy and a skilled pianist (what they called one who was specially trained to work the complicated SOE radios) sought out the Fantasmi. He was critical to their operations, and took turns sleeping off and on in their networks of different safe houses, and abandoned farm houses, to keep from having his radio signal discovered. When there was no safe house available, he took refuge in the caves near Tomasso's home.
Her father's restaurant, and his fascist leanings provided excellent cover for Ana; the Germans believed the restaurant was a sympathetic meeting spot, and no one suspected that she was regularly feeding information to the Allies. Still, being in the resistance was increasingly dangerous work; resistance attacks often resulted in
For the first time in her life, Ana was lucky her father held such little regard for her as he did. He had always lamented the fact that he had two daughters and no sons; he had little regard for women's abilities outside of their usefulness in homemaking and raising children. Even he was completely oblivious to her actions, and she was careful to always seem to be in agreement with his increasingly belligerent rants. His mind could not be changed, and she couldn't appear to feel any trace of dissension.
Ana had begun learning German four years ago at the suggestion of Antonio, who said it could be helpful to them as her father's restaurant was popular among the Germans. At first, Tomasso worried her spying at the restaurant was too dangerous, but her father's fascist leanings provided an excellent cover for Ana. She wasn't fluent, but she understood much more than she could speak, thankfully - as she had no need to speak it. She was careful to seem completely oblivious to their discussions, and used her polite charm to make them think she was a demure, simple-minded Italian woman who was sympathetic to the Fascist cause.
Tomasso's visits to Antonio's apartment became more sporadic as he remained in the field for months at a time. They had begun training in a patch of remote woods near his own house, far enough from the estate that even his parents were oblivious to the activity. But German and Fascist activity of late had demanded that they move to a location further removed from the city to evade detection, and Tomasso was at the mercy of the fishermen and workmen in their network to give him a ride in to meet with the Fantasmi when he required it. Lately, as the Germans were growing increasingly erratic, it felt safer for all involved if he stayed put.
Ana checked her watch. She was an hour and a half later than they were expecting her to be; hopefully Tomasso was still there. It had been a long night feeding the increasingly testy Germans, who stayed as long as they wished drinking copious amounts of wine, growing more bold in their advances as the night wore on. She gritted her teeth and smiled politely as she returned hands to their rightful owners, knowing that her position as their seemingly innocent, coquettish waitress offered a lot in the way of her access to intelligence. And tonight, she was pleased to have a great deal to report. She knocked lightly, two rapid knocks followed by one knock.
Tomasso's relieved face greeted her. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the apartment, folding her into a tight embrace and kissing her on the cheek.
"Ana, we thought you'd been arrested."
She shook her head and smiled. "No, just held up by some rowdy Germans insistent on drinking every last bottle we have. But I have some good news," she beamed at Tomasso. "And you shouldn't be answering the door," she poked him in the chest. "What if I'd been someone else?"
A hand slipped down her waist as his eyes twinkled. "You knocked correctly."
She tucked a package, three small parcels tied with string into his hands. "Lasagna. Polenta cakes. Biscotti. The biscotti should last you awhile."
These were precious gifts; the price of pasta had skyrocketed in Italy. Only the Germans could afford to eat at the restaurant now, and Ana's family had strict rations they adhered to.
He kissed her again on the cheek. "Thank you, Ana." He reached into his pockets and presented a sachet of lavender, and a chocolate bar.
"Where did you –"
He grinned. "I have my ways. The uh, sachet is made from one of my old handkerchiefs. I've had a lot of time on my hands these days," he joked. "To help you sleep," he added quietly.
She fingered the embroidered initials and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its sweet scent. It smelled powerfully of lavender, but also of his scent; faint hints of cologne and pomade mingled deliciously with the lavender, delivering with them a sense of calm she hadn't felt in many, many months.
"Thank you," she said, her pulse quickening as she looked up at him under her eyelashes. "I think I'll have sweet dreams with this."
The last time they met at Antonio's, she was particularly weary. Her sister's husband had been badly injured in the early May bombings – the deadliest raids yet – and her schoolmate Gina had been killed in a shelter that collapsed during a night raid. So many schoolmates, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, gone - vanishing from their lives as if they had evaporated. The next day, the town gathered to remove the bodies, one by one as the survivors, if there were any, wept in the dust and smoke. But there was little time to mourn the dead properly. Neighbors did what they could to prop up the grieving, but in truth, they were all grieving. It was a nightmarish routine that had become a bizarrely ordinary part of their lives. The night bombings were the worst. Whole families, homes, children - all decimated.
Palermo had become a ghost town. There were still inhabitants to be sure, but the once plump women who strolled the streets arm in arm, gossiping on the way to the beauty parlor were now bony and gaunt, the life zapped from their eyes, their hair only brushed, and covered by a bandana to protect from the dust. And children, dirty and dusty, clad in tattered clothes and homemade shoes crudely fashioned from wood and leather. But they too, looked like ghosts, wandering the smoking, dusty ruins of their former neighborhoods, livelihoods. Schools. Playgrounds.
Some days, the air was thick enough to crush a soul.
Her family was fortunate; their business, and by extension their home, was still in tact, thanks to their proximity to the hospital and the Germans' insatiable appetites for her mother's veal piccata. Food was their salvation. Their restaurant was only patronized by Germans, and Fascist polizia, but it was the most popular gathering spot in town for those in uniform. But most - almost all - weren't so lucky. The lines for bread queued earlier each week. Eggs were a delicacy; all food was becoming a scarcity. As was sleep. She hardly slept at all anymore.
Ana stepped into the apartment and saw Antonio, Paolo, and Clara huddled around a short wave radio at the kitchen table. Radio Londra was the BBC radio network that allowed them to hear the latest developments of the war in mainland Europe. It was forbidden in Sicily, of course, so they had to keep it at a low volume.
"It appears the Germans are convinced Sardinia and Corsica are the targets of the Allied invasion," Ana said brightly. "They are sending reinforcements there and leaving only a few regiments to cover Sicily."
"Ana, are you sure?" Paolo asked.
She nodded, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as she nervously found her voice. "I heard them discussing it tonight. The highest ranking German officers are leaving Palermo for Sardinia tomorrow." She recounted the quiet discussion she'd heard between the two officers, and how she'd used mopping up a careless spill of a water glass to continue listening in on their conversation.
Paolo looked at Antonio. "We need to radio James. Right away."
Tomasso smirked. "I guess they think our ragtag army will hold the line if we get attacked. Fat chance. They are a bunch of exhausted sitting ducks." he said.
Antonio nodded. "No question. Morale is non-existant. But we need to be ready to ensure the Teds' hasty retreat."
"It sounds like whatever ruse they cooked up worked. This was the best case scenario. I'll tell the boys to be ready," Tomasso said, rising from his chair with a new fire in his eyes.
"The boys" were the guerrilla fighters Tomasso was heading up. The group had grown exponentially over the last few years, as more and more people grew disillusioned with Il Duce, and the war. Following the bombing, propaganda leaflets would rain down, reminding citizens and soldiers that they were hostages of the Fascist regime, and encouraging them to protest Fascism and not collaborate with the Germans. The campaign was working; the heavy bombings, combined with the lack of food, left Italians weary and morale was collapsing.
Per Mr. Morton, they would be receiving an air drop of supplies and arms soon after it was clear the Germans had been diverted to Greece. They were to await the code word, "The hen laid a chocolate egg," over Radio Londra, and assemble in the field near the Micelli estate at 2 AM to give them the best chance of receiving the crate of supplies undetected. They knew the code word was imminent now.
Ana followed Tomasso to the alcove in the entryway. She cast a glance back to the kitchen. The others were immersed in the two-way radio. She took his hands.
"Tomas. Be careful."
"Of course I will."
"Will you get word to Paolo, after the drop - to let us know you're safe?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"You'll be in the cave?"
He nodded. "Ana...things are going to escalate. I think the air raids will get worse. If it gets too bad in town..."
"I'll be okay. It's already bad in town. The restaurant is so close to the hospital. So far, we've remained safe because of that."
He nodded. "The dwindling German numbers are encouraging. I don't think they're going to be able to sniff out the drop...but here, I worry. Ever since Gina..."
She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "I'll be okay, Tomas. Don't worry."
"If it gets too bad, come to the country. You know my parents will take you in."
Tomasso had been camping in the cave near their house, in part to keep his parents and his younger siblings Aldo and Rosa out of the fray of suspicion, and in part because he had been drafted, and would be immediately arrested if discovered. His father had put up a half-hearted front of supporting Il Duce, if only to keep his wife and children safe, and was surreptitiously slipping food and supplies to his son for the resistance. If anyone asked, their son had gone missing in the air raids, a fairly common occurrence these days.
Tomasso had grown a beard; his lanky body was now fit and chiseled. A fisherman in their network smuggled him in in a flat box in his truck, covered by a tarp and crates of fish. So far, the smelly fish had enabled them to evade detection; no one searching at the roadblock cared enough to mess with them. Tomasso was grateful for his friend's hot shower on his arrival. The way home was always dicier, but he had been cutting through the fields from town since he was a boy - the rows of vines and darkness provided excellent cover, and allowed him to evade the roadblocks.
She held his gaze a moment, leaning against the door to the coat closet, studying his chocolate eyes, framed by his tanned, weathered skin. It was strange to her now that she once saw him as an impossible, arrogant flirt. He had become her closest friend, a man she was proud to know; a man who was thoughtful, and kind, and courageous.
She reached up to his face and stroked it gently, then pulled him in for a kiss.
Her first.
He was stunned, but elated, and eagerly reciprocated.
By now, he hoped she felt some type of affection for him. But the war, their parents, and now, even their solid friendship, had made it easier to keep things as they were. But the intensity of their connection shifted instantly under the spell of their kiss – by the softness of her lips, the delicious taste of her, the way her fingers began threading his hair. His hands cupped the sides of her face.
"Ana," he breathed, unable to resist grazing her bottom lip with his thumb. "I want to marry you."
She pulled back, just enough to look at him, her lips twitching into a tiny smile. "I guess that was some kiss."
"No, not the kiss. Well, the kiss, it was great. The best kiss of my life," he smiled. "But I - I've wanted to marry you for years. I've been in love with you...for years," he stammered. "At night, when I'm in the hideout, all I think about is you. You are la luce della mi vita in the midst of so much darkness."
Her eyes glistened. She looked down at their hands, still joined. "The war..."
"Blast this stupid war. Why does any of that matter? If anything, it should make us seize the moment. Tomorrow isn't promised to us, Ana. I want to be with you."
"I want to be with you too, Tomas. But, my father...our parents. We would have to elope."
He nodded. "I understand if you can't do that."
She muttered, not meeting his eyes, "Papa has gotten so angry these days. He drinks himself into a stupor. He's obsessed with winning the war. His ideas are so crazy, so out of touch with reality. I've never let him dictate my happiness. The biggest stand I ever took with him was, ironically, refusing to marry you. And now...I think I can't let him stop me." She looked up at him, hopefully, surprised by the rush of power she felt in vocalizing her feelings, and taking control of her destiny for the first time.
He brushed his lips against their joined hands. "Not much longer. If the Allies' plan works."
She replied with a sad smile. If. If. If. Every day was stacked with more uncertainty, and a little less hope. She was tired of if. Tired of worrying. She sighed as she cracked open the door and peered down the hallway.
"Be careful." She noticed how he licked his lips, ever so slightly and pursed his lips as he leaned in and gave her a quick, tender kiss. She could get used to those, she thought.
She squeezed his hand. "You too," she replied quietly. With a wistful duck of her head, she slipped into the hall and back into the black night.
