We Were Soldiers
122. Bella Ciao
"What do we do with a drunken sailor?
What do we do with a drunken sailor?
What do we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning!"
Danny sang to himself as he manhandled the yoke up the shallow hill from the well to the barn. He wasn't as good as Rosa or Adalina at balancing the thing on his neck without sloshing water from the buckets everywhere, but he was improving. A little. On the bright side, this type of work didn't particularly tax his shoulder, which was in dire need of rest after almost a full week of beating carpets, mopping floors and re-hanging curtains. With Matteo working the forge every day, Adalina watching over the goats in the high pasture, and Paolo in school, it had fallen to Danny to help Rosa with most of the spring-cleaning chores. It was the least he could do after all the help the family had given him.
Inside the barn, he was careful not to slop any water as he set the buckets down and used them to top up the trough. Spilt water meant the straw rotted faster and made the goats' fur damp. The kids were big enough now that golden eagles couldn't carry them away, so only one person needed to watch over them during the day, but they still came in for bedding every night. These days, Rosa feared human thieves more than anything. The war had displaced a lot of people, and though Castello Lavazzo was remote enough that they never really saw strangers, she was still wary about leaving the goats untended at night.
"Stick him in a long-boat till he's sober,
Stick him in a long-boat till he's sober,
Stick him in a long-boat till he's sober,
Early in the morning!"
It was a stupid song. Possibly not even a real shanty. At least, nobody on the Monticello had sung it, during its voyage to England. His Grandma from the Irish side of his family used to sing the song with different words, Irish lyrics that he didn't understand but enjoyed listening to all the same. Maybe that was the original, and it had been changed later, to fit the needs of sailors. Those nautical bastards would steal anything that wasn't nailed down.
Finished with the water, he spent a few minutes tossing down hay from the loft above. Now that they were on growing pasture, the goats didn't need a lot of overnight feed, but they did appreciate a little something to chew on. Before too much longer the kids would be fattened up for slaughter, and Rosa would be back to milking her goats and selling her cheeses. Life would go on as it always had, in the sleepy little village of Castello Lavazzo.
With the hay done, he climbed down the ladder and tested his shoulder by rotating it a few times. It was stiff, still a little sore, but no longer painful to the touch. He really had overdone it, these past few days. In an effort to push himself into getting fitter and stronger, he'd forgotten that he'd taken a bullet to the arm. No matter how much he pushed himself, that arm would never work the same again. Sure, he'd be able to do most things, but he'd probably never carry a rifle, nor a heavy duffel bag. Probably wouldn't be able to dig a trench, either. He was looking at a desk job at best. A medical discharge at worst. At least if he stayed in the war, he could be useful. If he got a discharge, he'd have to go home. Nothing left for him there.
He stopped mid-step, the thoughts spinning around in his mind. Of course, all of that was only relevant if he decided to leave. If he stayed, married Adalina, became a part of Rosa's family… well, it didn't matter. He wouldn't need to carry a rifle or a duffel bag, or dig a trench. All of that was in the past. He would have a new life.
He made his way to the house, where Rosa was cooking up a batch of bread made from flour and the leaves of wild garlic. It smelled amazing. She'd taught him a little something of cooking, and though he would never be able to match her skill, he could finally appreciate how much hard work went into a good meal. And Rosa made good meals. Nothing like the bland meat and steamed veg he'd grown up on, or the US Army rations that had featured so heavily in his life more recently. The Italians cooked with much more flavour. Just one more reason to stay.
"Do you need me to do anything?" he asked. "Peel onions? Chop carrots? Sing you a rousing sea shanty?"
She scoffed. "I've heard you singing, so no thank you. How is your arm?"
"Fine," he lied. "Good as new. Can't even remember which one got shot."
"You are a terrible liar, Danny. It is good for you that you don't attempt it often. But yes, you can chop all the vegetables for tonight's dinner, if you like. We'll be having soup, so make sure you cut them fine. It releases more flavour and makes it easier to strain out."
He worked for a few minutes in silence, settling into a rhythmic chop chop chop. Rosa had shown him the best ways to chop fast without cutting himself, but it was still a bit of a work in progress. If he didn't concentrate, he usually ended up nicking himself with the blade. Matteo had made the knives in his own forge, and they were the sharpest thing Danny had ever encountered in his life. It was probably possible to shave with the things, though he daren't try.
A distant sound reached his ears, and he frowned as he tried to filter it out and focus on the chopping. But the sound grew louder and louder, until it was recognisable as the voice of Paolo calling for his mother. And there was something more… an edge of terror to it. Something Danny had never heard from the boy.
Rosa rushed out, and he was right behind her. Red-faced and sweaty, Paolo came sprinting up from the direction of the village. His coat was only half-buttoned and the flap of his school bag was open. As soon as he saw his mother he fell to the ground at her feet and gasped in air as he let out a litany of Italian too fast and too frantic for Danny to understand. Rosa's face turned a shade whiter as she helped Paolo to his feet then pushed him in the direction of the cellar.
"Come with me, quickly," she said, grabbing Danny by his sleeve and physically hauling him into the house. From a peg she brought down the satchel Danny often took when he went out mapping, and shoved several wrinkly apples and pears inside it, along with one of the fresh loaves of bread. This she thrust into his arms before dragging him back outside.
"What's going on, Rosa?" He'd never seen her afraid. Never. It was enough to send a chill of terror down his spine.
"Germans. A small squad, coming this way."
"Maybe it's just a patrol?" The Germans did send patrols to the village, every few weeks. Though the Italians had overthrown their dictator and switched sides to the Allies, the Germans weren't about to let them out from under their thumb.
She shook her head. "They have dogs. And they are not going to the village; they are coming here."
Footsteps came racing up from the cellar, resolving into Paolo, a rucksack in his arms. Danny's rucksack, the one he'd been wearing the day he'd been shot. It had his uniform inside, along with the tags of the men who'd died. That was where she'd been hiding it?!
She took it from her son and helped Danny strap it onto his back. "Go to the house in the woods," she said. "You know the one. You must wait there until I come for you."
"What? No, Rosa, I can't leave you. Those Germans—"
"I will deal with the Germans," she said, with much more confidence than Danny felt. "And I will throw off the dogs. But if they find you here, we will all be taken. You must leave, now. Go to the safe place and wait. Paolo, you will go up to the meadow and tell Adalina not to come down. And you will stay with her. Even if you have to stay out all night, stay together and keep with the herd for warmth."
A thousand objections passed through Danny's mind and died on his lips. She was right. Even if he was fighting fit, he had no weapon. Not even a lousy sidearm. He could do nothing at all to protect the people who had saved him. Nothing except leave, and hope to draw any pursuers away from the house. It wasn't fair. There ought to be more he could do for them. But if he stayed, they would die. They didn't deserve that.
"I'll go," he agreed. "But please be careful, Rosa. If they threaten you, I want you to turn me in. Just tell them where I am. I don't want anyone to be hurt because of me."
"Nobody will be hurt," she said, pushing him in the direction of the forest. "Now go. GO!"
He turned and ran, hating himself for acting like a coward, hating himself for not being able to do more. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Rosa's family weren't supposed to be in danger. But how had the Nazis found out he was here? And what would he do if they came for him?
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As soon as Danny was out of sight, and Paolo had set off at an exhausted sprint for the meadow where Adalina tended the goats, Rosa returned to her kitchen. Part of her had always feared this outcome. Though she would never point fingers, she'd always felt that some in the village looked askance at Danny. That they were suspicious of him, and did not believe that he was the son of Matteo's cousin. But… surely none of her people would turn to collaboration… would they? The Germans were the enemy. Who would do such a thing?
From her spice rack she took out a large glass pot full of ground paprika, and dropped it on the kitchen doorstep. A cloud of bright orange began to drift outward in all directions before settling on the ground. Too bad that was all she had, but it would have to do.
Next, she went to the bread oven and carefully reached behind it for the loose stone, which she wriggled out of its space with her fingertips. From the gap behind it she pulled out a pair of tags jangling on a metal chain. British tags that Matteo had acquired from his journey to Treviso earlier in the season. Whether she used them would depend on exactly how much the Germans knew. They were, at best, a way to buy time. She quickly tucked them into one of her terracotta pasta jars for easy access, then replaced the loose stone behind the oven.
That done, she grabbed a broom and began making sweeping motions at the dropped paprika pile, helping to spread it out a little more. All that was left to do was wait.
Only a few minutes later, the Germans arrived. Six of them, with a pair of dogs, great tall slobbering black things that sent spittle flying when they barked; and bark they did. The sound was deafening. Their handlers kept them back as a pair of Germans strode forward, directly towards her.
"Oberstleutnant," she said, noting the officer's stripes on the leading man's uniform, "if you have come for cheese I am afraid you are a little early; it will be a week or two before the goats have enough milk to make production worthwhile. Of course, I would be happy to supply you with any other provisions you may need, though most of our fruit and vegetables are a little withered by now."
"We are not here for cheese," the officer said. He was one of those blond-haired, blue-eyed Germans who seemed to look down his nose at everyone who didn't share his heritage. She'd met many Germans over the years, and not all seemed to be bad men, but some of them were very arrogant indeed. This was one such one. "We have been informed that an enemy soldier may be hiding out in this area, and have come to search your home and outbuildings."
"You were informed correctly," she said. "In fact, there were three men here, soldiers of the British Army. Two of them armed, one of them injured."
The men looked at each other. Germans looking for spies were used to outright denials; they had not expected her to confirm their suspicions. Human instinct was to make lies smaller than the truth. Making them seem bigger than the truth made them appear less like lies. Now they would wonder, why hadn't their report mentioned the other two enemy soldiers? Had somebody given false information? Why would anyone in their right mind lie about harbouring more enemy soldiers than was necessary?
"If there were enemy soldiers here, why did you not report this to our base?" the officer demanded. This unexpected direction had thrown him. Good. "You will tell us everything. Who were they? Which unit were they assigned to? How long ago were they here, and when exactly did they leave? What were the nature of their injuries?"
Rosa propped her broom against the wall and clasped her hands together in front of her apron, affecting her best air of contrite obedience. "I did not report it because it happened during Little Winter, when travel was all but impossible. They came in the night, bearing their guns, asking for safe harbour and treatment for their wounded serviceman. My husband… he tried to refuse them, to tell him to go away, but one of them struck him with the end of his gun, and threatened to shoot our children if we did not agree to help. The injured one had been shot, taken a bullet to his leg. I treated it as best I could, but the snow storms were too heavy for us to send for the physician. They stayed with us five days, then took a large portion of our food and left."
"Which direction did they head in?"
"Towards the Swiss border."
"And their names? Their ranks?"
She shook her head. "I'm not familiar with English ranks, and they did not give their names. One of them dropped his tags whilst he was here, and didn't realise. My son picked them up and hid them. I still have them, if that will help you?"
The man nodded, then turned to the men with the dogs. "Search the house first, then the barn. Check for hidden doors and hiding spaces."
Rosa tried very hard to keep her face neutral as the men brought the snarling dogs forward. As they approached, their teeth bared and hackles up, they suddenly changed, tails down between their legs as they yelped as if in pain. Both dogs tried to bolt, while at the same time pawing at their faces. A dog's sense of smell was much more sensitive than a human's, and they'd just gotten a good nose full of spicy paprika. It would put them out of action for a while.
"You should keep your dogs away," she said belatedly. "I dropped my jar of paprika, and there is glass all over the ground. It may cut their feet. Please be careful where you step as well; I wouldn't want the glass to become lodged in your boots!"
"Take the dogs to the barn," the officer snarled. "The rest of you, turn this place inside out."
And turn it inside out they did. Every room checked, every cupboard opened, every bed searched. While the others made a mess of her home, Rosa retrieved the tags from the terracotta jar and handed them over to the officer. He examined them but said nothing. This was where everything might fall apart. If someone had overheard Danny speaking English, and reported to the Germans that it was an American soldier hiding out here, those tags would earn Rosa—and probably her whole family—a swift execution. But if they did not know the real situation, if all they had was the rumour of a stranger at the blacksmith's home, then this just might work. It had to work.
After they'd finished with the house, they gave the barn a thorough search, even going so far as to tip over the water trough to check the ground beneath it for potential hidden trap stabbed their bayonets into the hay in the loft above, and opened all the milk churns despite them being far too small to hide a person. Eventually the officer spoke quietly with the dog handlers, who both shook their heads. The dogs had ceased their barking and whining, and looked very red and swollen around the eyes. Good!
"How many people live here?" the officer asked her.
"Me and my husband, our son and daughter, and my husband's nephew," she said.
"And where are they now?"
"My husband is at work in the forge; he is Castello Lavazzo's blacksmith. My son and daughter are tending our goats in the high meadow, protecting them from the eagles that prey on the young kids. My husband's nephew has taken a business trip to Treviso, to seek out new suppliers of iron for the forge."
"And which way did you say these soldiers went when they left?"
"North. Towards Switzerland. They hoped to find sanctuary there."
"Brave men, to risk those passes in Little Winter," the officer observed.
"Desperate men," she agreed. "But I was not sorry to see them go. I did not like the way one of them kept looking at my daughter. I feared it would provoke my husband into attacking them, and that he might be shot." Now leave, you German pig!
"Hmph. We will take these tags, to verify your story," he said, holding them up and shaking them at her. "If you are lying, we will be back tomorrow. And we will have many more dogs with us."
She bowed her head. "Yes, of course. But my words are true; you will have no need to return tomorrow. I can assure you."
They left, thank the Lord, without causing any further destruction. What they'd already done was bad enough. The house, so meticulously cleaned, would need to be done from scratch. The bedding in the barn would have to be completely replaced, and it would be difficult to keep a lid on Matteo's anger once he found out what had happened. Worse, though, her children were going to be heartbroken that Danny would have to leave them.
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Danny paced back and forth within the house, counting the steps from wall to wall, uncaring of how his shoulder ached. He should never have left Rosa alone. Should'a just done the right thing. Gone with the Germans. Lived out the rest of his life as a prisoner of war.
Only… it was not in his nature to give up. Months of marching through Europe had taught him a valuable lesson. Fight. And keep on fighting for as long as there is strength in your body. Never give up. Never surrender. Except to commit perfidy, but that was a whole other matter.
Were the Nazis on his trail? He looked out of the grimy, cracked window. No sign of pursuit, but the trees were pretty dense this deep in the forest; he would probably hear the dogs coming before he saw any soldiers. Could he outrun dogs? Maybe, but he'd need to leave now. Give himself a good head start. Get far enough ahead that no matter how bloodthirsty the dogs were, their handlers would never keep up with them.
Indecision stilled his feet, rooting him to the spot as images of Rosa being arrested and tortured popped into his mind, unwelcome intruders into his conscience. Coward, he told himself. You left her to that fate. And after everything she did for you. She was like the mother you never had, and now she's probably been executed for helping you.
Goddamn it. The 107th had definitely ruined him. This was Carrot-levels of hand-wringing patsy. He had to go back. It was the right thing to do.
He put his hand on the door, and stopped again. Even if he went back, what could he do? He had no weapon. The Germans were not known for leniency. Merely for harbouring an enemy soldier, they might execute or imprison Rosa and her family. Getting captured would not help them. Not now. The best thing for him to do was head to Switzerland, make his way back to an Allied camp, and report on the position of the Luftwaffe base. Then a rescue mission could be put together. The brass would definitely be interested in wiping a Nazi airfield off the map.
Only… Rosa had told him to wait. What if he left and she came looking for him, only to find him gone? Would she worry the Nazis might've found him? Would she worry he'd got himself lost in the woods? Would she spend hours fruitlessly searching for him? He couldn't do that to her. It wasn't fair. No, he should stay. Wait it out. See what happened.
He forced himself to sit. Take deep, calming breaths. Take his mind away from the worst-case scenario. Already he could feel the walls of the house closing in on him, trying to trigger his claustrophobia. It was so dark in here, but it was too risky to light the fire. Somebody might see. Somebody might smell burning wood. He closed his eyes. Pictured the pristine, snow-capped mountains framed by an open blue sky. Marshmallow clouds drifting by. Goats bleating in the distance, and eagles crying overhead.
Why hadn't he been more prepared? He should've anticipated something like this happening. Made plans for it. If Paolo hadn't come running with that warning… He shivered. Caught with his pants down did not even begin to describe it. Whatever the outcome of today, he would have to be more careful in the future. Contingency plans within contingency plans. Winging it was fine when it was only himself he had to worry about, but when the lives of people he cared about were on the line… Yes. Definitely more care, from now on.
The afternoon cooled as the sun sank towards the tree tops, taking with it the morning's heat. The wizened fruit sat untouched in the satchel, his nerves too frayed to even think about eating. Finally, just as the afternoon light was beginning to fade, he spotted movement amongst the trees. A moment later, two figures emerged into the clearing; Rosa and Adalina. The elder woman's face as a grim mask, and the younger's eyes were red and puffy from crying. Something terrible must've happened. Were Paolo and Matteo alright?
He dashed out and skidded to a halt in front of them. Before he could even ask, Rosa handed him a large handkerchief-wrapped package. More food, most of it hardtack-like biscuit that would last for a while, with a few more pieces of shrivelled fruit.
"I take it things didn't go well," he offered. "Is everyone okay? Matteo? Paolo?"
Rosa nodded. "Matteo was at the forge all day, and did not find out what happened until I sent for him. I would not let Paolo come here; he was too distraught."
Understandable. Seeing his mom almost arrested must've put the fear of God into him.
"I managed to put off the Germans for now, but there is no telling when or if they will come back." As Rosa spoke, fresh tears trickled down Adalina's cheeks. She used her sleeve to wipe them away. "I do not know if there is a collaborator in the village, or whether the soldiers merely heard rumour of a stranger at our house and decided to investigate. They seemed to accept the story I told them, and their dogs were not able to follow your trail. But if there is a collaborator, then Castello Lavazzo is no longer safe for you. I'm sorry."
"I have to leave," he said, a sinking feeling in his chest. For the past six months he'd dared to dream that this might be his life now. And, just like in a dream, he'd lived with the constant expectation that one day he might have to wake up. That day had finally arrived, and he felt regret for the life that might have been. But it was mild regret, like the regret a man felt after reading a short book with a satisfying ending. A book that did not need another book to end its story.
"I want to go with you," said Adalina, stepping forward to hurl herself into his arms. He winced at the impact to his shoulder. She was slightly build, but a lifetime of work in the mountains had made her deceptively strong.
"You are not going anywhere," said Rosa sharply. "Your place is with your family, as I told you countless times on the way here."
"Your mother is right, Ada," he said softly, lifting a hand to stroke her hair. Hopefully she found it comforting. "It may take a long time for me to reach a friendly camp, and even if I find one, those are no places for civilians. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."
"Then I will wait for you," she said, pulling back to look into his eyes with an expression of fierce defiance. "For the rest of my life, I will wait."
"Please don't," he said. "I may not come back."
"You… don't want to be with me?"
"No. I'm saying that I might not be allowed to come back." Those who went AWOL were generally not treated with leniency. "I may not even survive the rest of the war. I don't want to think of you sitting and waiting for the rest of your life for a happiness that may never come. You deserve more than that." He brushed a strand of hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Give me six months. After the war is ended, and we've defeated the Nazis, I'll try to come back. But if I'm not back here six months after the war is over, then I want you to forget about me. Move on with your life. Find someone who can make you smile again. Promise me you'll do that."
"I can't. I will never be happy, so long as we are apart."
At one time he would've rolled his eyes at the sentiment. Now, he understood how she felt, even though he didn't deserve such love and loyalty from her. He liked her. She was fun to be with. But he'd probably never be able to return her feelings. She deserved somebody who could. She deserved all the happiness the world had to offer. "Bella ciao," he whispered. He gently pried her out of his arms and passed her back to her mother, who took a firm hold on her. Probably afraid she'd try to run off after him. She was a sweet girl, but she had no idea how dangerous war could be.
"Will you tell Matteo that I will always be grateful for allowing me to stay with you? And I'm sorry if my presence has caused any trouble for you."
Rosa nodded again. "I will tell him. He wishes you well on your journey."
"Thanks. Now I just need to figure out where the closest Allied camp is, and the fastest way to get to them. That, or actually make a play for Switzerland."
"You see that mountain over there?" said Rosa, gesturing to the tallest in the chain to the north. "Head towards it for about two days. Then, you will come across a road. Follow the road north for half a day, and you will come to a house. There lives a man called Marco Castella, and he will help you to find your way back home. Here, I have prepared this for you." She slung a rucksack off her shoulder and handed it to him. Inside he found a blanket, a change of clothes, and a few spare pairs of socks. And underneath it all, a letter addressed to Castella, and the English Bible she'd once had him read from. Maybe she still hoped his soul could be saved.
"Rosa, you are a life saver. How can I ever repay you for everything you've done for me?"
"Live," she said simply. "Be honest with yourself, and live. And if you could find some way to get these Germans out of my country, that would be helpful too."
"I will. Thank you. For everything." Was it bad that he was tearing up more at the thought of leaving Rosa than Adalina? He quickly turned away from them before his inner-Carrot could escape. "You should head back. It's going to be dark soon, and I'm not very good at saying goodbye."
"Take care of yourself, Danny. I hope you find happiness."
He waited until they'd gone. Until their footsteps were no longer audible. Until the evening rays of sunshine faded from the sky. Only then did he return to the ramshackle house and begin to pack everything he'd need into a single bag. It had been a very nice dream he'd been living these past six months, but now it was time to wake up.