One Clear Call I

by Upton Sinclair

  After the traveler had made friends, he told what he wanted, a guide who knew the paths well enough to take him through the forest at night—this very night if possible. Then a little drama unfolded itself; Lanny observed the people looking at one another, and then their looks seemed to concentrate upon the tall lad. The lad’s face wore an excited expression, and a light came into his eyes. Suddenly one of the women, evidently the lad’s mother, burst into tears and hid her face in her hands.

  The patriarch of the family explained the situation: the boy was fifteen, and next week would come his sixteenth birthday, and they were debating what to do. He was due to report at Lienz for military service, and if he failed to do so the family would be heavily fined and that would ruin them and drive them from their home. Giulio himself had no interest in the war; he had picked up some rebel notions, the old grandfather murmured apologetically. He wanted to go into Italy and join a group of young fellows who lived in the mountains, to evade the draft.

  Lanny might have created a sensation by announcing, “That is what I too want to do.” But he saw that he had the situation in his hands without taking any such risk. He asked, “Does Giulio know the forest paths?” And the reply was, “Not well enough to travel them in the dark; but he has an uncle who lives near the border and has earned his living as a guide. He has lost one arm in the war, so now the Army lets him alone.”

  So the problem solved itself. Giulio was crazy to go, and the women dried their tears. After all, wouldn’t they have wept just as hard or harder if he had been drafted into the Army and carried off to the Russian front after three months’ training? The traveler would sleep for a few hours—in spite of the fleas—and at sundown they would go to the uncle’s place. Lanny would pay the uncle twenty marks as soon as he was safely delivered to the town of Dobbiaco, or Toblach. Also he would pay twenty to Giulio, which would keep him going until he found the Partisans. It was a princely offer and seemed like a direct intervention of the Blessed One, the Queen of Heaven; the son of Budd-Erling was surprised to find himself an agent of that royal personage, for the highest he had been able to reach in the social scale hitherto had been playing tennis with the King of Sweden and the exiled King of Spain.

  X

  There appeared to be no flaw in the program, unless Lanny were to make a misstep on a mountain trail in the darkness. Some bread resembling hardtack was produced from a hiding place, and some cheese for sandwiches—the peasants are old hands at hiding food from tax collectors and military foragers. At the hour appointed the women finished their weeping, and Giulio wiped away the tears of which he was ashamed; he swore to come back when the war was over—but of course he might not live that long. He led his padrone by a back snow trail to his uncle’s place, and told that weather-beaten and crippled man about the bargain. The man was an Austrian, Gruber by name, and he said three words in German and three in Italian, and then three in between, but they all meant “OK.”

  He took down three pairs of skis from the wall, and from under his bed two packages which appeared to be heavy. They had straps to go over the shoulders, and he put one on Giulio’s and one on his own. That meant that he was a smuggler, but it didn’t worry Lanny, who was something much worse. Gruber had a tiny pencil flashlight and an extra battery or two, something that only a black marketeer could have obtained in these days. They would use it only rarely.

  The expedition set out, with Gruber leading, Lanny following as close behind him as possible, and Giulio bringing up the rear. They might be passing near sentries, so they would proceed in complete silence, pushing themselves up slopes and then gliding down others. The trail was through thick forests most of the time; streams cut through it, and when there were gullies ahead, Gruber would give a whispered warning. If the stranger became dizzy or exhausted, he would ask for help. He must do his best to follow exactly in the guide’s tracks, avoiding declivities.

  So began six trying hours. The cold was endurable only because it was still. Lanny had done some skiing during his long life in Europe, but never in darkness and never in such fear. At one point, from a high clear slope, they could see the lights of motorcars on the road; they stopped, and there were pinpoints of light, and Gruber whispered that that was the border station. Lanny could guess that he was at the place where he would have been shot at if it had been by daylight.

  It was a hard trip, but men were doing it all the time, so Lanny was told. Men were subjecting themselves to every sort of test of muscles and nerves; as Roosevelt had said, it was a war for survival. How far away Lanny’s genial Boss seemed that night! How far away was everything in this world but cold, and a wild forest covered with fresh snow and having hard-packed snow and sometimes ice underneath. A man would make this trip, there and back, for twenty marks, greatly depreciated. Lanny reflected: Perhaps he has something valuable in the two bundles! Optical goods, for example, stolen from the Army, or explosives for the Partisans—who could guess?

  They came into a little valley, on a path beside a fast-racing stream. They stopped to get their breath and Gruber whispered, “You are in Italy.” They went on, and there were signs of dawn; they were going down, and it was easier. When there was light enough to see; there was a broad valley, with many houses, and the guide said, “There, Signor, is your Dobbiaco!” In Lanny’s heart there echoed a song from older and happier days, a song of a German longing for Italy: “Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühn?”

  15

  Campo Coraggio

  I

  The three travelers spent the night on the floor of a cabin belonging to a friend of Gruber—probably a confederate, for he promptly hid the bundles and in the morning provided a new one to be taken back to Austria. During the night Lanny made the discovery that Italian fleas were of no more gentle disposition than those north of the Alps; but the weather was far more polite, and for the first time in many nights he did not suffer from cold. In the morning it was marvelous to feel the warm sun and see fruit trees still green and water unfrozen.

  He was interested to find out what these peasants thought and felt about the war. He discovered that the fall of Mussolini had caused them no pangs, and that men and women alike loathed the Nazis. Speaking to the Austrian, the old grandfather of this family remarked, “They took your country, and now they have taken ours.” He added that they took everything in the country; but the Americans had come, and they would take it from the Nazis and give it back to the honest Italians. While Lanny had been on his pilgrimage the Americans had moved into Naples; soon they would be in Rome, and then in Milan—and Dobbiaco!

  Lanny of course couldn’t give any hint that he was an American; but he asked about that land and heard wonderful stories. America was the land of riches, oh, unlimited riches! These peasant people had but a vague idea of how the riches were gained, but they were there, and it was well known that any man who would go there when he was young, and work hard and save his money, could come back to Italy when he was forty and buy a small property and keep a cow and plenty of chickens for the rest of his days. Such was their dream of happiness for this world; and for the next, you prayed to the Blessed Virgin, went to mass two or three times a year, and left everything else to the Higher Powers.

  Lanny had paid his guide, and in the morning this tireless one shouldered a new load and set out; he had a long way to go before he neared the border, and that part could be traversed in daylight. Lanny was supposed to go down to the town; but first he pleaded he was tired, and then he took Giulio aside and said that he was thinking of taking a trip with him to meet some of the Partisans; he knew people among them. Giulio was delighted to have company. He had been inquiring about the Partisans and had been told cautiously that they were somewhere in the mountains to the west; everybody had heard they were there, but it wasn’t good to know too much. After a while, for a fee, the Italian grandfather said that he would guide them to the trail, and if they went far enough they would probably come upon one of the scouts; if they could convinc
e him that they were good people he might take them to one of the camps. Naturally, the Partisans were afraid of spies and of raids by the enemy.

  Lanny had had enough of mountain climbing to last him for a lifetime, so he thought; but he knew that he still wasn’t safe from the Nazis, who held this country in a tight grip. He had taken his German papers and put them into the stove; Hans Schultz was no more, and Lanny’s German career was ended. But what was he? If an American, he was a spy, and the Gestapo would surely get him and shoot their “truth serum” into him.

  II

  So, in the middle of the afternoon, a new expedition set out, skirting Dobbiaco through the surrounding foothills, and climbing into a new valley. When darkness fell they were in the heavy timber, and there not far from the trail they observed a small campfire burning. Oddly enough, there was nobody near it; but the guide called and gave his name, and there emerged from the shadows the first young man whom Lanny had seen in either the Austrian or the Italian Alps. He was, Lanny guessed, about twenty, with a scanty black beard, a pair of piercing dark eyes, and a stern manner; he wore a hunting jacket with a sweater under it, and a pair of trousers tucked into boots. He carried a shotgun.

  He asked what they wanted, and Giulio said that he had come from the Austrian side to avoid the draft and desired to join the Partisans. “This is my friend who wants to meet you,” he added, pointing to Lanny, and Lanny spoke, “I have a confidential story which I wish to tell to your leader.” The reply was, “Our leader does not meet strangers.” Lanny smiled his well-rehearsed amiable smile and responded, “Tell your leader that I have the most important story he has ever heard. Tell him that he can hold me in his camp until he has verified my story, and if it is not true he can shoot me.”

  The young fellow called, and another chap came out, this one with a couple” of old-fashioned pistols in his belt. “Watch these people until I come back,” commanded the first, and then started off up the trail. The three travelers seated themselves by the fire and devoured the food they had brought. The old man wrapped himself in a blanket which he had carried on his back and fell sound asleep, snoring lustily. Lanny sat talking with Giulio in whispers, and the sentry stayed in the shadows, presumably with at least one of his pistols ready for action.

  Perhaps an hour passed before there were footsteps on the trail and the light of an electric torch. Three men came into view, all armed; one, older than the others, had a lean, stern face, a black mustache, and wavy hair, rather long; his costume was riding breeches and boots and a camouflaged military jacket, obviously captured or stolen from the Germans. He came to the fire and looked the party over; then, to Lanny, “Bene, Signor; what is your story?”

  Lanny said, “First, this boy; he is a peasant lad whose uncle guided me across the border from Austria. He has come to draft age and does not want to fight for the Nazis. He asks to join your group.”

  “We know his sort,” was the response. “He will be welcome. But what about you, Signor?” Lanny received this polite title, though he was a vagabondo who had not had a bath for a month and had a half-inch beard over most of his face.

  “I would like you to have me searched and make sure that I have no arms. Then I would like to talk to you privately. It will be for you to decide how much of my story shall be told to others.”

  The man turned to one of his associates. “Search him, Carlo.”

  It was a cursory job compared with what had been done to Lanny in Hitler’s home; but it was enough for ordinary purposes. The leader said, “Vieni,” and led the stranger away from the fire. With his torch he picked out a fallen tree and they sat upon it—in darkness, for batteries had to be stolen from the enemy and were precious. In this high place it was cold, but Lanny didn’t mean to take long.

  Said he, “I am an agent of the American OSS and have been working in Germany. I have information of the utmost military importance. I learned that the Gestapo had got onto me, so I got false papers and old clothes from the German underground and have hitch-hiked my way from Berlin. What I ask you to do is to find some way to get word to the OSS. I have a code name, Traveler, and if you can get that message to any American agent, he will send it to Washington and a way will be found to get me into Allied territory.”

  The man, a quiet and thoughtful person, took his time to consider the statement. Then he said, “This is, of course, an important story, and, assuming that it is true, we shall do what we can to help you.”

  Lanny went on, “I urge you to make my story known only to those who have to know it. I have been moving among the highest circles in Berlin, and getting information of top importance. The Nazis must know that and will be moving heaven and earth to stop me. If the word spreads that an American refugee is in these mountains they will do their best to catch him, and you might be tempted to suspect that I have somehow betrayed you. I beg you not to put either of us in that danger.”

  “I see your point, Signor, and I will do my best to keep the matter quiet.”

  “I ought to tell you this further fact: I was working in Rome last summer, and the Gestapo there knows me. So that is one more reason for caution. One of our agents took me to meet Matteo Matteotti and I had a conference with him. The agent goes under the name of Rinaldo, and it may be that you know him.”

  “I do not know that name, Signor.”

  “It may be that he has never got this far north. I do not ask you to tell me anything about your methods of communication; but I assume that somewhere you have access to a radio sending and receiving set, and so can communicate with American agents.”

  “These agents all know your name?”

  “None of them know it, Signor. My name is known only in Washington. What you are to tell the agent is to get word to Washington that Traveler is here. Washington will then send instructions.”

  “It shall be done, Signor. And meantime you will stay in our camp?”

  “Nothing will please me more. I am not a young man any more and I am tired out. For this last trip I had to tie the soles of my shoes on with wire. I hope that you will be able to get me a pair of shoes or boots.”

  “Such things are hard to obtain nowadays, Signor.”

  “It happens, fortunately, that I have money.” Lanny took out a hundred-mark note—he was always careful to have the right amount ready in his pocket, so that he wouldn’t have to show how much more he had. “You will have to feed me while I am here. I have funds, and when I leave I will turn some of them over to you, for I have been authorized to help the underground wherever I come in contact with it. Unfortunately this is German money, but perhaps you can get rid of it.”

  “Certamente, Signor. It happens to be the one German thing that Italians like.” Then he added, “My name is Arnaldo.”

  “Bene. I suggest that you call me Pierre. I have lived most of my life in France, and I passed for a Frenchman in Rome. I suggest that you tell your men that I am from France, and also that they are not to ask me questions. Of course, if you yourself wish to ask me any, that is another matter.”

  “Merci bien, Camarade Pierre,” replied the leader, with a smile which Lanny didn’t see but which he could hear in the voice. “Il y a des Français avec nous.”

  III

  The old peasant was left sleeping by the fire, and Lanny and Giulio were escorted up a trail for two or three miles. They turned off into a forest where there was no trail whatever; they found their way by the light of the torch. Lanny could guess that they approached their hideout by a different route each time to avoid leaving a sign for the enemy. The shelter proved to be a dugout in the side of a slope, covered with logs and turf and carefully camouflaged with planted bushes. The entrance was through bushes at the side, and after you had entered a sentry on the outside covered your footsteps with a sprinkling of leaves.

  Lanny was astonished when he went inside. It was a big place, and there were a score of men and boys in it. The youngest was sixteen, and the oldest could not have been more than twenty-five. Some
were peasants, others students and factory workers. They were an enthusiastic and romantic lot, and nearly all good-looking. Lanny found subsequently that they represented every shade of political thought, being united only in their hatred of Fascism and especially of its German imitation. Oddly enough, they resented having even their country’s bad ideas stolen by the barbarians of the north!

  Arnaldo said, “This is Compagno Giulio, from the Austrian border, who wishes to join us; and this is Compagno Pierre from France. He tells us a story which has to be investigated, and meantime he stays with us as a friend, but does not leave the camp until we have made sure of him.” That was all the introduction.

  The visitors were soon made to feel at home. First they were asked if they were hungry, and when they said that they had eaten, they were asked for news. This was the most precious of commodities here; for the group had no radio and were far from any town. Lanny had picked up information from the station master at Sillian and could tell them that the Americans were at the Volturno River, some twenty-five miles north of Naples, and also had taken Foggia, the great airport. That news was shouted aloud; it was taken to mean that soon now the planes would be dropping supplies in this far northern region. And the Army would arrive, oh, very soon, for this wonderful people adored speed; they would be in Rome within a month, and in Milan within two months—was it not so, Compagno?

  They demanded the opinions of this evidently well-educated vagabondo, and he felt bound to warn them that they must not expect too much, because Italy was just one mountain after another to be climbed, and one river after another to be crossed. When an olive-skinned young hero suggested that the Americans could land on the coast, farther and farther up, as they had done in Sicily and at Salerno, Lanny replied, “It may be; but you must remember that Italy will not be the main objective in this war; the Americans may be saving their resources for a landing across the English Channel.”