Our Darkest Night

by Jennifer Robson

  “The entrance to the cantina,” Nico said, following her gaze. “The only time we use the back door is when we need something that’s stored down there. And—oh, I should have told you before. The outhouse is just over there. But don’t worry that you’ll need to go outside at night. There’s a chamber pot in our bedroom.”

  She nodded, her face burning, but Nico didn’t seem to notice. Instead he led them on until they’d come around the end of the house and were facing the fields. “You can see nearly all the farm from here,” he explained. “At the top, where it’s really steep, we have the olive trees, and some fruit trees as well. Apples, peaches, apricots. On the hill below we grow hay for the animals. Then we have the big fields—over there where it’s nearly flat. We harvested the early wheat in June, then we put in the corn. That came out the week before last. Once the stalks have dried down some more we’ll bring them in, too, and then we’ll sow the winter wheat. There are grapevines as well, just over there, and beyond them is the vegetable garden.”

  “And you manage all this on your own—you and your father and the others?”

  “For the most part. Our uncles and cousins help when we bring in the corn and wheat, and when it’s time to pick the grapes, and we help them in turn. It’s a lot of work, but it’s a good life. It can be a good life, if you don’t mind doing without some things that others might never dream of giving up.”

  “Like what? Hot running water and soft mattresses?”

  “Yes. And a life that doesn’t involve rising before dawn every day of the year to milk the cows and feed the other animals and work straight through until nightfall.”

  “You don’t regret having to come home when your brother died?”

  “Not at all. Not ever. It was awful at first, because we just wanted him back and alive and safe with us. But I don’t imagine I’ll ever leave here again.”

  “Before, when you and your father were talking about Marco, you mentioned another man.”

  “Luca. My brother’s best friend, and Rosa’s sweetheart. They were killed on the same day at the start of 1941. At the siege of Tobruk. I wasn’t here when we got the news. Papà hadn’t even told me that Marco had enlisted, I think because he knew I would have come home. And then, when the news came that they’d been killed, everyone reacted as you’d imagine. Everyone except for Rosa. She didn’t cry. Just kept on with her chores as if nothing had happened. And she hasn’t said Luca’s name since. It’s as if he never existed.”

  How could such a thing be possible? To love someone, to mourn them, to wake up each morning with the fresh realization of their absence, and yet never again speak their name? How could his sister simply erase the man she’d loved from her life?

  “Nico! Nina! Nico-Nina! Nico-nico-nina!! Time for supper!”

  Carlo came roaring up, his arms outstretched like an airplane’s wings, and squealed when Nico swept him into the air.

  “Do you hear that, Nina? Supper is ready, and what will happen if we don’t hurry? Carlo?”

  “Matteo and Paolo will be greedy and eat up all the food!”

  “They will indeed. Let’s fly back, just like you’re one of the Pippo bombers, and see if Nina can catch us. Ready—now go!”

  Not wishing to be left behind, Nina ran as fast as she could, faster than she’d run for years, but it wasn’t quite enough; and Nico, noticing, reached back to catch her hand in his, and so pulled them both along; and when she stumbled, as she’d feared she would, he simply gathered her in his arms and ran on until they were at the kitchen door and the race was done.

  Chapter 8

  25 September 1943

  She woke at dawn, roused by the empty space at her back.

  “Nico?”

  “I’m here.” He sat on the end of the bed and set about lacing up his boots. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.”

  They’d gone to bed not long after the children the night before, and as he’d done on their two previous nights together, or rather the single night they’d slept in an actual bedroom, Niccolò had turned his back and waited for her to slip into bed and pull the covers up to her chin before he so much as unlaced his boots. But he’d gone on to undress more—she couldn’t be sure how much, nor if he’d put on pajamas, and as her back was turned and her eyes were shut tight she couldn’t even have guessed. Certainly she wouldn’t have dreamed of asking him what he was wearing as he stretched out next to her and, moving carefully so as not to tip her out of the narrow bed, arranged his big body at the very edge of the mattress.

  He had risen and dressed silently, and if he’d been wearing pajamas he had put them away. Perhaps she would find out what he had worn when it was time to do the laundry. And it was silly, besides, to obsess over such a—

  “I know that for you it’s the Sabbath, but to my family it’s just an ordinary Saturday, and that’s the day for housecleaning. I’m sorry about that.”

  “I don’t mind. My father never made a fuss about keeping the Sabbath. He couldn’t, not with his patients needing him all the time. Babies especially—he swore they only ever came in the middle of the night.”

  “I think that’s true of animal babies as well. I’ll see you at breakfast. But don’t hurry down, not yet. You’ve earned a rest.”

  She listened to his careful footsteps in the hall and on the stairs, and for a while she let herself indulge in the lovely feeling of being not quite asleep, but not fully awake either, until her stomach was growling and the children were up and she worried that she’d annoy Rosa if she were to lounge abed even a minute longer. Dressing in the same garments she’d worn for the past few days, she brushed her hair, twisted back the sides and fixed them with a pair of hair grips, and joined everyone except Niccolò and Aldo at the table. Likely they were still busy with the animals.

  “Good morning, Nina,” Carlo said. “I’m glad you sat next to me.”

  “I’m glad, too. What are you eating? It smells delicious.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Polenta and milk. I hate it.”

  “You’re lucky to have it,” Rosa said, her eyes fixed on whatever she was stirring on the range. “So stop whining, or I’ll tell Father Bernardi and he’ll set you an entire novena.”

  Nina had no idea what being set a novena entailed, but from the look on Carlo’s face it didn’t seem like something she ever wished to experience herself.

  Rosa now ladled a scoop of steaming polenta into Nina’s bowl and topped it with a splash of warm milk. It was warm, she realized, because it had just come out of the cow, with flecks of yellow butterfat clearly visible in the puddle of ivory milk, and yet nothing would have induced her to complain. At a muttered command from Rosa, Carlo fetched a mug and set it at Nina’s elbow. “Coffee,” he whispered shyly, but only after swallowing a great gulp of the stuff did Nina realize it was caffè d’orzo, the awful imposter made of roasted barley that she’d always vowed she would never be desperate enough to drink. She drank it now.

  The men came in as she was finishing, and were also served polenta and milk and ersatz coffee, along with a thick slice of fried ham that Rosa dropped into their bowls once most of the polenta was gone.

  It would have been nice to sit and talk for a while, but a stern glance from Rosa had Agnese and Angela fetching brooms and rags and an ancient wooden bucket from the corner.

  “You girls get started, and I’ll finish up with the kitchen,” Rosa said, and Nina wasn’t sure if that included her, too, or if she was meant to do something else entirely.

  Nico noticed, of course. “What do you think if Nina helps the girls today? Rosa?”

  “Fine.”

  “Remember, girls, that Nina has been busy studying how to become a nurse. She knows a lot about helping sick people, but it’s been a while since she’s had time for housecleaning.”

  “You’ll probably have to remind me how to do everything,” Nina admitted, and when she looked to Nico with a grateful smile he just nodded and winked at her.


  They began by stripping the sheets from the bed in Nina’s room, revealing a mattress that was nothing more than a thick felted pad on top of an enormous fabric bag, its contents flattened almost to nothing. Following Agnese’s directions, Nina and the girls shook out the bag, rather as one might fluff a giant’s pillow, and laid it back upon the interlaced ropes of the bed frame.

  “What is inside?” Nina asked, since she’d never known a feather bed to crackle and crunch so noisily.

  “Corn husks,” Angela said. “With a nice soft pad on top to stop the pokey bits from coming through.”

  They remade the bed with much-mended but crisply ironed sheets, dusted every stick of furniture with dampened rags, and Angela carried the simple rag rugs outside to be beaten and aired.

  Then it was time for the floors. They swept each one, with the girls patiently showing Nina how to angle the broom so as not to set the dirt flying, and even though she made more work for them all they were generous with their praise.

  She helped to carry the buckets of hot, soapy water upstairs, and then, after learning how to fold the extra dust rags so they cushioned her knees, the girls taught Nina how to scrub a floor.

  “Start in the corner so you don’t go over the parts that are clean,” Angela advised.

  “Give the scrubbing brush a good shake so you don’t get the floor too wet,” Agnese added. “And use the clean cloths to dry as you go. Will you be all right in here? Angela and I can get a second bucket and start on Papà’s room.”

  “That’s a sensible idea. I’ll call if I need help.”

  By the time she was finished with her bedroom floor the girls had scrubbed the other bedrooms, all three of them, but she helped them with the corridor and stairs, and by the time they had finished drying the bottom step it was time for lunch.

  She ate the food that was placed in front of her without looking up or joining the conversation, and despite her fatigue she did enjoy her meal. For a first course they had pastina in brodo, and then for the secondo there was a chicken stew that had little in the way of chicken but a great deal of greens and potatoes, all of it delicious. She ate every bit of her food, and drank the entire glass of wine Aldo poured for her, and even finished the cup of caffè d’orzo she was given at the end.

  All the while, she wondered how she would get through to the end of the day. How was it that she was so tired? Not even the long nights helping her father on his visits to patients had left her so exhausted, and she’d never been an idle sort of person. Yet one morning of chores had left her flatter than a week-old cornhusk mattress.

  “Agnese, Angela, you finished ages ago. Time for you to get started on the henhouse,” Rosa ordered.

  “Would you like me to help?” Nina asked. It would make a nice change to be outside.

  “You can clean the parlor,” Rosa said.

  “Lucky you,” Agnese said. “It takes forever to clean up all the chicken poop.”

  “I don’t like the chickens,” Angela added. “It hurts when they peck.”

  Rosa glared at the girls. “Enough with the coarse talk while others are still eating.” Then she turned her attention back to Nina. “Start by dusting everything, and don’t forget the picture frames. The girls always forget.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “You can wipe down the upholstery with a damp cloth, but make sure it’s almost dry or it will mark the fabric. Then you can scrub the floor.”

  “No one has set a single toe in the parlor since last Saturday,” Niccolò observed. “Wouldn’t it be enough for Nina to wipe down the floor?”

  “I suppose that’s fine.”

  The parlor was absolutely crammed with furniture, all of it old but shining with polish and in pristine condition. In the middle of the room was a large oval table, an intricate doily at its center. An ornately carved settee stood before the single lace-curtained window, its upholstery a lowering but practical shade of dark brown. Half a dozen high-backed chairs ringed the room’s perimeter, and upon the walls were a similar number of religious prints and photographs of frowning people with weathered features and serious eyes. There was a crucifix, too, and, on a tall pillar in the corner, a statue of a woman in blue robes. The Virgin Mary, she supposed.

  It took her three hours to dust the room, every square centimeter of it, and then a further hour to wipe away a week’s worth of dust from the terra-cotta-tiled floor, though much of that time was spent in moving around pieces of furniture and then in ensuring she’d restored them to the exact position they’d occupied before.

  And then, just as she was stumbling to her feet, Niccolò appeared at the door.

  “Finished? It looks perfect. Rosa will be pleased.”

  “Good.” She didn’t have the energy to say more than that.

  “We’ll have supper in a few minutes—just some soup and bread. Then baths for everyone.”

  Nina told herself she’d feel better after a bath, but then the manner and nature of how she’d take her bath became horribly clear.

  There was a wooden tub, only just big enough for a single adult if they didn’t mind pulling their knees right to their chest, and it was rolled out from under the sink and set in front of the hearth, and then—she had a feeling this was for her benefit, as there was a good deal of fussing over where exactly it should go—Niccolò and his father set a wooden clothes dryer draped with towels around the tub.

  The boys set to filling the tub with buckets of cold water from the tap at the sink, Rosa added a kettle’s worth of boiling water, and then the bath was ready.

  “You go first,” Aldo told his son. “I’m covered in dust from the stables. I’ll only muddy the water.”

  So Niccolò went behind the screen and began to undress, right there in the kitchen, even though she and his sisters were still there. She could see his bare, freckled shoulders from where she sat, and she could hear him splashing and scrubbing himself with the bar of soap Rosa handed him. In a few short minutes he was out and dressing himself, fortunately still behind the screen, and then Aldo did the same, without anyone bothering to change the water.

  As soon as their father was finished and dressed again, the boys dragged the tub outside; she could hear it being emptied into the vegetable garden. Back in it came, to be painstakingly filled a second time. Then Rosa disappeared behind the screen.

  It was Nina’s turn after that, and though Niccolò, his father, and the older boys had left the kitchen, there were still four other people in the room. She undressed hurriedly, almost furtively, and stepped into the tub. The water wasn’t very warm, and it was rather unpleasant to think of it having been used once already, but the soap smelled of lemons and it was wonderful to wash away the sweat and grime of the past three days.

  “Don’t take too long,” Rosa said. “The children are waiting for their turn.”

  “Sorry. I’ll just wash my hair quickly.” Nina ducked her head, scrubbed her scalp with the soap until it stung, and ducked again under the water.

  “Would you like me to rinse your hair?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Rosa came to stand behind her, and Nina dutifully bent her head and wondered, just at the last second, if the water would be cold, but it was warm, or close to warm, and it felt heavenly as it sluiced over her head and back.

  The boys returned to empty and refill the tub as soon as she’d dried herself and got dressed, and then it was the girls’ turn, with Rosa helping them with their hair, and it was emptied and refilled once more so the boys might wash. The water they’d used, when it was emptied after Carlo had finished, was so gray that Rosa exclaimed it would kill every plant in the garden.

  Niccolò and Aldo returned then, having settled the animals for the night, but rather than go straight upstairs they listened to music on the radio, Rosa set her sisters’ hair in rag curlers, and Nina, despite her tiredness, wished she had something to keep her hands occupied. Tomorrow she would ask Rosa if there was any darning or mending she might do. Tomor
row, when she wasn’t quite so tired, and the peace in the kitchen wasn’t quite so fragile, and she had a better sense of where in this family she belonged.

  Chapter 9

  Again she woke at dawn.

  “Nico?”

  “I’m here. You should go back to sleep. We don’t go to Mass for hours yet.”

  Mass. Her stomach churned just to think of it. Last night he had offered to explain it to her—what to expect and how she ought to behave—but she had fallen asleep before he had so much as unbuttoned his shirt.

  “What time do we leave?”

  “Mass begins at half-past eight, but the bells start chiming at eight o’clock. We’ll leave then.”

  “What shall I wear?”

  The bed groaned as he sat to lace up his boots. “What sort of clothes would you typically wear to Sabbath services?”

  “The best of my everyday clothes. I didn’t dress up too much. Mamma used to say we weren’t meant to look like we were going to a party.”

  “My mother would have agreed with her.”

  “Should I bring a scarf to cover my hair?”

  “Only the older women here do that, and the younger ones don’t really bother with hats. That’s something for city girls,” he said with a grin.

  She fell back asleep after he left to care for the animals, but woke as soon as she heard the children’s voices in the kitchen. Breakfast was polenta and milk, again, and Rosa refused her offer to help with the dishes, again, so Nina retreated to her room and set about getting dressed for church. She wasn’t sure what Rosa would wear, nor did she feel she could ask, so she chose the dress she’d worn for her twenty-first birthday two years before, its pretty blue fabric still crisp and bright.

  She was brushing her hair when Nico knocked at the door.

  “Come in,” she answered. “I’m done now—I’ll go downstairs.”

  “No need. I’ll tell you about Mass while I dress. The others are in the kitchen or outside.”