by John Hersey
To stop, or at least to curb, the black market, Major Joppolo did three things: he put the town out of bounds to American soldiers, who from then on could enter only on business; he had the Carabiniers stop all foodstuffs from leaving the town; and he fined anyone caught selling over-price or under-measure three thousand lire - a lifetime’s savings for a poor Italian peasant
Chapter 18
SERGEANT TRAPANI’S having addressed the purple slip reporting the countermand order on the carts to the wrong person did not help much. As soon as the wrong person opened up the envelope and read the slip, he forwarded it to the right person.
The right person was Lt. Col. W. W. Norris, G-One Officer of the 49th Division. The wrong person put the purple slip on his desk. Col. Norris, who was burdened down with much too much paper work, did not even read it all the way through. He just read the first part, about General Marvin’s issuing the order that carts should be stopped on the outskirts of Adano.
Then he wrote in pencil on the upper left hand corner of the slip: “Usual copies for Division files. One extra copy to be sent to Colonel Middleton marked `For General Marvin’s Information.”‘ And then he tossed the slip in his outgoing basket.
A couple of hours later a Technical Sergeant emptied Col. Norris’s outgoing basket, and in time got around to making three copies of the purple slip for the files of the 49th Division, where they would be buried, never to be seen again. One copy went under M.P.’s, one copy into the Personnel file, and the third into the Intelligence files under Occupied Territory, Disciplinary Measures. The Technical Sergeant recopied the purple slip, so that he could make a clean top copy for Colonel Middleton and the General. He wanted to get ahead. He didn’t want to do anything sloppy. He was so careful in his typing that he didn’t even notice what the purple slip said.
The Technical Sergeant put the four copies and the original purple slip into Col. Norris’s incoming basket.
It happens that Col. Norris had an assistant, one Lieutenant Butters, who was very inquisitive. He annoyed the Colonel often by reading over his shoulder. He always wanted to know what the Battle Order was the moment it was drawn up, before it even went to regimental commanders.
The only advantage of Lieutenant Butters’ curiosity was that he usually read Colonel Norris’s mail more carefully than either Colonel Norris or his Technical Sergeant.
The morning after the Technical Sergeant put the purple slip and the four copies into the Colonel’s incoming basket, Lieutenant Butters got up bright and early, dressed, shaved out of his helmet, and before breakfast went to Colonel Norris’s desk and went through his incoming basket.
When he came to the purple slip and the four copies, he took the papers out of the pile, read until he had finished, put the pile back into the incoming basket, and then tucked the purple slip and the four copies into a portfolio on his own desk.
Later in the day, when the Colonel was out to a conference, Lieutenant Butters took out the purple slip and the four copies. He called the Technical Sergeant over to his desk.
“Did you see these?” the Lieutenant asked.
The Technical Sergeant, who was afraid he had made a mistake in typing, said merely: “Yes, sir.”
“Well, that Major was right,” the Lieutenant said. The Technical Sergeant, who hadn’t the faintest idea what the purple slip was about, said: “He was?”
The Lieutenant said: “Sure he was. It’s easy to see he was. And if General Marvin ever lays eyes on this Information copy, it’ll be just too bad for the Major.”
“Yes, sir,” said the Technical Sergeant, to be on the safe side.
Lieutenant Butters said: “Here, you file these, I’ll take care of the Information copy.”
“Yes, sir,” the Technical Sergeant said, taking the copies.
The Lieutenant said: “That Marvin trimmed me down once for something I didn’t do. I never have liked him. I don’t know this Major, but I think it would be a shame if he caught a trimming just for this.”
“Yes, sir,” the Technical Sergeant said. Then he frowned and added: “You aren’t going to get me in trouble, are you, sir, like when that letter to Colonel Norris from the P.R.O. got lost’?”
“No, don’t worry,” the Lieutenant said.
But the Technical Sergeant did worry for several days, until he got up the courage to ask the Lieutenant: “Sir, what did you ever do about that Information copy I made for General Marvin? You didn’t throw it away, did you? Colonel Norris is liable to ask me about it.”
“I wish I had thrown it away,” Lieutenant Butters said. “I didn’t have the guts. I put it in the courier pouch for Algiers. You know how much stuff we’ve been losing on that run. I thought maybe -”
The Technical Sergeant, relieved of his worry, smiled and said: “It might get lost accidentally on purpose?”
Chapter 19
MAYOR NASTA had just come out from his daily repentance before Sergeant Borth. He walked across the way to the broad sidewalk in front of the Palazzo. Every day knots of people gathered on that sidewalk, some just to pass the time of day, some to air their perennial complaints, some to get in touch with the town’s mean little lawyers, whose office was that sidewalk.
Mayor Nasta walked up to one such knot. There were about ten people, and he found that they were discussing the war.
He waited for his chance, and said: “I got some news from the interior yesterday afternoon.”
Mercurio Salvatore the crier was so far gone in boldness that he said: “We have no desire for news from the one who is no longer Mayor.”
Mayor Nasta remembered the time when he would have put the crier in jail for a whole year for saying something like that, but now he said: “This news came from the son of your friend Afronti, the noisy cartman. The boy deserted on the first day of the invasion and he is now here. Perhaps you know him. He is an honest boy.”
The Mayor’s poison was beginning to take hold. “If that is the case,” said the lazy Fatta, who was to be found on this stretch of sidewalk every morning, “if that is the case, what did he say that was so interesting?”
“He said that our friends the Germans are mounting a counterattack.”
“There is nothing new in that,” said Father Pensovecchio. “They have counterattacked before. They counterattacked near Vicinamare and it did them no good. They were thrown back. They will be thrown back again.”
“Not this time,” said Mayor Nasta. “This time they will employ five fresh divisions. They have the crack 29th Panzers and the Pilsener Division. These are good troops. This time they will not be thrown back. They intend to push the Americans into the sea.”
The lazy Fatta, who had no sense about the news, said: “When will this attack come? I think I will go to the hills.”
Mayor Nasta looked very important, as he used to in the old days. “I should not tell you this,” he said, “but the attack will begin on the morning of the twenty-third, at four o’clock in the morning. You can expect the Americans to be pushed into the sea between the twenty-fifth and the twenty-eighth.”
The impressionable ones were beginning to believe him. Laura Sofia, the unmarried one, who stood about on this sidewalk in the belief that she might catch a husband that way, said: “The twenty-third, that is next Wednesday.”
But Mercurio Salvatore, who had been treated well by the Americans, refused to believe that they were leaving. “I do not believe it,” he said. “The Americans will stop the attack.” Even the crier was now willing to believe that there was going to be an attack. All he would not believe was that the Germans would succeed.
Mayor Nasta said: “The Americans will not stop it. The Americans may be friendly, but they are not good fighters.”
Margherita, the formidable wife of Craxi, said with a threatening look: “Liarl”
But Mayor Nasta said: “This is not my opinion. This is the opinion of the son of Afronti, the noisy cartman. You know the boy. You know that he is honest. He says that the Americans are
timid in battle. He says that our own troops could even beat the Americans.”
Mercurio Salvatore, the crier, was reduced to saying: “I do not believe it.”
Mayor Nasta said: “It is true. This boy fought in Tunisia. He says that at the place called El Guettar the Americans did not press their attack, he says that they behaved like frightened men and were defeated. The British can fight, perhaps, but not the Americans.”
The formidable Margherita said: “It is a dirty lie,” but there was no anger in her voice, it was nearly drained of conviction.
This man Nasta was a very persuasive man. He had persuaded himself into office, and he had persuaded the people into fear of him, and now it was easy for him to persuade them to mistrust the Americans.
Mayor Nasta said: “The son of Afronti told me that in the interior the Americans behaved themselves very badly. They were generous to us along the coast because they had to have a beachhead, but in the interior they have been different. Negro troops have raped seven Italian girls. There has been much looting.”
The lazy Fatta said: “I hear that the Americans looted the beautiful house of Quattrocchi right here in Adano. They did much damage.”
Mayor Nasta said: “Yes, that is true, I talked with Quattrocchi yesterday.”
The formidable Margherita said: “What happened?” This was something close to home, and she considered anything that happened in Adano more or less her personal property, to use as gossip.
Mayor Nasta said: “The American vandals destroyed four hundred and seventy thousand lira worth of stuff in Quattrocchi’s house. Heirlooms, paintings, sculpture, glassware. They said that Italian art is degenerate; they did all this because they wish to impose American ideas of art on Italy. That is what Quattrocchi told me the American Major had told him.”
Mercurio Salvatore, the crier, said: “That I will not believe. The Mister Major is our friend.” The crier was annoyed enough to say this in very nearly his crying voice. He spoke loudly enough to be heard inside the Palazzo.
“Quiet,” Mayor Nasta said. “He will hear you and punish you.”
“Why should he punish me?” Mercurio cried. “I am defending him.”
“He is unpredictable,” Mayor Nasta whispered. “Also, he is lecherous. He is trying to seduce the daughters of Tomasino the fisherman. I have this on good authority. You will see, in a few months the daughters of Tomasino will have big bellies.”
The formidable Margherita was beginning to enjoy this. “If I know the daughters of Tomasino,” she said, “they may have big bellies without the help of the Mister Major,” and she laughed harshly.
“You will see,” Mayor Nasta said. “I must be going now,” he said, bowing to the circle, as if the fact that it was beginning to grow embarrassed him. “Good day,” he said, “do not forget the twenty-third.”
Each day when he came out from his repentence before Sergeant Borth, Mayor Nasta would go across to the sidewalk in front of the Palazzo, and he would approach a different group, and he would tell them pretty much the same thing.
Sergeant Borth allowed this to go on for several days, because Sergeant Borth was a careful worker. He waited until he was sure of all his facts. He had his informers trap Mayor Nasta into new exaggerations and accusations. He made sure that the son of Afronti the noisy cartman had not deserted. He checked with Intelligence at IX Corps to make sure that the Germans were not expected to counterattack on the twenty-third. He even went so far as to check with Captain Purvis as to the intentions of Major Joppolo toward the daughters of Tomasino. “Hell,” the Captain said, “I don’t think the Major knows what a pushover they’d be, talking wop the way he does.”
When he was ready, Sergeant Borth went to Major Joppolo. “Major,” he said, “we’ve got to put Nasta away.” The Major said: “What’s he done?”
“He’s been planting rumors against us. I hate to admit it, but he’s done it very systematically and very skillfully.”
“What kinds of rumors?”
“Oh, all kinds. He has quite a few people thinking that the Germans are going to put on a major counterattack next week. He even has some of them believing that you haven’t been doing right by certain young ladies in this town.”
Major Joppolo blushed. “That isn’t true,” he said.
“I know,” Borth said. “I checked into it. But they tell me the Mister Major could make time if he wanted to.” “Cut it out,” the Major said.
“That’s what they tell me,” Borth said. “They say these particular girls don’t smell of fish, but their old man knows a good fish when he sees it.”
“Cut the kidding,” the Major said, and that echo was in his voice. He changed the subject quickly. “When are you going to arrest Nasta?”
“In the morning, when he comes in for his daily worship:”
“Okay,” the Major said. “Let’s keep him in the prisoners of war cage for a few days, and not send him to Africa till we’ve questioned him a bit. I’m sort of glad to have him put away.”
The next morning Mayor Nasta was somewhat surprised to see, besides Sergeant Borth in his office, two other men wearing brassards marked M.P. He said, as suavely as ever: “Good morning, Mister Sergeant.”
“And what crime would Mayor Nasta like to repent this morning?” Borth asked.
“Is it not the Mister Sergeant’s turn to pick a crime?” the Mayor asked.
“Perhaps it is, perhaps it is. Well, let’s see. This morning I think Mayor Nasta will repent the crime of not having made good use of his freedom. He will repent the crime of having talked against the Americans.” Mayor Nasta turned pale. Borth stood up.
“He will repent the crime of having invented false rumors, of having told the gullible people here in Adano that the Germans were planning a counterattack for next week.”
Mayor Nasta turned his head and looked at the door. Borth motioned to the M.P. s to step into it, and they did. “He will also repent having said slanderous and false things about Major Joppolo. Also he will be very sorry that he lied about the son of the cartman Afronti.”
Mayor Nasta was white as a sheet. “Liesl They are lies!” he said.
Borth said: “Mayor Nasta is excitable this morning. And he had grown so calm about his repentantes. Why is he excitable this morning?”
Mayor Nasta was excitable because he knew he was caught. “Lies,” he shouted. “My enemies have been lying against me.”
Borth said: “Is this a lie? Is it a lie that you said yesterday morning, before fifteen people on the sidewalk in front of the Palazzo: `The Americans are such cowards that they had to be pushed from their transports into landing barges when they came here’? Is it a lie that you said...” And Sergeant Borth repeated word for word ten sentences that Nasta had said, as informers reported them. Sergeant Borth had a very good memory, and he enjoyed deflating this man, and he made a very terrifying show of it for Mayor Nasta.
After ten sentences, Mayor Nasta did not shout anything more about lies. He resorted to ridiculous, hollow threats which echoed his days of power: “I will have you killed,” he shouted. “I will have you put in prison.”
“No,” Borth said, “you have that just backwards, Mayor Nasta. I will have you put in prison.”
Mayor Nasta shouted: “You can’t do that. I will report you to the authorities. You will be sorry. When you are beaten, you will be sorry.”
Borth said: “I think you really believe that the crooks of the world can win this war. You’d better think that one over a little. We are going to give you a chance to think it over, Mayor Nasta. You are under arrest.”
Then Borth said to the two M.P. s in English: “Take him away, boys. He’s getting noisy.”
The M.P.’s took Nasta by both arms. Borth said: “I’m going to miss your daily visits, Mayor Nasta. I hope you will come to see me when you get out, I mean if you get out.”
Mayor Nasta said stubbornly: “You will be sorry.” The M.P.’s took Nasta away to the prisoner of war cage.
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br /> The p.w. cage was simply the walled park opposite the Church of the Benedettini, with all but one of its gates boarded up and a little barbed wire strung along the top of the wall. When Mayor Nasta was admitted, there were some two hundred Italians and about twenty Germans in the enclosure. Several of the Italians were from coastal defense divisions, and a number were from Adano itself, and as soon as they saw Mayor Nasta, they told their friends from other towns: “There is the Fascist pig we were telling you about.”
And from that moment on, Mayor Nasta was addressed by all the Italians in the p.w. cage as Fascist Pig. Mayor Nasta did not make a very good start in the cage. The Americans had a forty-year-old, Italian-speaking Top Sergeant in charge of the guard. The first time Mayor Nasta saw the Top Sergeant walking in the enclosure, he rushed up to him and said: “This is a mistake.’ I should not have been imprisoned. It was all a mistake.” “Is that so?” the Top Sergeant said in a slow, Brooklynese Italian. “You are another mistake? We have several mistakes here. All mistakes here must clean the latrine. You are our newest mistake, so you will have the privilege of cleaning the latrine this week.”
Life in the p.w. cage was not very pleasant for Mayor Nasta. None of the men had blankets, and the nights were pretty cold, so they slept in close rows, keeping each other warm with their bodies. But no one would sleep next to the Fascist Pig. They said he had a peculiar smell. As a matter of fact, he did have a peculiar smell for several hours each morning; it came from being a mistake.
At last Mayor Nasta found a man who would talk with him. This was a German who spoke Italian.
Mayor Nasta told him that he was still Mayor of Adano, that he had been treacherously arrested by the Americans, that he was trying to do all he could to help the Germans win and that, in short, he was a pretty important person who ought to be helped. The Italianspeaking German told his friends all about Mayor Nasta, and they decided they ought to help him escape.