by Dick Rosano
With the defeat of the Axis in North Africa in May 1943, the Allies could turn their attention to mainland Italy and the march north toward Germany. But as other invading forces had done for thousands of years, an approach to the Italian mainland from the south meant passing through Sicily. By now, the Allies had established very effective battle strategies for their partnership and made swift use of them in their plan to attack the island.
But even with superior forces, the Allied conquest of Sicily was supported by a carefully choreographed deceit conceived by the Allies before they disembarked from North Africa. Late in that campaign, a German detachment found the body of a British pilot in the Mediterranean. In the pilot's possession was a cache of classified documents that detailed the Allied plans to invade Sardinia and Corsica. The secret materials were run up the German chain of command all the way to Adolph Hitler, who ordered German troops to reinforce those islands in preparation to repel the Allies.
As it turned out, the pilot was actually a recent suicide and the Allies had used his body as a decoy, outfitting it with fake documents in an elaborate ruse to lure German forces away from the Allies' actual target – the southern shores of Sicily. The Germans bought into the subterfuge, sent their forces to Sardinia and Corsica, and left the Allies' true objective too lightly defended. The defeat of the Axis forces in Sicily took just over a month. The German and Italian troops were driven from the island.
As North Africa and then Sicily fell to the Allies, the political and military infrastructure of Italy and its ruling Fascist party crumbled. In July 1943, Mussolini was removed from office and arrested. His successor, Pietro Badoglio immediately began secret negotiations with the Allies to join them and sever Italy's ties with Germany.
Meanwhile, American and British forces were driving the remaining Axis troops in Sicily into the far northeastern corner of the island. Unfortunately, the German and Italian soldiers managed to retreat from Messina and go to the mainland, thus avoiding capture. These Axis forces reached southern Italy, occupying the region, and posing another challenge for the Allied forces expecting to enter Italy from the south and march toward Rome.
The surviving Axis troops flooding into southern Italy, presenting a threat to the people there, including the people in the villages of Matera and Altamura.
Chapter 10
On the Train to Toritto
Carlo rode seconda classe on a train that left Roma Termini and headed south toward what Italians call the Mezzogiorno.
These regions below Rome and Naples are less industrialized, more rural and more sparsely populated. Its cities and villages are ancient, far less modern than those in the north. The Mezzogiorno's largely agricultural economy and greater poverty have made southern Italians disparaged as uncultured by the more educated and moneyed classes of the north. This prejudice has persisted for hundreds of years, becoming even more marked after the unification of Italy in the 1860s, a political realignment that rested more power in the urban centers of the north.
Carlo was of southern Italian descent and while he admired Rome and Florence, he was still drawn to the regions where his family originated and to the customs and traditions of a people with deep roots in the past. Riding second class on a train was not a conscious decision, but reflected his embrace of the way of life of those from the Mezzogiorno.
As the train rumbled along the tracks south of Rome, Carlo left industrialized centers behind and watched as the landscape turn into a palette of dusky olive and faded taupe. The bright blue sky never lost its crystalline brilliance, but it now hovered over a terrain that seemed drought-ridden and abandoned.
From the window on the train, Carlo gazed out at pastures that seemed to yearn for rain, shepherds tending small herds of gangly sheep, and rivulets of streams that ambled across the flat terrain. As he watched an old farmer in a sweat-stained blue cap drive an old tractor across the rutted farm, a wan smile crept across Carlo's face. He took no pleasure in the scene, just an abject recognition of life in the south and how the tireless efforts of its inhabitants served to provide sufficient sustenance to carry on.
The train made occasional stops in small villages along the route, the station and modest buildings nearby softening the impression of a land lost in time. He bought lunch, a panino stuffed with fresh figs, ripe tomatoes, and succulent cheese, and Carlo had to admit that – even in this apparently desolate landscape – Italians still managed to produce mouth-watering food.
As the train lurched once more into motion, he sipped his wine and noted the passing signposts of southern Italy. First Pescara going east, then Foggia on the way south, then Cerignola, Barletta, Molfetta and smaller towns that didn't even warrant a stop. When the train finally pulled into Bari's Centrale station, Carlo was immersed in his memories of Apulia, the region his parents and forebears had grown up in, where some distant cousins still lived and who had hosted him on an earlier trip to Italy.
He collected his bags and disembarked from the train, heading down the binario, or platform, toward the rental car company he knew was outside the station. There he rented a Fiat 500, big enough for him but, like most Italian cars, small – and easy to maneuver in cities designed before the invention of automobiles.
Altamura was about a one-hour drive from Bari. Carlo had been in this region before, notably to visit Toritto, his mother's hometown, but he had never driven there before, so navigating the roads became as much a challenge as navigating the pack of caffeine-fueled Italian drivers in the lanes beside him.
Carlo entered Altamura from the Via Bari on the northeastern part of town just as the sun was setting. Instructions mailed to him by the Filomena family indicated that they lived on Via Cassano delle Murge, south of his present location, but inside the city's border, so he didn't expect it to take long to find their home. Of course, the GPS he relied on in St. Louis wouldn't work in southern Italy, so he was forced to use a more traditional method unfamiliar to a person his age: He stopped to ask for directions.
Carlo rolled down the window of the rental car and pulled alongside a middle-aged man with broad-shoulders and a sun-burned visage.
“Mi scusi, signore,” he began, hoping his Italian hadn't languished too long and would soon reappear on his tongue, “Puo dirmi dov'é la Via Cassano delle Murge?”
“Sì,” the man replied, “è facile da qui,” – “it's easy from here.”
The man lifted his right arm and, pointing with this index finger which he wagged up and down to make the points in his narrative, he indicated to Carlo that he should drive farther into the city, turn left at Via Santeramo, then left again on Via Cassano. He repeated the directions a second time while Carlo mimicked his words and gestures, nodding his head in understanding.
Carlo had learned most of his Italian dialect at home, featuring the clipped sounds of colloquial Pugliese. Fortunately, his knowledge of the dialect – far different from the Florentine Italian taught in the classrooms – would be enough to carry him through his stay in the Mezzogiorno.
“Sì, signore,” Carlo replied. “Mille grazie.”
Chapter 11
Through the Country
As the Italian and German forces headed north, Bernhard's detachment marched down country roads south of Rome, passing small towns, ancient villages, and farms where pastures and vegetable plots lined the roadway. The colonel paid little attention to the pastoral scenery; he was a man of the city and impatient to traverse the open land and settle into one of the more populated centers between Rome and Naples.
They reached Frosinone by nightfall. One of Italy's oldest cities, it had a vibrant economy, complete with local food shops, cafés, restaurants, and a Catholic church. The Nazi troops weren't interested in the church, but they helped themselves to the pleasures of the town. Six of the men sat at a table outside Vittorio's Trattoria, ordering great platters of food and multiple carafes of the local wine. When the bill arrived, they played their familiar game: They examined the bill carefully, rummaged aro
und in their pockets for money, then started fighting among themselves. Their pushing, shoving and feigned anger were enough for the proprietor to eject them from the premises. But before walking away from the table, one man grabbed the half-filled carafe of wine from the table and together the faux-enemies walked away singing songs about the Fatherland.
The southern Italians were often enduring small harvests and times of drought, so food was not abundant even in the best of times. During the years of this war, it was even scarcer, and mothers fought diligently every day to make sure they had enough for their families to survive. The Germans were not only feasting on food that was already in short supply, but their refusal to pay for the meals – true to the example provided by their commanding officer – made an even more indelible impression in the minds of the Italians around them.
Two of the soldiers were observing all this from the bar next door. They laughed at the ruse, all too familiar with it, but kept their attention on the comely waitress who was ordered to serve them by her gray-haired father who was tending to the drinks. One man leered shamelessly at the young lady's bottom while the other allowed himself a pat on the same. When the pat turned into a lingering rub, the owner rushed out to protect his daughter. The two men laughed and pushed him back behind the bar. They, too, left the establishment without paying their bill.
In the morning, Bernhard assembled his men and they drove south out of Frosinone, reaching Cassino in time for the evening meal. The colonel kept to himself, occasionally conferring with Hilgendorf, but he had spied a raven-haired beauty in the piazza and preferred her company to the young lieutenant's. While the Nazi soldiers commandeered the bars, stalked young women through the streets, and acted out their ruse to get free meals, Bernhard settled into his role as visiting royalty. When he discovered where the young woman was heading – Osteria Emanuele – he followed her there and planned to satisfy his hunger with whatever was on the menu, so that he could satisfy his other hunger by getting close to her.
Another day and another town. The German soldiers reached Campobasso and were surprised by the signs of Judaism they found there. Some were on a personal level, the curled locks of hair worn by the men; the modest dress of the women. Some signs were more evident, like the yellow Star of David insignias posted by the occupying German forces on all Jewish business establishments. There had long been a Jewish settlement within the city and segments of the population showed clear evidence of the survival of their culture and religious traditions. While Bernhard dined alone at a sidewalk restaurant, his men brought a man to him. Holding the frightened man by the elbow, one of the soldiers described the situation to his commander.
“He was found lurking around our convoy, sir. Probably planning to steal something.”
“No,” the man said tremulously. His skull cap left little doubt about his religious affiliation. “I wasn't going to steal anything. I had never seen German cars; I'm a mechanic and was only interested in them.”
“Sounds to me like he was planning to steal one,” observed the soldier.
“No,” pleaded the little Jewish man. “No stealing. No stealing.”
Bernhard showed his displeasure at being interrupted during this meal, and so with a wave of his hand, he sent the men away. But, before departing the table, the soldier delivered a violent punch to the man's mid-section. The victim doubled over just as his assailant came back with a swift uppercut with his closed fist. The Jew's head rocketed backward, blood spurting from his lips that were split by the impact. As he tried to regain his balance, the victim caught the cold steel of the soldier's handgun across his cheek, breaking his jaw and dropping the poor man to his knees.
Now bored, the soldier simply sneered at the man in the dust, while his companions laughed at the bloodied and broken Jewish mechanic.
Chapter 12
Advancing Into the Invasion, Basilicata, August 1943
Anselm Bernhard sat calmly in the back seat of the German Volkswagen Kübelwagen, a four-seater designed by Ferdinand Porsche and, ironically, built by a U.S. firm in Berlin. The common vehicle for Nazi officers, his was driven by his junior officer, Hilgendorf.
Bernhard couldn't be bothered with reading dispatches from Berlin. He spent the hours riding south past Naples and through the southern towns, peering at the passing landscape. He snorted once, telling Hilgendorf that the southern Italians must be beasts of the earth because their land was barren. He wondered how anyone with promise could live here, then satisfied himself by concluding that the primitive people of the south had no promise, so their environment was fitting.
“Where are we going?” asked the lieutenant.
“South. To Matera,” came the answer. Bernhard was searching for more plunder and had heard rumors of a great stash of art that was somewhere in Matera. He didn't feel the need to explain this to Hilgendorf, but the junior officer already knew of his superior's motivation.
Hilgendorf had reason to disagree with his commanding officer in recent days. The news from the south wasn't good and even without benefit of classified dispatches, he and the other dozen men in Bernhard's detachment knew that the Allies had conquered Sicily and were advancing toward the toe of Italy's boot.
His German troops had been pillaging Italian towns and confiscating an assortment of personal items, but they were not happy to be moving south when they could see German divisions moving north to escape the Allied invasion.
“What is in Matera?” asked Hilgendorf. He knew the answer but decided to make the colonel talk about it, so he could discuss the dangers of such a vector.
Bernhard didn't answer. Instead he pulled his notebook from the jacket pocket. Hilgendorf observed over his shoulder that the colonel thumbed past the early entries in the book and stopped at a point several pages from the end. The lieutenant had never looked at the journal; Bernhard would not have allowed it, but Hilgendorf assumed that these last pages held some information of particular importance to the mission.
Bernhard was focused on reading the entries and occasionally made notes on the pages with a pen he kept in the same pocket. Pointing the instrument to a specific entry, he mouthed the words “im erdreich” and then “versteckt,” meaning “in the ground,” and “hidden.” Hilgendorf could sense his concentration but could not turn around to read Bernhard's lips.
The colonel continued to focus on his notes, turning the page, then turning it back again. Without conscious thought, he said, “wie der Sassi.” Realizing that he had uttered the words out loud, Bernhard immediately closed the journal and shoved it back into his pocket.
Hilgendorf knew the phrase meant “like the Sassi,” but didn't know what Sassi meant.
They drove for another hour in silence then stopped the car and the ones following it under a tree. The shade from this isolated arbor was a relief from the constant heat and sunshine, and the German soldiers lounged for a bit and took longs sips from their canteens of lukewarm water.
Two of the soldiers were talking in hushed tones when Bernhard approached and ordered them to reveal what they were discussing.
“Sir, the Allies are advancing from the south, and our German regiments are retreating to the north,” one volunteered. At this, he paused, but then resumed his unplanned speech.
“Why are we going south into the teeth of the American invasion?”
Bernhard didn't feel any obligation to answer the question, but he also knew that dangers were more real here than up in Venice, and he wanted to keep his troops loyal to his cause, selfish though it was.
“There is a great collection in the south, in a dusty little town called Matera. We've been sent there by the Führer to secure the treasure before the Allies destroy it.”
Hilgendorf saw several inconsistencies in his colonel's statement. He had no reason to think the Allies would destroy what they were searching for, and he knew that they were not ordered to carry out this mission by the Führer. He also knew the other soldiers suspected as much.
“Wil
l we be able to do this and yet escape before the Americans can take us prisoner?” one of the soldiers asked.
Normally, Bernhard was too controlled to respond to doubts about him or the Third Reich – even though he privately doubted the Nazi establishment himself. But he was also firmly convinced that he had to get to Matera to find the collection and he would not countenance any hesitation from his troops in supporting his mission. In a split second, Bernhard swung the leather glove in his right hand across the face of the man standing in front of him, turning the man's cheek bright red.
The colonel then turned on his heel and marched toward the Kübelwagen.
Chapter 13
Revenge in Venice, August 1943
The grave was so new that the dirt piled up on the newly interred coffin still bulged at bit at the surface. The surrounding grass would soon spread and overtake this mound, just as the earth itself would settle upon the remains of the departed soul beneath it.
Marisa knelt down at the new head stone that she had arranged to be placed there, a simple flat stone etched with the name of her sister, Alessia, who had killed herself just a few months before. She made the sign of the cross, kissed the rosary beads in her right hand, and stared at the name on the stone.
Her face was blank, her eyes dry, but Marisa's heart burned with a passion for revenge. It bothered her during her everyday routine but troubled her most when she had time to visit Alessia's grave.
“Bastardo,” she spit out, “BASTARDO!” she shouted in the empty cemetery at Isola di San Michele.
“You will burn in hell,” she continued in a rant, “and I will send you there myself.”