by Angela Petch
Lupino was aware of something first. He growled, then the bell tinkled and, after unleashing him from his chain, the two of them bounded over to the hens. It was the boy again. In his haste to escape, he had tripped over the wire and fallen to the ground. Massimo scooped him up. The young thief wriggled and struggled in his arms before sinking his teeth into his captor’s hand.
‘Bastardino,’ Massimo yelped and gave him a cuff round the ear. Lupino jumped up at the lad’s heels, nipping and yelping as he flailed his feet, trying to escape.
‘Put me down,’ the boy shouted.
‘I’ll put you down once you stop kicking me,’ Massimo said. ‘If you don’t stop wriggling, I’ll wallop you again.’
The thief calmed down and Massimo set him on the ground. He kept tight hold of his ear and led him back to the house.
The boy dug his heels in. ‘Where are you taking me?’ he yelled, and Massimo yanked him onwards.
‘We’re going to have a little chat about stealing. And, if you’re so hungry, I thought I might find you something to eat.’
The boy hung his head and started to snivel, and Massimo took pity. ‘Don’t worry, lad, I won’t harm you, but if we stay out here arguing, you’ll wake the rest of the village and you wouldn’t want that. They might not take so kindly to a thief in their midst.’
‘There’s nobody else here except old Robertino and those mean bitches,’ came the reply. Something about the boy’s voice made Massimo stop and do a double take. Putting his hand under the boy’s chin and turning his face upwards, a moment of shock and recognition coursed through him. ‘Lucia,’ he gasped. ‘Lucia, is it really you?’
Her face was streaked with dirt, her hair a greasy mess, her trousers and shirt were in rags and she was barefoot, but her deep green eyes were unmistakably the eyes of the girl he had grown up with.
She jutted out her chin defiantly. ‘And so?’ she asked. ‘What if I am Lucia? What are you going to do with me now?’
Despite her defiance, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She resisted at first, then he felt her body shudder and she started to sob.
‘Let’s get you inside,’ he said, leading her towards the house. She went meekly and he shut the front door, gesturing to her to sit at the table.
He felt her watching him as he fetched bread and cheese from the corner cupboard and cut slices from a ham hanging from a hook in the ceiling. She stuffed the food into her mouth, tearing at the bread with her filthy hands, her nails black with dirt. She gulped down the glass of milk he placed before her and he wondered when she had last sat at a table to eat a proper meal.
Massimo set a light to the fire laid in the hearth and went to fetch water to heat in the cauldron hanging above the fire to pour into the large zinc bowl in the storeroom. ‘You can wash, I’ll find you fresh clothes, and then we can talk,’ he said.
She stopped chewing and looked at him with horror.
‘Don’t worry. I will leave you alone to bathe yourself. Lucia, it’s your old friend Massimo, you mustn’t be afraid of me.’
He went outside and sat with Lupino, stroking the cub’s fur and wondering what had happened to reduce his childhood friend to her miserable state. Once upon a time, before the war had come in like a mighty storm and blown all their lives apart, there had been the expectation that they would marry. Maybe by now there would have been a young family to care for. But so much had happened to change these plans; the war had sent them down different roads. ‘What am I going to do, Lupino?’ he muttered aloud. The animal licked his hand and settled down at his feet, his shaggy tail thumping in the dust by the front step.
When he thought Lucia would be finished attending to herself, he went back into the house. She had gone from the kitchen and he called out, but there was no answer. He climbed the ladder to his bed and she was there, curled up fast asleep, her scarecrow hair wet on his pillow. He tiptoed across the wide oak floorboards and pulled the covers gently over her naked shoulders, then went next door to his parents’ bedroom. That night he tossed and turned in the big bed, wondering how best to deal with this girl, so deteriorated and fragile since the last time he had seen her. Soon after six o’clock, when he brought her up a cup of boiled milk and ersatz coffee, he found the bed empty.
Now that he had found her and knew she was still alive, alone out there on the mountain, God knew where, he had to find her again. Massimo gathered a few items from his cupboards: half a loaf, a quarter of a pecorino cheese, a jar of damson jam that Robertino had given him, a handful of dried borlotti beans and a chunk of Capocollo sausage and placed them all in a sack. He added a knife and spoon and a bottle of milk. Stopping to assess whether these provisions were enough, he grabbed a half-finished bottle of wine as well as a corner of soap. Then, racing up the ladder to his parents’ room, he pulled one of his mother’s shawls from the chest at the end of her bed. Even though it was August, the nights could turn cold, and she might be sleeping rough. Finally, he took the filthy rags that Lucia had been wearing and thrust them under the animal’s muzzle. The wolf spent some time sniffing the torn shirt and breeches, whining and snuffling. ‘You’re going to help me find her, aren’t you, amico mio,’ Massimo said, scratching the wolf cub behind his ears and tying a home-made leash around his neck.
Massimo had an idea where she might be. When they were young, the little gang from Tramarecchia used to disappear to a cave they’d discovered off the path that led towards the peak of Montebotolino. His father had warned them that route was known as the Passo dei Ladri, the Thieves’ Pass, and that if they happened to get in the way of brigands, they’d be in serious danger. This warning was most likely a way of keeping the children safe, for the area was prone to landslides, but the thrill of danger had only made the children want to go to their cave more frequently, and it had become a kind of den or a rifugio when they wanted to escape from adults. From their homes, they’d each nicked bits and pieces and made the place into a little house: stubs of candles, matches, chipped plates and cups that had been thrown out on the village dump, an old piece of tarpaulin to lie on. Massimo remembered how the boys had carved items from pieces of wood they’d found in the river: hooks for the cave wall, wooden spoons to eat from. He had a scar on his left hand, between his thumb and forefinger, where his knife had slipped in his clumsy attempts at whittling the wood. He touched it now and smiled at the memory of those innocent days.
Massimo and Lupino crossed the river at the weir. The sun was already climbing high in the sky, and the water looked inviting. He bent down to submerge his face and neck while the wolf cub lapped at the cool water, before they started the climb to the Thieves’ Pass.
He was breathing heavily when they reached the rock formation that had always seemed to him like the arches of a giant portal to another world. Huge slabs above him were like the turrets of a castle. On the other side of this archway the path led through a dense beech wood, the shadows under the thick canopy dark and foreboding. As children, they had subconsciously stuck closer together whenever they passed through this section, each probably remembering their parents’ talk about brigands. In the evenings, when the families in the village took turns to invite each other to their veglie, or gatherings, they were used to listening to stirring recitals of passages from the classics, like Dante or Ariosto. Massimo always thought of the opening lines from the Inferno, where Dante spoke of entering a dark and savage wood halfway through his life, at a stage when he was lost and troubled. He always recited those lines whenever they passed through the spooky copse:
‘Halfway along the journey of our life, I found myself in a dark forest; the way ahead was lost…’
‘Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, che la diritta via era smarrita…’
He had done it to distract himself, as well as the members of his little gang, until they were safely through the gloomy tunnel of leaves and out the other side. Here the treeline ended,
and the sun shone down on them as they ran towards their cave.
Today, the shade in the woods was a welcome respite from the morning heat and he slowed his pace to enjoy the cool air, Lupino panting as he followed his master. He called out Lucia’s name as they approached the rocky outface that hid the cave’s entrance. It wasn’t easy to find. Thick creepers hung from the top of the outcrop, concealing a slit of an opening in the rocks. Massimo remembered that the landmark to search for was a majestic oak tree growing ten paces to the east. As children, they had tied a rope from one of its thick branches and swung in turns, daring each other to go higher and higher, listening to the creak of the rope as it rubbed against the branch. He was dismayed to see now that the tree had been struck by lightning, its huge trunk reduced to a metre-high blackened stump.
There was no reply to his calls, but Lupino immediately nosed the air and the ground and he was off on the trail, zigzagging his way towards the entrance of the cave. Massimo followed, calling Lucia’s name softly, parting the creepers to look within. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but eventually he could see that the cave was being used. Searching for signs to help confirm the occupant, he saw a nightdress hanging from one of the wooden pegs he had made all those years ago. It was filthy, covered in scorch marks and holes. In the far corner, a mound of dry leaves and grass was most likely where she slept. The remnants of a fire and an old pot showed where she cooked. He called again, but either she was hiding, or she was nowhere near, for Lupino would surely have detected her scent.
He left the sack and its contents near her makeshift bedding and cursed himself for not having thought to bring a note. Picking up a stick, he scratched his name in the dirt by her bed. That way she would know who had left the supplies.
‘She’s not here, Lupino, we’ll have to come back. We must be patient, my friend.’ The wolf cub wagged his tail and Massimo laughed. ‘You have no idea what I am saying, have you?’ Lupino wagged his tail more vigorously and cocked his head to one side, looking up at the leader of his small pack.
‘Come on, Lupino,’ Massimo said, yanking the rope to encourage the cub to follow.
He decided to take a longer route back to Tramarecchia. There was another way that led to the river and the weir, a spot where blackberries and wild raspberries grew. He would harvest a few and maybe uproot a couple of plants for his kitchen garden. The route was longer, but it was easier than the earlier climb and Massimo enjoyed his walk, all the while planning how he was going to approach Lucia, who seemed so terrified.
As he drew near the river, Lupino strained at his leash. A woman was singing. A sad tune, sung in a minor key, in a language Massimo didn’t understand. The sound of the waterfall muffled his approach, and he stood for a while, listening, watching Lucia dangling her feet in the water, plucking petals from an ox-eye daisy and casting them one by one into the pool as she sang.
A movement from the wolf cub must have caught her peripheral vision and she stopped abruptly, getting to her feet, fear showing in her face. Massimo stepped forward and shortened the leash, so that Lupino was right next to him. ‘Don’t worry, Lucia,’ he called. ‘He’s tame. He won’t hurt you.’
Her shoulders slumped in relief and she smiled weakly. ‘Where did you find him?’ she asked, approaching them tentatively, holding out her hand to the cub, who strained towards her, rising on his back legs. She let him nuzzle and lick her hand and the little animal seemed to relax her, because she looked up at Massimo, a real smile on her face. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the Lucia he remembered.
Massimo sat down by the river’s edge and patted the space next to him, but she shook her head and moved away.
‘Don’t be afraid, Lucia.’
She shook her head again and began to walk back up the mountain. He called after her, ‘I left you something. Up there in the den,’ he added.
She turned back and stood still, a mixed look of fury and terror on her face. It reminded him of an animal frozen in the glare of lights.
He persisted, while he had her attention. ‘I’ll bring you more food, if you want.’
Again, she shook her head and with some instinct, he understood that the cave was her haven; he should not violate her space and go there uninvited.
‘I won’t come again if you don’t want me to. But if you need anything, you know where I am,’ he said, getting up to leave. He strode away along the river, not wanting her to feel she was being followed, thinking to himself that she would be much harder to tame than Lupino. He wanted to know what had terrorised her so much to turn her so wild. Massimo decided that he would help her. No matter how long it took.
Seventeen
Tuscany, Present Day
Massimo looked pale and even slighter, bundled up again in his large overcoat, but he broke into a huge grin when Alba walked into the care centre. She bent to kiss him on each cheek.
‘You’re looking a little under the weather,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Only a cold,’ he said. ‘They make too much fuss in here. At this time of the year, with changes in temperature, it’s normal.’
‘He can’t wait to go to his house,’ Tanya said, ‘and it works out perfectly because we are short-staffed. But make sure he wraps up warm, please.’ She handed Alba a list of instructions and contact details. Turning to Massimo, she wagged her finger and told him to behave.
The old man winked at Alba. ‘But of course. Goodbye, Tanya, my dear.’ He stood up and was out of the door, as nimble as a child, so that Alba had to catch up with him.
As soon as he was in the front seat and she’d started the engine, he unbuttoned his coat. ‘I only put this on to keep them happy.’ He let out a huge sigh and sat back, gazing out at the view of the mountains across the valley. The flat tabletop peaks of the Sasso di Simone and Simoncello dominated the skyline; the meadows were yellow with masses of buttercups. It seemed that summer was on its way at last.
‘It’s so good to be out of that place,’ he muttered.
Alba felt sorry for him, wondering what it must be like for a person to have to accept the loss of liberty. He’d had such an eventful, full life from what he’d told her so far. It must be frustrating to be confined and cared for in an institution at the end of one’s life. With the best will in the world, with the best staff and facilities, an institution could never replace one’s own home.
Massimo wound down the window and leant out to breathe in the air. They were on the dirt track now, rounding the bend past the canile, the local dog pound. ‘Stop, stop,’ he said.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Let’s go and see the dogs,’ he said.
‘Don’t we have to make an appointment? It’s closed to visitors, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t worry about that. I know Gianfranco. He’ll let us in.’
She parked up under a row of oaks and went to help Massimo out, but he was already walking up the path to the metal gates. The dogs were barking now, her cries of ‘wait for me’ drowned by their yelping and howls.
‘Eh, Gianfranco,’ Massimo called, his voice making the dogs more excited. A couple of them started to bay and then the rest of them joined in, sounding like a pack of wolves. ‘Sono io. It’s me. Let me in, paesano,’ he said, using the affectionate term for a fellow villager.
A scruffy middle-aged man wearing hunter’s camouflage trousers came out from a building behind the shelters. He carried a shovel in his hand and a couple of the dogs jumped up at the wire netting as he passed. He made a clicking noise with his mouth and they settled down.
‘How is he, Gianfranco?’ Massimo asked as he approached.
‘He’ll be better for seeing you. How the devil are you, Massimo?’ Gianfranco said, glancing at Alba. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while. I began to think you’d popped your clogs. Got yourself a new girlfriend, have you?’ His smile was friendly, and he shook both their hands.
Massimo ignored his questions and hurried over to a caged area
near a house. A small vegetable plot was already planted with a row of tomatoes and salads, a cat curled up on the mat outside the door.
She watched as Massimo opened the door to the last cage. A dirty white mongrel stood waiting, a hound that resembled a Maremmano shepherd dog and something else she couldn’t fathom. His tail wagged frantically like a fast metronome, and his tongue hung out of his mouth as if he was smiling.
‘Freddie, Freddie, amico mio,’ Massimo said, bending to pat the dog, who nuzzled up to him. He took a handful of biscuits from one of the large pockets in his overcoat and threw one of them in the air. Freddie jumped to catch it in his mouth and stayed on his hind paws for a moment longer until Massimo threw him another. ‘Still life in you, old friend,’ he chuckled as the dog lay on his back, waiting for his tummy to be tickled.
‘Here, take him out for his walk,’ the dog warden said, handing Massimo a lead. ‘But remember not to tell anybody. I’ll get the sack.’
‘What about taking him in the car with us down to Tramarecchia for the weekend?’ Alba asked.
Gianfranco shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s nobody there to see and nobody to hear I gave you permission,’ he said. ‘So, that’s fine. Let the pair of them have time together.’
She encouraged Freddie into the back seat of the car, and they continued down the track.
‘Your dog?’ Alba asked.
‘My old friend, yes. A house without a dog is not a home. Both of us are locked up now. The centre wouldn’t let me keep him, but he’s in good hands with Gianfranco and I know he’d invent all kinds of reasons against his adoption if anybody wanted him.’