Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  The American soldier abruptly withdrew his hand from inside the girl’s bra. The sight and sound he had just witnessed repulsed the wholly American, squeaky clean, deodorized GI. What he’d seen of Italy so far terrified him. Everything was so old and dirty. God help me, I’m going to puke too, he thought, trying not to gag.

  Liana watched him with an expression of supercilious cold amusement. She wasn’t surprised; they all reacted the same way at first. As for the old woman, she felt sorry for her, but since there was nothing she could do, there was no point in worrying about her. She was old and dying from cold and starvation, but at least she had had her life. Apart from giving her food whenever she could, Liana shut her out of her mind.

  ‘Take no notice,’ she told the GI. ‘The old woman is bedridden.’ She pulled her dress off over her head as she spoke and threw it across the back of a chair, then stepped out of her pants. ‘Don’t worry, she won’t watch us. She always turns her face to the wall. We are civilized here, in spite of the war.’

  ‘Christ!’ The soldier exploded into anger. ‘For what you charge I expected privacy.’

  ‘For what I charge, you expected sex.’

  Liana faced him, hands on hips, eyes narrowed with challenge. She’d never lost a customer yet because of the old woman. Lust always triumphed eventually. It was the nature of soldiers. No matter what the circumstances, they had to have sex. If they could not get it by paying for it, they took it anyway by rape. I’m doing some other poor little kid a favour, thought Liana, contempt spilling openly from her eyes as she held out her hand for the dollars.

  The American hesitated, then looked at the girl standing before him. It was true what they said about Italian girls. They were really something. Even in her ragged bra and slip she was beautiful, and as a bonus she spoke good English. Goddamned strange, though, and he asked how.

  ‘I learned at school,’ was the abrupt reply.

  It was difficult to believe. From what he had seen it was hard to imagine that schools had ever existed in Naples, let alone taught English, and to whores of all people. But what the shit, it sure made his life easier being able to speak to a woman when he needed a fuck, and he sure as hell needed one now. Greed got the better of him. Licking his lips like a hungry animal he looked at her full breasts, narrow hips and long, slender legs. His penis rose up, struggling against the confinement of his army uniform. Swallowing hard he reached in his pocket for the money. Jesus Christ, he had to have her.

  Barely disguising her derision, Liana took the wad of dollars he handed her. It was as she had expected, the basic animal need had prevailed. The gluttonous craving for sexual gratification had overcome other considerations. Men wanted sex in the same way as children wanted ice cream – as often as possible.

  ‘Just so long as she isn’t looking.’

  ‘She isn’t.’ Now that she had the money Liana didn’t bother to disguise her impatience. ‘Do you want me naked? If you do, it will cost more.’

  ‘No, no.’ He was still unnerved by the inert heap in the corner, and kept an anxious eye in that direction. ‘I just want a quick fuck.’

  Liana shrugged. The quicker the better as far as she was concerned. She lay down on her makeshift bed on the opposite side of the room to that of the old woman, and pulled up her slip, exposing her dark bush. The soldier watched, licking his lips in anticipation as she spread her legs invitingly. He had trouble undoing his flies, his big, clumsy hands fumbling and jamming the zip in his haste. Oh God, that’s all I need, thought Liana irritably, a soldier who can’t get his bloody trousers off. But she need not have worried. He didn’t bother with the zip. With one rip he tore his trousers open. The rigid shaft of his penis reared out of the torn opening with a quivering life of its own.

  ‘You do want a fuck!’ Liana observed dispassionately.

  No problem with this one, thank God. It would all be over in a few minutes, and then she would be free of him. Reaching up, she grasped the throbbing organ with one hand, and pulling him down guided him inside her with the other. A few convulsive thrusts and he was spent.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, that was too quick.’ He groaned petulantly, childlike in his disappointment.

  Liana thought quickly, her mind ticking like a cash register. Once more with this man, and she could finish for the night and go home.

  ‘You want to come again? I can make you.’ Slipping a hand through the gap in his trousers she gently kneaded his testicles, moving them about in their loose pouch of skin. As soon as she felt him shudder with pleasure she removed her hand. ‘It will cost you the same again.’

  ‘Mercenary bitch!’ He raised his head and glowered down at her.

  Unafraid, Liana stared back, her black eyes as cold as stone. ‘No money, no fuck,’ she said loudly and distinctly so that he understood she meant business. ‘Get off me.’

  Men, they were all the same, she thought, hatred welling up inside her. American, Italian – all the same; thinking they had a right to a woman’s body, that they should have it free. She pushed hard on the GI’s chest and brought her knee up ready to kick him if necessary.

  ‘OK, OK, I’ll pay.’ He reached into his back pocket and pulled out another bundle of dollar bills.

  Liana took it without a word. Her practised fingers flicked through the money, mentally counting it. In his haste he had given her far too much, but that was his problem, not hers. She put it away safely under the pillow.

  ‘You’ll get your money’s worth.’

  ‘You bet I will.’ He tried to kiss her, his mouth wet and slimy. Liana turned her head away and concentrated on getting him aroused as quickly as possible.

  Slipping a hand back between his legs she began to squeeze and fondle. She was expert, using tricks of the trade taught her by the other prostitutes. The quicker a man was aroused, the quicker he came and the sooner she could push the alien body out of her own. This one shouldn’t take too long. The American was already wildly enthusiastic, sucking at her neck and working her breasts like pump handles. Perhaps he thinks I’m a cow to be milked, she thought caustically, trying to ignore the pain his breast-wringing was causing her. But the GI grunted and wrung away even more excitedly, pulling one breast from her bra so that he could suck ferociously at her nipple.

  Liana tried to empty her mind of the present, and fixed her eyes on the ornate brass clock which ticked away on a shelf over the old woman’s bed. Liana knew it was the old lady’s last treasured possession – a wedding present, a memento of the days when she was a girl and had known what it was like to have an eager young man between her legs. Her mind drifted on, wondering what the old woman’s life had been like when she was young. Had she been happy? Had she been in love? Had she enjoyed sex? The latter two concepts were beyond Liana’s comprehension, having never experienced either herself. I suppose they must exist, she thought, otherwise people wouldn’t talk and write about love and sex. But for the life of her she could not imagine it. Sex was a hateful abomination to her, but unfortunately necessary for survival. To actually love a man and want sex – Liana shuddered at the repulsive thought.

  The soldier groaned and heaved, sucking more vigorously than ever, and Liana watched the hands of the clock creep round. Good, she’d be finished earlier than she had thought. Eleanora would be pleased to see her back. The pale face of her friend floated past in her mind’s eye, a flimsy ghost from another world, and as usual, whenever she thought of Eleanora, she worried. Why, oh why, didn’t Eleanora get well? She had more than adequate food now. Liana made sure of that. She got plenty of American army rations as well as money for her services, and Eleanora was never hungry now. But still she was ill. Still she coughed her heart out, day after day. She ought to be seen by a doctor. Liana had the money: hundreds of dollars hidden safely away, the proceeds of nearly a year’s prostitution. The problem was how to explain the money to Eleanora. She happily accepted the story Liana had fabricated of a menial job in Naples, with payment in US army rations. The explanation of doll
ars, which to poor Italians were the equivalent of gold dust, was quite another matter, though, and one which required careful thought. But Liana knew she had to find a plausible explanation soon. Eleanora must see a doctor.

  She glanced at the clock again. God, the soldier was hanging about! She transferred her attention back to the sweaty body on top of hers, and pulled his penis out of her vagina. Another five minutes and he will twist my breasts off. What does he think I’m made of? Roughly massaging the hot, sticky organ, she flicked its sensitive tip with her fingers until she felt it harden, and warm drops of liquid began spilling. Thank God for that, at last he was ready. Raising her hips, she guided the by now wildly elated GI back into her body.

  The wail of an air-raid warning began to filter into the room, the smooth, undulating sound contrasting with the American’s animal-like grunts as he ground into the soft flesh beneath him. He was taking longer this time, and his uniform buttons were digging into her. They hurt, and Liana decided he had had long enough. Raising her hips in a rocking motion, she grasped his testicles again and willed him to come once and for all. It worked; gasping frantically for air, his jabbing thrusts gained momentum, finally culminating in one great deep stabbing movement.

  As soon as he went slack, Liana slid her body from beneath his with practised ease. She’d given him more than his money’s worth. Now she was free.

  ‘Christ almighty! I’ll come to you again.’ Grinning stupidly, he rolled over on to his back. As if he has performed some miracle, thought Liana scornfully. She reached for her dress, watching him with loathing as he lay there panting, satiated with pleasure.

  ‘There’s a raid on. You’d better go.’

  The sounds of gunfire and the thudding of bombs finally penetrated his consciousness, and his face paled. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You were busy, or don’t you remember?’ So much for the brave soldier. She laughed. His open fear was pathetic. She pulled her dress over her head, and slid into her pants. ‘There’s a shelter at the end of the street if you’re that worried,’ she told him.

  ‘Too damned right I’m worried.’ He tried to zip his trousers, then remembered he’d torn them open in his haste to get at her. He cursed, aware that the girl was watching him calmly while he sweated like a pig with raw fear. Damn the trousers, he’d fix them later. Buttoning his jacket across his open flies he crossed to the door. ‘Aren’t you coming to the shelter?’

  ‘I’ll take my chance. I’ve lived through plenty of raids before.’

  ‘Suit yourself, but I for sure as hell am not taking chances,’ he spluttered, adding on a whining note. ‘Only landed in this godforsaken place yesterday. Nobody told me we’d be goddamned bombed!’

  ‘Armies have a habit of doing it,’ Liana said sarcastically. What did the fool expect? He was in the army; he must know there was a war on. ‘Friends or enemies, it makes no difference. They all drop bombs.’

  Along with many Italians, Liana had given up long ago wondering which side was doing the bombing. Bombs fell, and people died, although never for one moment did she consider that she could be one of them. She needed to stay alive, because somebody had to look after Eleanora. Other people got killed, but not her.

  The GI didn’t waste time trying to persuade her. The silly bitch could die if she wanted. He for sure wasn’t going to. He pushed through the door which swung open lopsidedly on its broken hinges. Liana watched his dim outline as he fumbled his way down the dark stairway. Good riddance, she thought. He had almost vanished in the gloom when he reappeared abruptly, his figure illuminated by a brilliant orange flash. Everything – the hair on his head, the fine khaki of his uniform, the wooden stairs, the minutest cracks in the walls – all were lit with terrifying clarity by an eery orange glow. A single ceiling lath came down first. Like an avenging sword, it unerringly swerved towards the soldier, piercing him straight through the chest. Liana watched in fascinated horror, as, like a hot knife through butter, the lath slid through his body and emerged from his back. It stuck out like a triumphant flag, unfurling a swathe of crimson flesh. The GI’s head jerked back, and he looked straight at Liana. His mouth formed an O of surprise, and he seemed about to speak. But instead of words, a huge pink bubble emerged, like a grotesque balloon of bubble gum, then it burst as he began to vomit his own lungs. His eyes, once brilliant blue and alive, suddenly clouded, becoming fixed and staring in death.

  Events followed one another in such quick succession that Liana had no time to be afraid. The building began to fall and a choking blackness descended. Her last thought, as dust and darkness engulfed her, was of the money. She must get the money. With a superhuman effort she reached towards the bed, and her groping fingers found it beneath the pillow. Ramming it into her brassière, she heaved a sigh of relief. Safe, she thought. No-one will get it now. Then she lost consciousness.

  *

  The first thing Liana noticed was the quietness. It was unnatural. She had never experienced such complete and utter silence before. Then the cold began to seep into her consciousness, and she felt afraid. It was bleak and muted as the grave.

  ‘Am I alive or dead?’ In panic she shouted out loud, and her voice echoed, crowding back in on top of her. An overwhelming sense of deliverance washed over her. I’m alive, I’m alive.

  The moment of euphoria was brief, however, as she suddenly realized she was trapped by solid masonry and wood. Her left arm was completely buried in rubble. By wriggling a little she found that she could move the fingers of that hand. She moved them again, experimentally waving them about. They felt free. Spreading them out wide, some of the fear began to dissipate. The cool night air was blowing on her hand. She was sure of it.

  ‘I must be near the surface. I mustn’t panic. Someone will rescue me soon.’ Unknowingly, she reasoned aloud, and her voice rebounded once more from the walls of her prison.

  Tentatively she began to explore with her free hand, touching, assessing, trying to distinguish the objects around her. The door to the stairway was above her, holding up the rubble from the roof. How much, and how heavy is the stuff above me? Do I try to move or do I stay still? Better to stay still, she decided, for now anyway. A bed – mine I suppose, she thought – lay beneath her, cushioning her body from the broken floorboards. It was the wall beside it which had collapsed, imprisoning her left arm. She carried on with her slow tactile exploration, gaining in confidence. If I keep my head I’ll get out, she told herself confidently. Then suddenly her fingers became entwined with another hand. She squeezed it, but there was no answering pressure. These weren’t living fingers; they were cold and stiff. A dead hand. ‘Share my grave,’ it seemed to say.

  ‘No!’ she screamed shrilly, twisting her head frantically as a vivid image of the impaled soldier came back to her. Her scalp prickled with horror. It was bad enough sharing a bed with him in life, but to share it with him now, in mutilated death. Shuddering violently, Liana tried to move away.

  The movement, although only slight, brought bricks and plaster crashing down, filling her mouth with choking grit, and making her eyes sting. It was then that she realized how small the space was that had saved her life – how small, and, therefore, how little air she had.

  ‘I must keep calm.’ Speaking aloud was a comfort. It gave an illusion of somebody else being with her, somebody who could listen.

  Forcing herself to go on, she moved her hand past the cold fingers and felt the rough wool of a knitted garment. It was the old woman’s shawl. Thank God, it wasn’t the soldier, it was the woman. The rest of her body was covered by fallen masonry. The inner wall must have caved in on her. Poor old thing. Liana hoped her end had been quick. She felt less afraid lying beside the dead woman, although logic told her it made no difference, a corpse was a corpse. Nevertheless, she still preferred the old woman for company.

  Liana assembled her thoughts and concentrated on the facts. The room she had shared with the old woman had been on the top floor of the tenement building
. That was good, she reasoned, because she should be on the top of the pile of rubble. That, and the fact that her left hand was free, surely meant that the rescuers would reach her first. She did not allow herself to think that there might not be any rescuers. Defeatism was not a trait that could ever be levelled at Liana. Subconsciously, she lifted her chin, setting it in a determined line. There would be rescuers, hordes of them, of course there would.

  Time passed slowly; she seemed to have been there for hours, and still no-one came. The cold seeped into her bones, slow, insidious and paralysing. Liana wanted to sleep, but knew she must not. She must stay alert to attract the rescuers when they came. She decided to signal with her free hand. It would keep her occupied and she might be seen by someone. The weight of rubble pressing on her arm was hampering the blood supply to her hand, and moving her fingers was difficult and painful. Gritting her teeth in determination, Liana slowly clenched and unclenched her hand. At least, she hoped that was what she was doing, but by now her arm was so numb that she wasn’t even sure her hand was actually moving. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but she persevered. Open and close, open and close.

  ‘Please let someone see it,’ she whispered.

  ‘Christ! Look, sir. There’s a hand sticking out up there, a girl’s hand, and it’s moving.’

  ‘Where, Charlie? Oh God, yes, I see it. Come on, let’s get up there and start digging.’

  Liana knew she was crying when she felt a hot wetness run down the icy cold of her cheeks. Men’s voices. English voices, and they were just above her now. They are going to get me out. Soon I will be free. She wanted to shout with joy, but did not have the strength. From inside her prison she could hear them grunting with the effort of heaving bricks and planks aside, then suddenly everything moved, sliding inwards, and a shower of suffocating dust almost buried her. Coughing and spitting out particles of dust, she fought for breath. Oh God, I’m going to die before they get to me.