I lowered my eyes. “Where is he now?”
“Dead. Car accident. He was in Monte Carlo. He loved his gambling, though nobody knew where he got the money to do that. Of the two of them, Antonio was the wealthy one. Funnily enough, Antonio’s house was broken into at some point, a lot of stuff was taken, but nobody was charged. After that, Paolo got a new fancy car and went to live it up in Monte Carlo. Coincidence?” She shook her head. The bitterness wafting off her was palpable. “I think there’s still some stuff of his up at Firefly House. I just can’t stomach going through it.”
“Nothing good about him, then?” I asked in a small voice.
“Nothing, Callie. Except, he fathered you.”
I almost gasped, hearing Flora saying something so nice about me.
Then why, why, did you not look for me?
“So why did my mother fall for him?”
“Oh, that’s easy. He was handsome, and a charmer. My sister was the loveliest person you’d ever meet. She was easy prey, I suppose. Malva was… naïve.”
“But she didn’t want to give me up. She said so in the letter. So why—?”
“She had no choice. She got sick,” Flora said, and got up, busying herself with washing mugs and pots, as if every job was urgent.
“Did my father abandon her? And me? And how did I end up in America?”
“Our parents sent us there so that Malva would forget about Paolo Caporale… so that she would leave everything behind. She found out she was pregnant, and so she decided to stay there. With you. I came back to Montevino, and never saw her again. She passed away not long after, without ever contacting us to say she was dying. Then my parents – your grandparents – died too… Rosa and Claudio, those were their names… and I was left alone, without a clue how to find you. End of story.”
“But why? Why did Malva not call you when she was sick? Why did she not give me to you, instead of having me adopted?”
I have no family left, Malva had written in the letter she’d left me. But she had a sister! Something must have happened between them.
“I don’t know.”
You do, I thought to myself.
“And my father?” I asked instead.
“Your father, among other things, spent some time in prison for trying to extort money from various people. Like I said, a real gentleman.”
I rubbed my forehead. “God.”
“I know.”
I took a moment to try and digest all that Flora had said to me. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“You’re sorry? You feel sorry for me?” she snorted.
“Yes. It couldn’t have been easy, being left alone like that.”
“No. It wasn’t. But I don’t deserve your pity. And I don’t want it.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“I think you’d better go,” she said in a low, hard tone.
I stood and scribbled my number on a piece of paper that was on her desk, for her to do as she saw fit. “Thanks for the tea,” I said, and left with a heavy heart.
It had been a difficult day. Back up the hill I went looking for Tommaso at his house, but the lights were out. He wasn’t home, and Morella wasn’t either, because there was no barking. My heart sank further.
I was too tired even to cook and eat dinner. I made myself a cup of some tea I’d bought in Passiflora to accompany a small packet of brown sugar biscuits from Leone’s, and took refuge upstairs in the little pink bedroom. I lit some natural-scented candles I’d bought, and the room was filled with a soothing lavender scent. I opened the window slightly, and a soft breeze danced in – no fireflies yet, but I could hear some crickets singing here and there. I had tea, biscuits, candles, and the diary. It was perfect. For tonight, I would forget everything – Flora’s mood swings, the mysteries surrounding my adoption, the suspended dialogue with Tommaso.
Who my father had turned out to be.
For tonight, I would just immerse myself in Elisa’s story. The next entry in her diary was written a long time after the one before.
June 18, 1941
Caro Diario,
Here I am, back in Montevino, after all this time. It’s now the middle of the night and I’m writing in my room, in bed, by the light of the candle. Pardon the time away, but I promise I have a good excuse for all this silence! My grades should be written on here, in place of all the missing entries. I only have a few exams left before I can start my training. It’s all so exciting. I’m hopeful training will happen somewhere near the village. We will see.
I’ve barely been home recently, so consumed by my studies, and I missed everyone. It’s nice to be back for a time. But I’m constantly scared for everyone here. Montevino is a different place, with the Blackshirts patrolling the streets every day watching what everyone says and does. A group of them sit in the square all day, acting out their pretend power, which has now become very, very real. And today, when I arrived from Turin, one of them came near me.
“Hello, Elisa! Do you not recognize me?” he said.
I didn’t look him in the eye. “Of course, I do, Carlo.”
“Well, I’m glad you remember me. How’s your course going?”
I was taken aback. Of all things, I wouldn’t think he’d ask about my studies.
“Good. Good, thank you.”
“I’m glad. No marriage on the horizon?”
There it was.
“No, Carlo. No. You? Surely you must be at least engaged by now? I don’t keep up with gossip much, being in Turin.”
“No. Someone broke my heart once, and now I shall never marry!” he said, laughing, a hand on his heart.
Huh! Always the jester.
A couple of Blackshirts from Carlo’s company turned around and looked at him. It wasn’t fitting for a man wearing the fascist uniform to behave in such a way; they had to command strength and dignity in all circumstances. But Carlo obviously didn’t care.
“I’m sure you’ll recover,” I said, giving a small smile.
“I don’t think so,” he replied, and for a moment, he seemed serious. But it couldn’t be. I must have been mistaken.
“Well, goodbye.”
“Goodbye. And Elisa—” He caught my shoulder, more gently than I expected him to do. “About Pietro…”
I felt my pulse quicken. My baby brother, still a child, is now a soldier. The thin, tall man we met in Papa’s workshop had made good on his promise: they enrolled him in the army on the false pretense he was sixteen. We don’t know much about how it happened – false documents, or maybe just a quiet whisper in someone’s ear – but he was accepted and sent south. What will happen next, we don’t know.
Carlo leaned close to me and whispered, “I might have news.”
“What?”
“I heard he—” Suddenly, he stopped, continuing in an unnaturally loud voice, “Good to know you’re doing well!” A smile was plastered on his face. His comrades were coming closer.
I desperately wanted to leave, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility of him having news of our Pietro.
“He’s being sent to Ethiopia,” Carlo whispered quickly.
I froze inside. “Thank you. For telling me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep an eye on things. For anything, come to me. Hey, time for some wine, I say!” He shouted to his comrades, changing tone completely. I looked at him for a moment, before walking away. Could I trust his kindness? I had no time to think of that. I had to decide whether to tell my parents about Carlo’s news of Pietro or whether to keep it to myself. If they knew Pietro was to be sent to Ethiopia, they would go mad with worry.
Back at home, I had dinner with Mamma, Papa and Zia Costanza, and it was so good – such a normal thing to do. Now that everything has changed, both in my life and in the world, time with them has become a gift, a privilege. And still, even in the peace of our home, sipping Mamma’s familiar rice and milk soup, there was something terribly wrong: the empty seat where Pietro should be sitting, and our forced cheerfulness.
>
The word “Ethiopia” kept whirling in my mind. We’d heard of how things were for our soldiers there: the heat, the thirst, the brutality. My heart bleeds for Pietro, for all of us. I can’t tell Mamma, I can’t…
I thought we’d go to our neighbor’s cowshed after dinner, like we always do on autumn and winter nights. It’s warm, and whole families and friends gather there to chat and tell stories. But tonight, it didn’t happen. I know why: Mamma is scared that Papa will say things that will get us into trouble.
Mamma spoke to me while we were washing the dishes. Zia Costanza was close by. Even now, I’m still trying to digest all that Mamma said.
Papa was in his workshop, but she whispered anyway, as if someone could overhear us. Things haven’t been the same between them, since the incident with the tall, thin man and Pietro’s call to the army.
“They’ll soon send him to the front, I think,” Mamma said. There was no need to specify who she was talking about. “Probably to Africa. Me and Costanza pray and pray, Elisa!” I wouldn’t tell her what Carlo had said, confirming her fears. I was stricken to see a tear roll down her cheek. She dried it with the back of her hand.
It feels like I’ve been living a parallel life, absorbed by my studies, while my family sinks deeper and deeper into difficulties. Pietro is conscripted, Papa is tempting arrest.
And Leo?
I miss him terribly. We’ve barely seen each other in the last year or so. Since that day in the cabin, he’s turned his back on me; we’ve only met at village celebrations, or by chance, and he’s always pretended not to notice me. It makes me sadder than I can ever say, but what can I do? Word in the village is that he’s engaged to Agnese.
I can’t blame him.
He has the right to move on.
But it hurts
Here the narration was interrupted. It seemed like Elisa didn’t have time to finish the sentence, or even add a full stop.
I’m back. I don’t know if I’m deliriously happy or terrified. Both, I think.
I can’t quite believe what happened.
Mother, Zia Costanza and I were sitting in the kitchen. I was studying and writing, as usual. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mamma jumped, and I held my breath too. Gone are the days when a knock at the door meant someone dropping by to say hello, to buy milk from our cows, or one of Pietro’s friends calling him out to play…
Zia Costanza’s eyes were wide, but she put her rosary down and went to open the door.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Leo was standing there, his cap over his face, a strong hand holding the door frame. My heart did a somersault. I could feel both Mother and Costanza letting out the breaths they’d been holding.
I steeled myself.
“Leo,” Mamma said with a strained smile. “Have you eaten? Would you like some warm milk and bread, my boy?”
“No, thank you, signora. I was just…” His eyes swept across the room, searching.
“Yes, she’s here,” Mamma said knowingly.
I felt myself blushing, and I pretended to be busy marking the page on my book and putting it away.
When I looked up, his gaze was on me.
“Hello, Elisa. Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Not to the woods,” Mamma admonished, and, for a moment, I felt like a child again.
“Alright. We’ll go down to the village, Mamma,” I reassured her. I was trying my best to sound aloof. Leo had ignored me for a long time. I didn’t want it to look like I would just jump to his bidding the moment he called. I took my apron off and threw on my coat, while Leo stood awkwardly by the door, under Zia Costanza’s cool gaze.
“Come,” he said to me as soon as I was outside, and took my hand, almost proprietarily. I was torn between excitement and annoyance.
“You shouldn’t hold my hand,” I said, thinking to pull it away from him. What would our neighbors think?
He squeezed it gently. “But I will anyway.”
I didn’t find it in me to protest. “The village is not this way,” I noted, my eyebrows knitted together. I still couldn’t quite soften with him, not after the way he’d treated me.
“I know. We’re going to the woods, silly. Don’t worry. No one will see us. I promise.”
I stopped abruptly, but didn’t let go of his hand. “What are you doing here, Leo? You’ve barely spoken to me in months. And now you come and—”
“I had good reasons.”
“Why? Because I chose university over marriage? Because Agnese is with you and…”
He shook his head. “Neither. Come away, please, in case—”
“In case someone thinks we are together? What? You don’t want to be seen with me?” I flared, wrenching my hand away.
Leo turned to look at me. “Just trust me, Elisa.”
I wanted to shout, to tell him how angry I was. But I also knew I was being unfair. It had been my choice not to turn our friendship into something more. But still, he was behaving as if… as if… As if I belonged to him. And he could let me go and then take me back whenever he wanted.
“Trust me. Please,” he repeated, and I tried my best to keep my wits about me and not to be melted by the look in his eyes.
In Turin, I had to be tough – the only girl in a world of men – working doubly hard not just to pass the course, but also to be accepted. But here in Montevino, here with Leo, my barriers were down, my soft core exposed once again. I nodded and took his hand.
It was chilly here, colder than in Turin. There was a full, white moon in the sky, with an eerie halo around it – in fact, I can still see it from the window right now, still free of clouds…
We stepped into the cabin. Our cabin, as I’d grown to think of it. “I thought you might need this,” Leo said, and took out a blanket that had been tucked under his arm. He arranged it around my shoulders, and the small, feather-light touch of his fingers made a shiver travel down my spine. “Better?”
“Better.”
In silence, he lit a small fire for us, circled with stones, and we sat side by side.
“You haven’t been home for a long time,” he began.
“I had a lot of work. But…”
“But?”
“You seemed so far away, like you didn’t care.”
His gaze lingered over me. I felt a rush of blood to my head, and I was sure I was blushing. “I know I’ve avoided you, Elisa. But things have happened. I had to.”
“Agnese,” I said, heartbroken, though I was trying to hide it.
“Forget Agnese. No, I told you, it’s not her…”
“It’s because of my choice, isn’t it? I went to university, and…”
“No! I would never stop talking to you because of that. You’ve always been so ambitious and strong-willed. It’s one of the things that makes you special.”
“What then? Why did you turn away when you saw me last? Do you have any idea how that felt?”
He looked pained. “I hated doing that. Elisa, listen. You made a choice, yes. You went to university. And I made a choice of my own.”
I gasped, my thoughts racing. “You’re going to become a priest!”
He laughed suddenly, and the sound was strange, in such an intense conversation. For a moment it felt like our old intimacy was restored. “No, I’m not going to become a priest. You’re daft.”
“What’s going on, then?”
“Look,” he said and took out a small, battered card from his pocket.
“What is this?”
“I’m a partigiano. Montevino division.”
“You…”
“Yes. I joined the Resistance, Elisa. Against Mussolini. They don’t own this country. They don’t own us.”
When he said that, I had a horrible flashback. Only yesterday, at the train station in Turin, I’d overheard a group of men talking in loud voices – a Blackshirt and two civilians. “Criminals. This is what they are. They can call themselves haughty names like partisans or Resistance, but they are crimina
ls. They should all be locked up.”
“Locked up? You’re joking, aren’t you? They should be shot. One by one.” The Blackshirt laughed and wanted the last word: “A bunch of men in rags, playing soldiers. We’ll squash them like bugs.”
My breath had caught in my throat.
“This is madness, Leo,” I said, the memory fading and the present returning once again.
“Do you think so? We can’t work if we don’t have a party card. We can’t eat if we don’t have a party card. They take most of what we produce. They decide what we can and what we can’t say. They drag us into idiotic wars that aren’t even ours…”
“I know all that. I agree with everything you say. But you can’t oppose them! What are you going to do? Throw stones at them? This is an army we’re talking about! The Italian army! The fascists have all the power, you can’t—”
“We’ll take it from them bit by bit,” Leo interrupted. “Yes, we are few, and we are poor. We are not as well armed as they are, but—”
“Leo, please,” I begged. “You’ll get yourself killed. That is all you will achieve.”
“Come,” he repeated, like he’d done back at my house. He rose to his feet and offered me a hand to help me up. Grabbing a spade that sat by the far wall – he must have put it there, because I’d never seen it before – he led me into another clearing whose entrance was almost unnoticeable, unless you knew where to look.
Then he began to dig in the hard ground. “Look,” he called me after a time.
I took a step towards him. He was holding something up. A jute sack. There were more of them in the hole he’d dug, covered in soil. He opened the thin rope keeping the sack he held shut, and took out a shotgun – and another, and another. “We do have weapons, and ammunition. And where I’m going, we have explosives too.”
“Explosives? Leo… where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you the exact location. In fact, it’s better if you don’t know anything. That is why I’ve been keeping away from you, Elisa. I couldn’t come near you. Your family is exposed as it is, with Pietro off fighting and your father’s opinions drawing some attention. I couldn’t put you or your family in any more danger.”
The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Page 14