by A W Hartoin
Stella kept nodding and agreeing, but her handsome husband wasn’t fooled. Between spasms, he eyed her, looking for dissent, but she was careful to keep her eyes wide and worried when she was thinking about how soon she could get out and find their old hotel. Maybe the carabinieri would keep Peiper in jail overnight or even a couple of days before the Reich intervened. Even if they didn’t, Stella felt sure she could get around Venice more easily on her own. She was small and unobtrusive. Nicky made every room seem smaller, just by being in it.
The captain eased the boat up to the pylons and looped a rope around one. He leaned over and waved them out of the cabin.
“We’re here,” she said, wrapping his arm over her shoulders and holding him by the waist. “Just take it slow.”
“Let go,” he got out between clenched teeth. “I can do it.”
“You’ve got cholera so you can’t.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
He spasmed in response.
“I thought not. Besides, Dr. Davide is going to come here, saying you have cholera and we have to play along.”
“Re…dic…u…lous.”
She maneuvered him out the door and the captain took over, manhandling Nicky over to the dock. They were happily sheltered from the rain by a wide overhang, but the canal water was high and washing up against the door up a good four inches.
“Oh, no. They’ve really flooded now.”
The captain grinned at her, showing all his gapped teeth, and letting out a litany of Italian that Stella couldn’t begin to follow. He rattled the doorknob and banged on the door. Then he grinned again, holding his large, rough hand out in the rain.
“Domani?” asked Stella.
He belly-laughed and clapped her on the back, swinging Nicky around wildly. “Sì, sì. Domani.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” whispered Nicky.
The captain saw his face turn grey and pounded on the door until a little window halfway up opened and a brown eye peered out at them.
“It’s the Mynas! Let us in!” yelled Stella and the door shuddered and clanked.
Sofia pulled opened the door while standing in a pool of water. It turned out the hotel was a couple steps up and still dry. “Come in. Come in.”
The captain half-dragged half-carried Nicky in and up the stairs before tipping his hat to Stella and heading back out the door into the deluge. Stella grabbed Nicky before his legs buckled and Sofia slammed the door, locking it with a heavy brass key.
“What has happened, Mrs. Myna? Your bambino? Is he okay?”
“Huh?”
Sofia raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes. That’s fine. False alarm. But Douglas, he’s very sick.”
Nicky doubled over on cue. Just when Stella thought he was playing his part rather well, he vomited all over the floor.
“Good God, man,” cried out Randolph, who’d turned the corner with Dolores. She clapped her hand over her mouth, spun around, and ran away. From the sound of it, she didn’t get far before she followed suit.
“Dolores!” Randolph ran after her and Sofia stood there with her arms up, mouth open with shock.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Nicky. “I have to lie down.”
Sofia yelled for Antonio and sprang into action, hopping over the spreading pool and grabbing Nicky’s flailing arm to support him before he collapsed. Antonio ran down the hall and stopped short.
“Can you get a bucket?” asked Stella. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No. No,” said Sofia. “Antonio, help Mr. Myna.”
Antonio took Nicky’s arm and put it over his shoulder.
“I will send for Dr. Davide,” said Sofia.
“Already here,” growled Dr. Davide as he came sauntering down the hall, cleaned up and almost respectable in a worn-out grey suit and tie. “Now you’ve done it, Mr. Myna.”
“Done what?” gasped Nicky.
“What tap did you drink from?”
They stared at the doctor and Stella couldn’t think. The vomit stank and Nicky was growing heavier by the second.
“The tap. Where’d he drink the water from?” asked Dr. Davide. “I have to report it to the polizia.”
“Oh. I…”
“Was it the one on the square by the church? It says non-potable. Can’t you read?”
Stella met the doctor’s stern eyes and his bushy brows shot up. “Yes, doctor. I think that’s the one.”
“Alright. Bring him to your room,” he said, loudly. “This will mean an injection or two.”
Randolph came down the other hall supporting the flushed Dolores. “What’s wrong with him, doctor?”
“Bacteria. Possibly cholera or something like it.”
“Cholera!”
Randolph looked ready to dump Dolores and run for it. Stella wanted to kick him, the coward.
“Don’t panic. Unless you plan on drinking from that fountain, you’ll be fine.”
“We should move hotels though,” said Randolph and Stella could see him calculating how fast they could escape.
“Suit yourself, but it’s not catching,” said Dr. Davide.
“You don’t know,” said Dolores.
The doctor turned on her, surprisingly fast for a bulky man in a tight suit. “As a matter a fact, ma’am, I do. Are you a medical doctor?”
“No, sir,” said Dolores, meekly.
“Then quiet down and go back to your room. I’ll see you shortly.”
A happy smile flitted across her face at the prospect and Stella rolled her eyes. Who wanted to see a doctor? The woman was an odd duck. Stella could never see another doctor and be happy about it. Doctors meant poking, prodding, and pain. There were no two ways about that.
But, obviously, the Hutchinses didn’t see it that way. They headed off while discussing temperatures and possible infection with something close to glee.
“Alright, Mr. Myna, let’s get you in bed.” Dr. Davide gave Stella his bag. Then he took over for her, supporting Nicky and quickly getting him around the vomit. Stella stood there for a moment, slowly realizing her heart was racing. She was practically panting.
Sofia took her arm. “Mrs. Myna, what happened?”
“He drank that water. We thought it was okay. I didn’t see the sign until it was too late.” She felt a twinge of guilt for lying to Sofia, who’d been so kind, but the less she knew the better.
“Did you have it?”
Stella shook her head. “I wasn’t thirsty. But…” She got woozy and Sofia hooked her arm around Stella’s waist.
“Let’s get you to your room.” She called out to Matteo who wandered into the hall and gave him several orders in Italian to which the boy was clearly horrified, but Sofia was having none of it. “He’ll see to the mess.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“This happens when traveling.”
“I never want to travel again then.”
Sofia smiled and they came to the desk just as the double doors banged open and a large man, at least six feet, came barging in, carrying two suitcases and a briefcase. “Hello there,” he called out in a British accent and the broad smile under his walrus mustache fell off his face. “No room at the inn?”
Sofia shook off her surprise. “Yes, sir. Have you a reservation?”
“I do. I do. I’m Mr. Leonard Bast, lately of London.” He pushed a pair of small, round glasses up his reddish nose.
“You are two weeks, yes?”
“Unless this bloody awful rain keeps up,” he said smiling cheerfully and showing off crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.
“It is said to stop tomorrow,” said Sofia.
“Always domani in Italy.” He chuckled and set down his bags with a thump. A small green one popped open and a typewriter fell out in a clanking heap. He muttered an obscenity and hurried to pack it back up.
“Mr. Bast, I must take Mrs. Myna to her room,” said Sofia. “I will come back in a moment.”
; “Something wrong?” He squinted up at Stella and she got the funniest feeling looking down at him. Although everything about the man said jolly and merely inquisitive, there was a sharpness in his brown eyes that told her that he missed nothing.
“My husband is ill,” said Stella. “Bad water.”
“That happens, especially during a flood.”
Sofia excused them and they edged past Mr. Bast and his bags. When they passed the von Bodmann room, Karolina poked her head out. “Is Bartali back?”
“No,” said Sofia. “Do not worry.”
Karolina’s eyes softened. “Good. Rosa isn’t well at all today.”
“Dr. Davide is here. I will send him to her.”
“Karolina!” called out Rosa.
Karolina glanced back and assured her sister before focusing on Stella. “Are you well? I hope the doctor isn’t here about your feet.”
“No. My husband is ill. Bad water.”
“He didn’t drink from one of those fountains, did he? They aren’t sanitary. He could even contract a terrible illness.” She lowered her voice. “Cholera is spread through water and with the flooding…”
“Yes,” said Stella. “We know. But I’m sure he’ll be fine. So who came?”
“Bartali the carabinieri. You would think he had something better to do,” said Karolina.
Stella had completely forgotten about Bartali and did her best to look surprised, but she could tell that Sofia felt her tension. The lady quickly excused them after saying once again that she would send Dr. Davide to Rosa.
They went down the hall arms around each other and Stella was glad for the support.
“What did he say when we weren’t here?” she whispered.
“He was angry, but I told him that you were ill and went to Dr. Davide.”
“Did he believe you?”
Sofia shrugged. “One cannot tell with the carabinieri.”
“He’ll be back then.”
“Maybe no. I must tell you that he went in your room.”
Stella stopped walking, her mind wildly going through what had been in their room. Makeup case, her hat and Grandmother’s pin. Her medicines, dictionaries, and The Hobbit. The Hobbit, Cyril’s gift to her. Was her real name in it? No. She knew it wasn’t, but the fear running through her made her question what she knew. But Gabriele’s gun was under the mattress. If he found it…
“He…he can’t do that. How can he do that?”
“He said that he thought you were Jews.”
“So what if we were? That doesn’t mean he can barge in and ransack the place.”
“What is this ‘ransack’?” asked Sofia.
“It means tear the place apart,” said Stella.
Sofia shook her head. “I did not let him do this. But he went through your books and your cosmetics.”
Stella’s cheeks got hot. She never felt so invaded, so disrespected since the time Mother read her diary. It was the fake diary she kept in case Mother got nosy, but still it was an invasion.
“He can, if he wants to.” Sofia urged her along. “It does not matter. He found nothing. You have nothing.”
“That’s suspicious though, isn’t it?” asked Stella, picturing the carabinieri putting his grubby hands all over her things, and shivered with the very idea.
“He is suspicious, but you are fine now. You saw Father Girotti? Karolina said you asked her about him.”
“We did. Everything’s fine.”
They arrived at the room and Stella opened it slowly so Nicky had time to cover up, but she needn’t have bothered. He was already undressed and in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, looking grey and queasy. Dr. Davide looked up from rooting around his bag to say, “You two take the cake.”
“I’ll leave you now.” Sofia hastily left and Stella marched across the room, mindless of the burning in her feet, and slapped the doctor across the face. “We take the cake? We take the cake?”
Dr. Davide stepped back, holding up his hands, and his bag fell off the chair. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you crazy broad?”
She slapped him again. Fast and without thinking. Uncle Josiah never taught her that, but she knew he’d bust with pride at the doctor’s flaming cheek. “We could’ve been killed. That woman is a menace. She ought to be locked up. She ought to be—”
“Wait. Hold on. Maria? Are you talking about Maria? Didn’t that SS shoot him?”
“Because of her. She flagged him down so he could come after us.”
The doctor pushed past Stella and paced the room. “That God damn crazy whore.”
Stella listened to him go on about blood money, Germany, and whores, comparing Maria unfavorably to canal rats and tuberculosis. Nicky put his hand over his eyes and said with the thermometer bobbing up and down, “Shut up, doc, please.”
“Wait,” said Stella. “You knew about Maria?”
Dr. Davide threw up his hands. “Of course, I knew. She makes her living in the train station. Rosaries don’t pay enough for rent.”
“I meant that she has a fondness for Germans.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have said she was fond. Her father’s German, but he abandoned her mother. I’m one of the few that know that. She wouldn’t have told me, but she was delirious from a bad case of the measles. She nearly died.”
“I wish she had,” muttered Nicky.
Dr. Davide clenched his fists. “I won’t be helping her again. You may get your wish.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Stella. “She’s German and you sent us to her to buy a cross and rosary.”
“She’s Catholic.”
“She can’t be.”
“She is and she has good merchandise or so I’m told,” he said with a sly smile.
Nicky lifted his head off the pillow with considerable effort. “Doc, if I didn’t want to throw up right now I’d sock you right in the kisser.”
“Your old lady already took care of that.” He rubbed his cheek dramatically. “So Maria’s the one. I should’ve seen it. She will sell anything.”
“Doc! So help me God. My wife is a lady and—” Nicky grew paler and his head dropped back.
Stella dashed over and yelled at the doctor to help, but he just scratched his wobbly chin.
“Do something,” she demanded.
“There’s nothing to do,” he said finally. “He’s lost blood and he feels rotten. Count on that for a while. Change the dressings twice a day. Keep him moving. Around the room is enough. Hopefully, no infection will set in.”
“Can’t you give him some Prontosil?”
“I did.” Dr. Davide clapped his hands together. “Let’s talk cash. I believe I will need 5000 now.”
“We haven’t got that and you know it,” said Stella.
“Didn’t have time to call home to Daddy? Fine.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got. I need a drink.”
“You’re the last person that needs a drink,” said Nicky. “I, on the other hand, could use a bottle of bourbon.”
“Nobody’s drinking. Have you forgotten? Maria stole your wallet,” said Stella. “We haven’t got two cents to rub together.”
The doctor groaned. “This just gets worse and worse. I might have to have it out with Maria.”
“If you do, get my wallet back,” said Nicky.
“If I did, I’d sell it for a shot.” The doctor put a packet on the bed and closed his bag. “Aspirin. Take two and do not call me until you have my money.”
“How will I know if it’s infected?” asked Stella.
“Oh, you’ll know.” He pushed past her and said, “I’m serious about that money. Maria isn’t the only one with low standards.”
“I don’t understand you at all,” said Stella.
“Join the club.” With that the doctor left and Nicky closed his eyes. “I thought he’d never leave.”
In a strange way, Stella didn’t want him to go. The minute he did, it was time for her to do something. He
r. Not Nicky. Not anyone else. There was no one else. She had to get the money, but hadn’t even the funds to telegram for it.
“Stella?” asked Nicky. “It will be fine. I’ll be fine. In a couple of days, we’ll get out of here.”
She didn’t want to disagree or point out the obvious issues with that plan so she went with something more palatable. “You need bourbon.”
“I was kidding about that.”
She grabbed the key off the dresser and said, “I’ll be right back.”
He pushed himself upright and looked like he might just jump out of bed to stop her, if he had to. “No. Absolutely not.”
“The von Bodmann’s have booze. I’m going to ask for a glass for you.”
“No. I don’t want it.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t need a drink and I don’t want you to go…”
“Where? Where would I go? It’s raining. The whole town is flooded. I haven’t a dime to my name and my husband’s been shot,” said Stella.
“I don’t think that means anything,” said Nicky.
He was right. It didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
WHISKEY WAS WONDERFUL. It was Stella’s new favorite thing. All it took was one hefty glass of that luscious golden stuff, combined with a good amount of blood loss, and Nicky was out cold. Karolina had surprised her with an array of choices. The ladies liked their alcohol and preferred whiskey and scotch to bourbon or their native schnapps. When she said the drink was to help Nicky sleep, they were very generous. Rosa needed a tipple, she said, to sleep and whiskey was the most helpful.
While Nicky softly snored on the bed, Stella got her makeup case and took a reluctant look in the small mirror on the wall. She’d looked worse, but that was hardly a comfort.
Her hair had dried in odd, loopy curls and her nose was red and starting to run. That’s what she needed. A cold. She was still bruised, but the redness did help to distract from it. She just looked like she was coming down with something, which she probably was.
Stella powdered her nose, once, and then twice for good measure. Then rouge, kohl around the eyes, and mascara. A little lipstick and she smiled. “I look like me.”
“What?” Nicky slurred on the bed.