by A W Hartoin
Dr. Davide was amazingly well-connected for a drunk, but Stella shouldn’t have been surprised. Uncle Josiah tended to know everyone who was fond of whiskey and a good time. Dr. Davide wasn’t so fond of a good time as he was discreet and cheap. He treated things that had to be kept from wives and lied on demand. The doctor was always ready for a drink and a card game. Being rather bad at the latter made him welcome in most places.
“We have to leave, Stella,” said Nicky.
“And you’re in shape for travel?”
“I am.” His head lolled to the left. “I will be.”
She bit her lip and crossed her arms. “How does it feel?”
“Doesn’t feel like anything.”
Stella checked her own bandages and they were a tiny bit damp so she undid Dr. Spooner’s good work and checked her feet. Not bad. Not bad at all. They were nearly normal-sized and the splits were closing up. Taking Matteo’s ride and the vaporetto had certainly helped.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Putting my bandages back on,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m going out.”
Nicky tossed off the covers and fell over in a heap. “Out…of the question. I will not allow it.”
Stella pushed him back upright and tucked him in. “To get lunch. You want to eat, don’t you?”
He gazed at her, unblinking.
“What?” she asked.
“Where are you going?”
“To get lunch.”
“You’re going to search for the Sorkines.”
A soft knock startled them both. Stella waited for a demand from Bartali, but nothing happened. She went to the door and found Antonio standing there, smiling with another man, who was piled so high with boxes she could only see a damp mop of hair over the top.
“Grazie. Grazie,” said Stella. “Douglas, our clothes are here.”
“Swell,” said Nicky.
“It is swell,” she shot over her shoulder. “Come in, Antonio.”
The men weren’t anxious to enter a sickroom, but they did, quickly unloading their boxes on the bed beside Nicky and retreating twice as fast. Stella had to chase them down to give them a tip. Antonio tried to refuse, but she insisted. It felt too good to be able to thank him properly to let it go.
Back in the room, Nicky was snooping through the boxes. “How much did you buy? The whole store?”
“Not quite, but who knows when I’ll be able to shop again,” she said.
“I know. When we get back to the States.”
“Whenever that is.”
“If we leave early tomorrow, we can get to Genoa in time to find a ship and leave the next day.”
Stella ignored that and sifted through the boxes in search of Nicky’s clothes. Predictably, they were on the bottom. “I got you pajamas.”
“I want to talk about leaving,” he said.
She flipped back the covers. “So talk.”
He tried to cover up. “Stop that.”
“I’ve seen it all before and you needed pajamas. I got them. Is there nothing that will please you?” She reached over to help him up and he grabbed her arm.
“Stella, we have to leave. You heard Dr. Davide. It’s only a matter of time before Bartali hears about who Peiper is looking for. It’s a miracle he hasn’t already.”
“We deserve a miracle, so it’s fine by me.”
“That’s not the point. As soon as he puts it together, we will be arrested for boat theft and whatever Peiper has cooked up.”
“What’s he going to cook up?” she asked.
“You stole his plane for one,” said Nicky.
Stella grinned at him. “It was just a little plane.”
“He’ll have us back in Germany before we know what’s happened. We will go to prison.”
Stella got him standing, checked the new bandage that Dr. Davide had put on, and offered new briefs. Nicky agreed reluctantly. Stella didn’t know why, unless it was just to be stubborn, which was a distinct possibility. He had that bulldog look again.
She helped him into the pajamas and he laid down with a sigh. “I didn’t know cotton could feel so good.”
“I guess I did something right,” said Stella as she hung up her dresses.
“You do a lot right, but you can’t do this.”
“Because?”
“For God’s sake, because it’s crazy. Because I say so.”
“Don’t start that husband thing again.” She hung up his new suits. They looked nice and the tailoring wasn’t bad.
“I’m not starting anything,” said Nicky. “But this can’t go on.”
Stella managed to wedge her feet in a new pair of shoes, but just barely. The bandages made her feet so fat. Back to the galoshes. “What about lunch? Can you eat?”
“I don’t want to eat. I want you to say you’re not going out.”
“Do you think they do chicken soup here?”
“It would have fish in it. Everything has fish in it,” he said. “I’m serious, Stella.”
She tucked him in. “I promise that I’m only going to see about food for you.”
“Promise you won’t leave the hotel until I can leave with you.”
Stella kissed his forehead and then both his cheeks. “No.”
“No?”
“Would you rather I lied?”
Nicky looked like that wasn’t a terrible idea, but he said, “I can’t stop you.”
“Why would you want to? Abel’s your friend, too. We’re doing this for him. Don’t forget I’m the one that landed him in Dachau.”
“He could’ve refused to go to Vienna.”
“Abel wouldn’t refuse me anymore than you would’ve,” said Stella, eliciting a funny look from Nicky. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, pulling her close. “Abel wouldn’t want to risk you. He’d be the first to say, ‘No. Don’t do it.’”
“We’re talking about his family here, so I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He took her face in his hands. “I am sure. He would not want anything to happen to you.” He had a look in his eye that made her stomach flip. “And I think you know that.”
Stella pulled back. “I’m risking me. I belong to me.”
“Because I screwed up our vows.”
She laughed. “You didn’t screw up. I was never going to obey, whether I vowed it or not. My mother doesn’t.” She was rewarded with his mouth dropping open and it was very satisfying.
“Are we talking about the same woman?” he asked.
“Francesqua Bled. Yes. My mother doesn’t obey my father. Don’t confuse demure with weak.”
“I didn’t say she was weak.”
“But you thought it because you don’t know her, not really, and there’s a lot of her in me,” said Stella.
“I thought you were all Bled,” he said.
“I’m all me.” She walked to the door. “Soup?”
The bulldog look vanished. “How long do you plan to be gone?”
“I really am just getting you something to eat.”
“You know what I mean.”
How long was a good question. Even in Stella’s stubborn resolve to find the Sorkines, she knew there was a point in which it became too much. She just wasn’t at that point yet.
“I have a list of hotels that Daniel gave me. Likely places that people like us might stay,” she said.
“How many?” he asked with a bit of hope in his eyes.
“Ten in total. I’ll do as many as I can today.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll go to the telegram offices. How many do you think there are?” she asked.
Nicky thought about it. “Five or six, maybe. I can’t tell you how much I want to do this and leave you here.”
“It’s better this way.” Stella smiled and touched up her lipstick.
He crossed his arms. “How do you figure?”
“Because you’re you and you’re always you, eve
n when you’re Douglas Myna.”
Nicky shook his head. “That shot has me thick as a brick wall.”
“You’re not thick. You’re Nicky Lawrence. We can’t disguise that; tall, blond, unbearably handsome.”
“You’re Stella Bled Lawrence.”
“Not today. Today I was Italian. A carabinieri asked me for a date. He had no idea I wasn’t a local girl.” She spun around, belling out her skirt.
“You got asked on a date?” Nicky looked about ready to jump out of bed and pound someone.
She laughed. “I said no. When I go to the hotels, I’ll be French, English, or Dutch.” She gave him a trial run in her Dutch girl persona and he smiled.
“That’s good. Very good, but you still have those blue eyes, that face.”
“But I’m Dutch and wearing middle-class clothes. They’re looking for a wealthy American couple and I don’t have a big blond man with me. He’ll expect us to be together.”
“He might know that he shot me.”
“The Italians don’t, so I think we’re safe.”
Nicky watched her and then said, “Don’t do a German accent. They’ll lump you in with Peiper.”
She dashed back to the bed and kissed his forehead again. She would’ve kissed him on the lips, but, as much as she loved him, the vomit scent nixed that. “It’ll be fine. I can do it.”
“You can do anything, but Bartali isn’t a fool. This is going to come together for him.”
“I’ll be as fast as possible.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “When it’s done we leave.”
She agreed and she meant it. She really did.
“Looks like I’m going to be here for a while on my own,” said Nicky.
Stella went back to the door. “You’ll sleep.”
“Not the whole time. Do you think Sofia has any books in English?” Nicky held up The Jungle Book that he’d finished reading.
“Maybe, but I know someone who definitely does.”
He flipped to the ex libris. “Let me guess. The Ladners?”
“Bingo.”
Sofia was way ahead of Stella. She’d had her cook make something she called, Pastina.
The cook ladled up a bowl and Stella had her doubts. The kitchen smelled like fish and there was a pile of fish bones that was getting dumped in an enormous pot next to the little pot that the cook dipped into.
“Pastina is for the sick, yes.” Sofia dropped two triangles of parmesan cheese in the center of a clear broth with tiny pieces of pasta floating around in it. “He will be well. This is my grandmother’s recipe. She fix everything with it.”
“You should give it to Rosa von Bodmann,” said Stella.
Sofia pointed at a tray on the work table. “I am. The poor lady is very ill today.”
“Can I take it? I would like to borrow a new book for Douglas. He’s a bit better and getting bored.”
The cook finished the trays and Stella loaded them on a cart, covered in cloches to keep them warm. Stella hadn’t thought she was hungry until the cheese hit the hot soup. The smell was intoxicating and it was definitely chicken, not fish, so she got a bowl for herself, too.
She wheeled the cart down the hall, half expecting to see Bartali lurking around although Sofia swore he’d gone. She didn’t say that she was very worried, but she was, reminding Stella it wasn’t only about her and Nicky, the Sorkines, and Abel. Other people had been caught in the crossfire before and Sofia could easily be the next one.
Stella knocked on the von Bodmann’s door and Karolina answered timidly, her eyes red as her hair. “Mrs. Myna, I didn’t expect to see you today. We heard about your poor husband.”
“He’s better actually. I was getting his lunch and I’ve brought yours. May I bring it in?” asked Stella.
She opened the door and the smell of liniment washed over Stella. The smell wasn’t unpleasant but it spoke of how ill Rosa was. That and Karolina’s slumped shoulders. All her energy had vanished and she was a different woman. If not for her size and hair, Stella would scarcely have recognized her.
“Yes, please,” she said. “Can you put it on the bed? Rosa will not mind.”
Rosa didn’t mind. She lay back on the pillows, smaller than ever, her mouth sagging open as she slept an uneasy sleep.
“Thank you,” said Karolina.
“I was wondering if I could borrow a book for Douglas,” said Stella, setting down The Jungle Book on the Kipling stack. “He’s bored and restless.”
Karolina lit up. Books, her salvation, came to the rescue, giving her a touch of the vitality that Stella missed. “Yes, of course. What is to his taste?”
Stella was stumped. The only thing she’d seen Nicky read, other than the Kipling, was newspapers. “I really don’t know.”
“Our English authors are in the original English or does he read in French or German?” asked Karolina.
“Let’s stick with English.”
She led Stella over to the window where stacks of books blocked a good deal of the light. Stella recognized some, running her fingers over familiar spines of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Gone with the Wind, Pride and Prejudice, Rob Roy, and Stamboul Train. Then she got to E.M. Forster. The ladies had all his novels in lovely burgundy with gilt lettering. Forster was her mother’s favorite and Stella had read them all. He was good for a lazy Sunday with the wind howling outside, quiet and comforting, not Nicky’s style at all, but her hand kept going back to Howard’s End.
“If I might interject,” said Karolina, “that is not a book for a young man.”
“No?” asked Stella, her mind in the story. It had been a couple years since she read it. Who were the characters? She smiled. “Margaret Schlegel was fantastic.”
“You’ve read it then?” asked Karolina.
“Yes. My mother loved Margaret and she felt so badly for,” —she tapped the spine— “what was the mother’s name? The one that died.”
Karolina took her hand and squeezed, comforting them both. “Ruth. Ruth Wilcox.”
“She was lovely, but she had a very trying husband.”
“She did. But don’t we all?”
They smiled together.
“Look here,” said Karolina. “This is a book for your husband.” She put a slim volume in her hands and Stella tore her eyes away from Howard’s End.
“The Great Gatsby?” she asked. “Never heard of it.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a great effort and, may I say, very American.”
Stella looked over the cover, a beautiful work of art. Eyes blazing in the sky above a fairground or carnival. That was enough to sell it. “You don’t mind if I borrow it?”
“Not at all. Books are for reading, not sitting on a shelf forgotten. My husband liked this book very much. I will be happy to have yours read it.”
Stella opened the cover and found, as she feared she would, the beautiful ex libris of Max Ladner. “Karolina, you have to take this out. Please. I beg you.”
“No. I will not. And you must promise me that you won’t either.”
“It’s just a bookplate.”
“No. It is what I have left.”
Stella promised and took The Great Gatsby. She turned to go and Rosa opened her eyes. She tried to speak, but wasn’t able to get the words out. The hint of vitality went right out of Karolina.
“Has Dr. Davide been by?” asked Stella.
“Yes…”
Stella raised an eyebrow.
“He is a very good doctor, but sometimes…”
“He drinks.”
A whoosh of breath burst out of her. “Yes. I do not mean to sound ungrateful. He is kind to come.”
“What about Dr. Salvatore?” asked Stella.
“He cannot. The carabinieri, he is watching him and we aren’t Jews.”
Stella wasn’t sure what to say. They were Jews. She’d have bet the farm on it, but it hardly mattered.
“I heard…Bartali.” Karolina puffed up to her normal height and balled
up her fists, like she was getting ready for a fight.
“What did you hear?”
“He said to the other carabinieri that you lied to him.”
Stella laughed. “You’d think he’d be used to it.”
“You said you went to another doctor and he didn’t believe you.”
Rosa was watching from the bed and she couldn’t lie, not to them, not with Rosa’s life so tenuous. “I didn’t lie about that. I saw Dr. Irving Spooner.”
“He is the doctor for the rich and the tourists?” asked Karolina.
“I think so. We didn’t really discuss his practice. He’s British,” said Stella.
“This doctor treated you? He didn’t ask any questions?”
“He did, but it was fine. He knows Dr. Davide and Dr. Salvatore. Something about birth certificates.”
The ladies exchanged a glance and Karolina said, “Will you ask him to come to Rosa? We can pay, but you mustn’t tell him who we are.”
“I don’t really know who you are,” she said with a wink. “Why didn’t you ask Dr. Davide? He was just here.”
Karolina’s strength faded and she wrung her hands, looking down. “I didn’t want to insult him. He’s done so much and he didn’t have to take the chance. Others wouldn’t.”
“I’m sure he was well-paid.” Stella couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice and Karolina looked up sharply. “Oh, no. You misunderstand him.”
“I don’t think so. He’s wringing us out for every nickel.”
“Not Dr. Davide,” whispered Rosa. “He’s a truly kind person.”
“Dr. Davide?” asked Stella. “Fat, drunk, bald? He just charged me fifty lira for some information he got for free.”
“He must’ve had a good reason,” said Karolina stoutly.
“If you say so.”
Karolina took Stella’s hand. “Will you ask Dr. Spooner to come? I would not ask you, but Rosa is so much worse and Dr. Davide says he can’t do anything.”
Stella didn’t know what to say. She certainly couldn’t mention that Dr. Spooner had already been smacked around on account of knowing her. She didn’t want them to be afraid. They were already scared enough. He probably wouldn’t come, but the ladies were looking at her with such hope she had a moment of weakness and said yes. She’d ask, but she couldn’t guarantee anything.