How Huge the Night

chapter 24





Kid





It was their second night in the army camp when Private Lorenzo picked them up.

It had rained all day. Gustav was soaked to the skin; Niko was shivering uncontrollably. The rubbish heap gave no shelter. Gustav crawled out into the dark, looking for something—a tarp, some boards, anything—to cover them with. It was so cold. He was crawling on his hands and knees when the flashlight beam found him.

He was marched to the guardhouse, throat tight and heart hammering, by a shadow whose face he couldn’t see; only that blinding beam of light in his face, the pistol shoved in his back. In the guardhouse, he was shoved up against a wall, looking down the dark barrel of that pistol; he saw the man’s black eyes look him over and hesitate. Saw the pistol lower just a little.

Then Gustav’s stomach growled so loudly that both of them jumped.

Gustav saw the pistol jerk back up, saw the soldier realize what the noise had been, saw the smile that began to fight for possession of his face. And relaxed. He clapped his hands to his belly and said in a stern voice, “Shh!”

And Private Lorenzo of the 19th Infantry Brigade began to grin.

When they went to get Niko, her face was white as snow where Lorenzo’s flashlight shone on it, and gleamed with tears. Gustav told her it was all right—he had a feeling about this guy—but she looked at him with wide and wounded eyes and did not answer.

In the guardhouse, Lorenzo sat them down by the oil stove and began pushing and pulling boxes on the concrete floor, making a row of them under a cluttered table against the wall. Testing the width of the space behind, studying it from all angles. Finally he smiled.

“You’ll sleep there,” he said.

And that was how it started.





They slept under the table during the day, in a nest of blankets Lorenzo brought them. At nightfall, Lorenzo came.

They’d stuck him on night guard duty alone for a month, he said. They’d caught him selling the regiment’s coffee in town, and man, the sarge knew how to stick it to him. Nothing he hated worse than being alone.

But it meant he could hide them.

He came each night with a pot of soup. Apparently the cook owed him one. It was Gustav’s and Niko’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner; they ate and ate. He sat watching them, grinning, reaching over to ruffle Niko’s nonexistent hair. She cringed, and his face fell. After the first couple of nights, he quit touching her entirely.

She ate the soup he gave her and said, Grazie. She warmed herself by the oil stove. Then she crawled back under the table.

Gustav sat with Lorenzo and played cards—pinochle and a la copa, and poker with candy for counters. They played for hours. Lorenzo told him about pranks or deals he’d pulled, ways he’d fooled the officers. Gustav told the story of their journey. Lorenzo’s eyes grew wide, listening. He clapped Gustav on the shoulder. “You’ve seen a bit of life, kid. You’re a man.” Gustav looked down, feeling warm inside.

Lorenzo taught him things. How to slip a bag over a hen’s head so you could steal her quietly. How to get into places you weren’t allowed to be just by acting like you belonged there. How to make sure there were enough guys who owed you one, and you’d be safe anywhere. “I want you two to be safe, kid. I want you to be okay. My month’s gonna be up, and I won’t have anyplace to hide you. I gotta figure some way to get you out without my CO knowing—I’d get the court martial if they knew. But I’ll figure it. When you get out there, you remember what I’ve taught you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah. You can do it, kid, if anybody can.”





“See, it’s like this, Gustav. We’re movin’ out, the whole brigade. West.”

“To France?”

“Y’see why I couldn’t let ya go? Yeah, to France. Too sharp for your own good.”

“Can we come, Lorenzo?”

“Kid, this is an invasion. You can’t just—”

“But Lorenzo, France is where we are going. Our father said we should—”

“Even if it’s under attack? No, listen, kid. It might work out okay for you—it’s like this. You can’t come with us—they might not even fight, with all the trouble they got up north, but they might and it’s not safe for you—but you just follow us. We drop you at the border, and you come along after us. With your Italian, you could do okay for yourself. Messenger boy at least, maybe even run a little business with the troops just like I do here. They’ll love ya. Heck, maybe we’ll meet up again.” Lorenzo’s grin was a little shaky. He swallowed. “That’d be great. Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Gustav, looking up at him. “Yeah. It would.”