To Find a Mountain

Chapter Eighteen

In the very early morning, when it was still dark outside, the men inside the small cabin began to stir. A pot of coffee brewed over the small, crude fireplace. A man in a torn flannel shirt and thick striped pants quietly shuffled cards at the lone table in the center of the room; he proceeded to lay the cards out on the tabletop for a game of solitaire.

I sat up and the pain in my back shot through me; these cots were awful. Even as tired as I was from the walk up the mountain, getting to sleep had been a major effort. Next to me, Papa swung his feet off of his own cot and stood slowly. He put his hands in the small of his back like I had seen him do thousands of times, and stretched, letting out a low, deep groan. He caught my eye and smiled. There wasn’t a lot of talking done last night; after Papa had told me about his escape, the shock of the trip up the mountain had worn off and soon, I was fast asleep.

“Now it is your turn to talk, Benedetta. How are you? How are the Germans treating you?” Papa’s eyes, full of concern, looked into mine.

I hesitated and my father placed a finger under my chin and raised my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. Images of Wolff, Schlemmer and even the Bishop flashed through my head, but I answered quickly.

“As to be expected. I cook. I clean. I do what they ask. They do not bother me.”

“Good. Good. Do not be frightened. I have eyes in the village who are helping. You are not alone. How are Iole and Emidio?”

“They miss you, but we keep them busy and I try to make up for you being gone, but I don’t know how much that helps. In some ways, it is good that they are young, there is still much time for them to recover.”

His look was not the reaction I had hoped for; he seemed saddened by the thought of Iole and Emidio.

“War changes everything, doesn’t it, Benny?”

“Will things ever be the same? Will they ever go back to normal, Papa?”

He considered the question for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t think so.

He shook his head sadly and then looked around the cabin. “Let me take you around, Benny. Meet the men of the mountain before they all disappear to their hiding places.”

I recognized some of the faces of men from Casalveri.

Father led me to a man with a dark beard and a dark red hat. He wore thick black glasses and was in the process of cleaning the lenses.

“Benny, this is Vincenzo Benucci. He is from Roselli.”

We shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, Benedetta. I’ve heard a lot about you from this scarpencia,” he said, gesturing to my father. In our dialect, scarpencia means a parent who is too proud, going on and on about their children. In this instance though, it wasn’t meant to be insulting. It was a compliment to me.

“Alfredo,” Benucci said. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

“Thank you, Vincenzo. She’s just like her mother.” I looked at the floor, embarrassed for many reasons.

“How are things in Casalveri, Benedetta?”

“Food is in short supply, but we are surviving. The German supplies, when they come in, are good, but they are not coming in very often anymore. Not like at the beginning.”

“They are being stretched too thin,” Papa said.

“Everyone thinks the Germans are beginning to lose their enthusiasm for fighting,” I said. “They are not as proud as when they first arrived; their eyes and spirits look tired.”

“They may be losing this war,” Benucci replied. “But they will never lose their will to fight. It is why the Germans were put on this Earth. They are a stubborn, arrogant people; bred to conquer or to die trying. They will never change, they will never give up until they are dead or control the entire world.”

“They are not like Italians,” Papa said. “The Germans are cold and metallic as their armored tanks, their only passion is war.”

“And us?” Signor Benucci asked my father.

“We are passionate about everything but war. Food. Wine. Art. Music. We are alive!”

“Don’t forget cards,” the man from the table said, slapping down another card to the sound of laughter in the room.

Papa and I continued to make our way around the room. Many of the faces were familiar; men from Casalveri who asked about their families. I was able to tell them what I knew which wasn’t a whole lot.

More men filed out of the cabin and soon they had their fill of breakfast: a thick slice of stale bread and one more cup of coffee. Faint shafts of sunlight began to filter into the room and one by one, the men started to leave.

“Where does everyone hide?”

“We all have our own places. It is good not to know where everyone is, just in case.” Papa replied.

Just in case the Germans find one of the men and torture him into telling about the others, I thought to myself.

“Isn’t it safe here?”

“It is not safe anywhere in Italy.”

“Do the Germans know about this place?”

Papa shrugged.

“It is safe to assume they do, that’s why we leave during the day and hide deep in the woods. The Germans do not come out at night, they are scared of the ribellí.

“The men here…” I started to ask.

Papa shook his head.

“We are not part of the Resistance. There have been many talks, many arguments in this very room about this matter. Some of the younger men want to fight, to sabotage, but the older men like me fear too much for their families.”

He washed down the last hunk of bread with his coffee. The look on his face betrayed his dislike for the flavor.

“If we were to raid a German supply convoy and men from Casalveri, even one man from Casalveri was captured — ten people in the village would be executed. Colonel Wolff told as much to me. I believe him.”

Papa looked into his empty coffee cup.

“The men here, we are ashamed.”

“Papa…” I started to object.

“It’s true, Benedetta. We are ashamed. We are men. We all, young and old alike, want to fight the Germanesí. I love my country as much as the Americans love theirs. But they don’t have Germans in their homes, with guns pointing at their families.”

He tried to pour any remaining coffee from the pot, but dregs plopped out into his cup.

“It may be dishonorable, but blowing up a German truck is not worth the price of my family, or anyone else’s family in Casalveri.”

I went to him and sat on his lap, throwing my arms around him.

“It is your duty to be a father, to make it through this war in one piece,” I said. “Fight to stay alive, Papa. That is the battle you need to win.”

He kissed my forehead.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, pulling on his boots.

“Where to?”

“I’ll show you.”