To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-two

The crude fireplace held a small fire; small because although it needed to generate enough heat to cook the food, it also needed to stay small enough to create as little smoke as possible. A screen made of wire mesh and sticks was placed over the top of the chimney to break up what little smoke did escape.

A pot over the fire held bubbling tomato sauce, a creation that drew much attention from the men assembled in the small room; they were the kind of looks that I thought were reserved for sailors who after months at sea finally laid their eyes on a woman.

The bread had been baked, not in an oven but in the back corner of the fireplace. It wasn’t scientific, but it was the area of the hearth that most likely enjoyed the most consistent temperatures. From time to time, I turned the bread so it would bake evenly. The loaves were thick, and rich. It was solid bread, the kind no one in the cabin, myself included, had seen in a long time. It drew oohs and aahs from the men when I slid the first loaves out of the hearth.

It was a meal deserving of the occasion: that of bringing back the goods retrieved from the fallen parachute. By the time the men returned in the evening from their hiding places, myself, Dominic and Papa had the treasure spread out on top of the big table. The haul was impressive. Even after goods had been split up among the men to be distributed to their families in the villages, there was enough left over to last the cabin’s inhabitants for several months, as well as to make a celebration dinner, the job of which fell gladly onto my shoulders.

After the men feasted their eyes on the goods, and as the first aroma of my cooking began to make its way through the tiny cabin, the men responded appropriately. From out of shirt pockets and packs came a few ingredients, not enough, but at least something. A small clove of garlic, part of an onion, a rolled-up cloth that inside held a pocket of rich black pepper. One of the men had trapped and killed a fresh rabbit. The tender meat was added to the sauce along with the ingredients. Although not enough for a strong, bursting flavor, the meat and spices would be the delicacy, the hinting of familiar tastes that the men would enjoy. It would be enough.

A bottle of wine, hidden for many months was brought out, along with nuts and a small brick of cheese that had managed to elude mold. The cards were placed on the table, shuffled and immediately a card game began. An older man pulled out an accordion and proceeded to inspire several men to dance before the fireplace, toasted by their comrades.

Dominic watched all with a frequent smile, but he seemed somewhat quiet, watching the activities. Several times, I caught him looking at me, whereupon he quickly turned away, pretending not to notice. The cooking duties kept me busy, and I also pretended not to notice his looks.

Even after I knew the sauce was ready, I let it simmer longer than necessary, to draw out the occasion and let the men enjoy themselves a little bit longer. The accordion played on, the cards kept hitting the table and the wine was still flowing.

Finally, the accordion player put down his instrument and looked at me questioningly.

“Bring your plates,” I called.

The men reached quickly for their battered metal plates and forks.

“Ah, Heaven awaits,” the first man in line said. I ladled a mound of pasta on his plate, then smothered it with the thick sauce, being sure to include a hunk of meat in his sauce. There would probably be just enough for each man to have a piece. Next to the pasta I put a thick slice of bread on his plate.

“Grazie, Signora,” he said.

All the men filed through, except for Dominic and my father. Dominic approached first.

“It feels good to cook food you caught yourself, no?” he said, grinning.

I laughed and checked the bottom of the sauce, there were some extra pieces of meat left, so I ladled a few extra onto Dominic’s plate along with the rich red sauce.

“Grazie, Benedetta.” he said. Breathing the sauce’s aroma deeply he said, “It takes beauty to create beauty.”

I blushed and looked away, muttering a thank you.

My father stepped up as Dominic turned and Papa caught my expression, but his eyes revealed nothing.

I scraped all of the meat together, many pieces, and ladled them onto my father’s plate. He started to object but I cut him off. “Hush,” I said. “You need strength, Papa. Strength to come home.” I emphasized the last word and he closed his mouth.

The cabin had gone from loud and boisterous to eerily silent as the men dug into their meals, savoring the rich sauce and hearty bread. It was a meal they remembered from a long time ago, back when they were with their families. Back before the Germans came.

I sat next to Papa and we ate in silence. He looked at me and shook his head in wonder at the meal.

“You are a magician, little girl,” he said.

One by one, the men finished their meals, put their plates down and leaned back, some with their hands clasped across their bellies, others stretched out on their makeshift mattresses. When the last one put down his plate, they turned as one to me and started clapping.

“Bravissimo!” some of them called out.

A small bottle of anisette was passed around, and poured into the small metal cups. A bowl of nuts and wild berries followed. It wasn’t much for dessert, but enough to put a sweet taste in the mouth and take the edge off the heavy aftertaste of the sauce and bread.

After the men cleaned their plates (most of the sauce had been wiped clean already with bread) the card game quickly resumed and the accordion player picked up his instrument once again. But instead of the lively tune he had been belting out, this was a slow song, full of emotion and gentle cadence. Some of the men seemed to be sad, the aftermath of the festive feeling was one of wistfulness for family to be near.

A heavy, thickset man approached and asked if he could have the honor of cleaning the big black pot used to cook the sauce. I nodded my head in assent and he produced a thick piece of bread and proceeded to wipe the sides of the pot with slow, deliberate strokes. Each stroke produced an oily, rich spread. The man ate with slow ecstasy, winking at me once in the process.

Dominic slowly made his way across the room and stood before myself and Papa.

“Signor Carlessimo, would I offend you by asking your daughter if she would like to accompany me on a walk?”

Papa smiled, but remained silent. I would realize much later what that hesitation meant.

“Benny, do you want to go for a walk with Dom?”

I was trying desperately not to blush, feeling the eyes of my father as well as the other men in the cabin upon me.

“It is a nice night for a walk,” I said.

“Go. But be careful. Not too far.” He looked back down at the walnuts in his hand, popping more into his mouth, followed by a drink of wine.

I stood and followed Dominic out the door.