To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-three

Night breezes stirred the broad leaves of the trees as Dominic and I left the cabin. Crickets sang their songs, unaware that their audience had grown by two. The crisp light of the stars illuminated the night, and complemented by the phosphorescence of the half-moon, made the ground seem to glow.

Once again, I felt the clumsiness I first experienced on the walk up the mountain. Dominic’s feet seemed to glide over the soft grass and occasional lump of fallen leaves. He made no sound while I clumped along, stumbling a bit, stepping normally only to find a rise of rock that jarred my leg from my ankle to my knee all the way up to my hip and lower back. I hoped Dominic didn’t see every misstep, but I think he did. His eyes seemed to miss nothing. Even in the dark.

Tomorrow, I would go down the mountain, but tonight there was love in my heart.

I felt torn about going back. I knew that Iole and Emidio needed me. Zizi Checcone would take good care of them, there was no doubt in my mind about that. But they hadn’t been away from myself or Papa for this long ever before. I knew they would be scared and wondering where we were.

But I wanted to stay with Papa. As ridiculous as it sounded, I felt like I could protect him. The very thought of anyone trying to hurt Papa made my blood boil. It made me want to tear Colonel Wolff apart with my bare hands for sending Papa to the front. The Germanesí would pay one day for this.

We walked across the small meadow to an opening in the forest. A path wound its way up the side of a steep rise and on the right side we could look down into a shallow valley. Even with the light of the moon, the trees below shielded the ground and left much of the land in the dark. It was a winding trail that took us through thick forest and then out into a brief patch of more mountain meadow. Water was close; I once heard the sound of birds, fish or an animal splashing.

At first, our conversation was awkward. Although we had been alone together on our first walk up the mountain, that had seemed more like business. The walk to the parachute had seemed like a mission, a task at hand. But this walk, there was no doubt about this walk. This was about pleasure. Just the two of us. I felt my hands get clammy and my heart felt light in my chest. Every few moments it would flutter and I would fight it down, tell myself to relax and be calm. We talked about many things and the more we walked, the more fluid the conversation became, and I opened up to Dominic; something I was never very good at with friends and even family. I told him some of my hopes and dreams, and he told me some of his.

Without speaking, our hands came together and we walked slowly, breathing in the crisp night air.

There was something about him, his ease of manner that made me feel comfortable. He felt like a member of my family already, someone I could speak with and trust. It was not a feat easily accomplished as my mother’s philosophy had always been to trust no one, “not even Jesus on the cross,” she had told me once, which shocked me considering her strict Catholic upbringing.

The way Dominic held himself, his natural humor, his gentle way made me think of Emidio. This was always how I imagined Emidio would be when he got older.

“Your father is a good man,” Dominic said. “I respect him very much.”

“He has been through a lot.”

“He depends on you.”

“Who else does he have?”

He looked at me carefully.

“I know your mother passed away…” he said.

I flashed back to the conversation we had on the way to the parachute in which Dominic talked about his father leaving the family.

So I told him.

I told him about my father coming back looking like a dead man, his eyes red with tears, trying to tell us what had happened, unable to find the words. The priest was with him, and we all prayed together. I didn’t really understand what had happened, but I was old enough to know that my mother wasn’t coming back. Iole and Emidio said that they understood, but for weeks after would ask me and Papa when Mama would be back and if she would have the new baby with her. Every time they asked, Papa would hide his face, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Finally I scolded them, tears in my own eyes. They stopped asking, eventually.

Once it started, it just kept coming.

I told him about my mother. Her thick black hair always tied back in a bun. I told him about the arguments she and Papa would have during which they were seemingly angry and about to kill each other, and then they would start laughing and dance around the room. Dominic listened as I told him about Mama’s vignio, a branch selected from the tree out back. It was a wicked little branch she used when her children did something really bad. Like the time I said I was in love with Guido Angeluzzi, a boy who lived in the same village. Before I knew it, Mama had me across her lap, the vignio leaving white-hot burns across my buttocks.

I laughed, remembering it.

“She was the disciplinarian in our house,” I said. “When Papa came home, he never scolded us, he was too glad to see us. So she told us she had to be the one who enforced the rules. And boy, did she ever.”

“It sounds like she was a strong woman,” Dominic said.

“Yes. But we all knew that she would tear off her own flesh to feed her children. She pinched pennies, but if we were ever sick, she bought the best medicine, she burned more oil and fed us the thick chicken soup, even if it meant she would go hungry that night.”

For a moment, I said nothing, transported back in time to when I had my mother. When I could be a little girl and she would make everything all right. She would take care of me. Now, it was different. Now, I did the taking care of.

“Are you thirsty?” Dominic asked.

“Yes,” I said, realizing it was true. I had talked for a long time. And, surprisingly, I wasn’t embarrassed, in fact, I felt peaceful.

“We should get back, too. But let’s get a drink first,” he said. “I know of a sweet creek up ahead that produces the coldest, purest water you’ll ever taste.”

We walked ahead, this time Dominic stayed very close to me. I got the feeling he wanted to touch me but it was not right. It was too soon, and I didn’t want his sympathy. Although he didn’t realize it, I wanted something much more from him.

Gradually, I began to hear the sound of gurgling water and we came to a rock formation cut into the side of a hill. In the moonlight, I could see the water glistening against the black rock, could see the wetness of the rock itself, but I saw no pool below.

Dominic stepped up the rock face and reached high. His hand disappeared over a rock shelf and then his hand came down, cupping a handful of ice cold water. My parched throat and I watched with envy as he drank deeply.

He looked at me and we both realized with awkwardness that this could be a little tricky. I loved the idea of him putting his arms around me and lifting me up high, but somehow I didn’t think Papa would approve. Especially considering that my dress was too small and if he lifted me too high, well, I didn’t want him to see anything he shouldn’t.

We looked around for some sort of crude cup, maybe a thick piece of bark I could shape into a drinking glass but nothing presented itself.

“Scoop some for me,” I said.

He looked at me strangely and then stretched once again. I heard his hand leave the water above, a gentle splashing sound.

Dominic brought his hand down and I guided it to my mouth. I held it close and drank deeply. He was right; it was delicious water, pure and cold.

I straightened up and he was looking at me.

“You drank from my hand,” he said. I saw something in his eyes I did not like.

Anger rose up inside me.

I grabbed his hand and opened it, for him to see. Then I held out my hand opened, next to his.

“Look. How is your hand different from mine?” I asked. He looked down. His hand was much bigger than mine, but we both had calluses, deep lines; signs of hard work.

When he looked back up, his eyes were lowered, his face flushed.

“I saw the look in your eyes,” I said, the anger coming in waves. “Who do you think you are passing judgment on me? At a time like this, you worry what kind of girl I am?”

I turned on my heel and made my way back to the cabin. He didn’t walk with me, but stayed behind, watching.

The next morning, I asked Papa to find someone else to take me down the mountain.





Part Three