To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-four

Casalveri at dawn. Sleepy stone walls reflected the soft orange glow of the early morning sun. I made my way through the narrow streets, feeling like I had been gone for years instead of days; everything seemed smaller and distant, like an old photograph found in a new book.

I passed homes with no signs of life, no men leaving to work the fields, no children up to help with chores. There were no chores because there were no animals left. No crops to tend. There was no music, either. Casalveri itself was now a casualty of the war.

At my house, Zizi Checcone was busy in the kitchen, peeling vegetables and boiling water. I’d never met anyone who boiled as much water as Zizi Checcone.

“Benedetta,” she cried softly, hugging me to her ample bosom. She put a finger to her lips and gestured with her chin toward the next room, then pulled me into the small pantry, and leaned close with her lips against my ear.

“Wolff got back last night. He asked about you, but I said you weren’t feeling well and were upstairs.”

I nodded my head to let her know I understood.

We walked back to the kitchen and I started to help her with the vegetables.

“No,” she said. “Go upstairs and wake up your brother and sister. They’ll be happy to see you.”

“Have they behaved?”

“Like angels. Now that you’re back, I’m sure they’ll start to act like little devils. They get more of your attention that way.”

I laughed and ran up the stairs. I cracked the door, saw the lump of each of their bodies in their beds. Iole was on her side, her mouth open, drool on the pillow. Emidio, as usual, was completely on top of his blanket, his head at the foot of the bed, his feet on his pillow. In his arms he clutched a worn teddy bear.

I felt a surge of pride, the kind that Papa must feel. I was their big sister, but had assumed the role of mother and now I was feeling the emotions that a mother must feel.

I climbed onto Emidio’s bed and he stirred slightly. I reached down to his bare foot and tickled the sole of his foot, which he immediately retracted under the covers. He flopped his head on the other side of the pillow and this time I grabbed his big toe, then slowly applied pressure. His eyes scrunched at the discomfort; he tried to pull his leg back but this time I was prepared and had a good grip.

“Ah!” he yelled, his eyes snapping open. I let go of his big toe and he looked at me, his eyes bleary, confused at first and then he laid his head back on the pillow. I could see him focus, see the anger pool together, then rise up in a wave.

“Bestia!” he yelled, lunged off the bed and tackled me. We crashed onto his bed and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iole start to sit up in bed, but then I was thrown down with surprising force onto Emidio’s bed. He started to get a good grip on my hair, but then I easily flipped him over my shoulders and pounced on him, pinning him down with ease. I flicked his ears, something he could never tolerate.

“I hate that!” he said.

“Really?”

Flick. Flick.

“Stop it!”

“Is that an order?”

Flick. Flick.

“Benedetta!”

Iole came bounding off her bed and jumped into my arms, her hug taking my breath away. I smelled her face and hair; the mustiness of the pillow and her morning breath mingled into the sweetest, most innocent smell in the world.

“I’m not done with her!” yelled Emidio, and he jumped over Iole, knocking her with his knees, and barreled into me with his square little head.

“Hey, you got me!” Iole snarled, and leapt on top of him. I followed, and pretty soon we were all giggling and laughing, squirming, and then we fell off the bed onto the floor.

“When did you get back?” Iole asked after we quieted down.

“This morning.”

“Where were you? Drinking wine somewhere with the ribellí, I bet,” Emidio said, a little smile on his face, inviting the attack which he soon got.

“Get off of me!” he yelled.

“Your mouth is awfully fresh for a little boy,” I said.

“You haven’t heard the worst of it,” Iole said with a sideways glance at her younger brother.

Emidio looked at her plaintively and she raised an eyebrow in response.

“He can’t be any worse than you were,” I said rolling my eyes.

“I was not fresh!” Iole said.

“Ayee yah! You were awful!” I said. When she looked hurt, I tackled her and started tickling her tummy.

After I stopped, she looked at me.

“You sure are in a good mood. Did something nice happen to you while you were gone?”

I wanted to tell them. Wanted them to know that I had been led to believe Papa was dead and then found out he wasn’t. I wanted them to realize how lucky they were; that they still have the greatest father in the world and that after we all got through this war alive and in one piece, the three of us would need to protect him, take care of him for as long as we could.

Instead I told them to get dressed, that playtime was over, and it was time to get some work done.

“That’s all you care about: work, work, work,” Emidio complained as he pulled on his shirt and pants.

“Yeah, and you’re lucky that’s all I care about. Otherwise you’d be hungry with no clothes to wear, no warm bed to sleep in,” I said. “I know other children who would trade places with you in a minute.”

He looked embarrassed.

“And don’t you ever forget it,” I added unnecessarily.

As I watched him get dressed, a shadow fell over my shoulder and I turned, startled, to see Colonel Wolff in the doorway.

In the short time since I’d last seen him, he’d deteriorated rapidly. He looked like a man who was losing more than just a war.

“Benedetta,” he said. His uniform was rumpled, his face was dirty and he slouched. A far cry from the man who had sat ramrod straight in his chair that first morning the Germans arrived.

“Come with me.”

He turned and started down the stairs, not waiting to see if I would follow.

“See if Zizi Checcone needs help,” I said to Iole and Emidio.

And then I followed Wolff.