To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-seven

Late in the afternoon, a visitor came to the house.

Her name was Rosa Zanussi. She lived on the eastern side of Casalveri; her husband had health problems and her only daughter was fully grown and married, off with a family of her own. She also had a son who had left Casalveri many years ago and now lived in Naples.

Her husband had contracted polio and now walked with the aid of a walking stick and a cumbersome brace. His left arm was withered, ending prematurely in a stump with two fingers. For better or worse, he was safe during the war, even the Germans could find no use for him.

Signora Zanussi was a woman who had lived a hard life, secretly a lot of the younger women in Casalveri feared they would end up like her. And the truth was, many if not most would. She had probably never been a pretty woman, and the long days of growing crops and caring for her children as well as a crippled husband, had all wreaked havoc on her body. She was prematurely old.

Her dress was stitched and re-stitched many times over. Strands of gray hair hung across her face and remained there, their owner too tired to make the effort to tuck them behind her ear.

“Good morning, Benedetta,” she said, a half-formed smile appeared on her face that departed quickly, as if it knew it would never reach its full potential so just decided to quit ahead of time.

“How are you, Signora Zanussi?”

She looked down and shifted her feet. Her thick ankles were throbbing with varicose veins.

“I am fine. God has not told me to join him today; so I will continue doing what I do for another day.”

Finding a response to that proved impossible.

“Benny,” she whispered, leaning close to me and looking around for people eavesdropping. “Do you know you have the only rooster left in Casalveri?”

“That can’t be!”

“It is true.”

From the folds of her dress her hand emerged holding four eggs.

“I would like to rent him.”

“What?” The war had proven to be ghastly, but now it was just getting downright weird.

“Our hen is ready; it is time. Without a rooster to impregnate her, well…”

“It is an opportunity not to be missed, no?” I answered.

She nodded emphatically, shrugging her shoulders and cocking her head to the side.

“She is our last hen, Benedetta. If she doesn’t have chicks soon, who knows if she ever will.”

“Your hen is probably one of the last in Casalveri, too,” I said.

“I don’t know, I think people are hiding their animals from the Germans, but it isn’t always easy.”

I thought of the pig, fifty yards away hidden in a secret compartment of the barn.

Signora Zanussi continued. “Who knows when the time will come again? Who knows what will still be alive in the next year. “

We both knew what she really meant.

“Come with me,” I said.

I led her to the back of the house where our chicken pen was located. There, in the dirt of the pen, perched imperiously on one leg, stood our rooster, Gallo.

Seemingly aware of his audience, he fluffed his neck feathers and strutted around the pen. I rolled my eyes at the sight of him. Auditioning for his role, perhaps?

“He senses why we are here,” Mrs. Zanussi said, laughing.

I entered the pen and scooped him up. He bobbed his head back and forth, seemingly excited about the possibilities of what might lay ahead. For a minute I thought I could feel his heart beating wildly.

Mrs. Zanussi handed me the eggs and I handed her Gallo.

She stroked his feathers and he jutted his head forward, his neck rising to meet her hand. This was going to be good, he was probably thinking. He looked at me as if to say, “Wish me luck.”

I kicked the door to the pen, it closed with a solid clang.

“How is Signor Zanussi?” I said.

“He is in great pain, Benedetta. And it will only get worse; at least that’s what the doctors say.”

“Our hearts go out to him.”

She shrugged her shoulders again.

“We are all going to be in great pain, soon,” she said. “Already the people of Casalveri are starting to feel the beginning of the long hunger that will come. All food is running low. There is talk that other villages like Roselli and Scatozza may soon have to be evacuated.”

“The Americans?” I said, not attempting to hide the hope in my voice.

“Yes, the Americans are making some advances south of here,” she said. “These other villages, they will come here, they have to. And there is not enough food here for us as it is; what will happen when hundreds of new people start pouring into our town? Where will they get food to eat? Water to drink?”

“They will be even hungrier than us,” I said.

Mrs. Zanussi’s face was flushed.

“Who knows, maybe they will try to take what little we have left.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You are safe here, Benny, with the Germans. There is always something good in bad, at least. Who in their right mind will try to take something from you? But what about me? I have a man who can barely walk; if hooligans want to rob me how will I manage to stop them? Throw my empty pots and pans at them?”

She laughed in spite of herself.

“We must somehow try to make it through this together,” I said. “The people of Roselli are no different than the people of Casalveri. We cannot become each other’s enemies. We have enough enemies as it is.”

“You and I know that, Benny. But will their hungry stomachs know that?”

We were silent then until I handed her back two of the four eggs.

“No, no…” she started.

“Take them. I do not need them all. They…” I said, gesturing toward the house, “…do not need them either. Two is plenty for Iole and Emidio and myself. Take two back. Mr. Zanussi needs them, too.”

She reluctantly put two of the eggs back in the pocket of her dress.

“Besides,” I said, gesturing toward Gallo. “He may act like a big man, but who knows if he’ll actually get the job done?”

She laughed then and leaned closer.

“We must stay strong, Benedetta.” She wrapped her hand around my hand that was still holding the two eggs. “Eat these for yourself and your brother and sister. You children need them for strength.”

I looked down at her hands; the arthritic knuckles were turning white as she squeezed my hand.

“We will be here long after these Germanesí have gone,” she said. “We must be strong enough to rebuild what they destroy. It is the way it has always been.”

She left then, walking away with great effort, Gallo under her arm. His feet were moving, running hard and kicking but getting nowhere.

I knew the feeling.