To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-nine

Two days later, with Emidio back to himself and my bruise reduced in size, the edges starting to turn yellow, I went to see Lauretta Fandella. She was working in the kitchen with her mother, cleaning a big black pot when I knocked on the door.

She opened it and I was shocked by her appearance. Her skin looked pale and dry, like parchment paper, and her hair hung thick and oily, like it hadn’t been washed in the last week or two.

“Benedetta,” she said, a vacant look on her face. “Come in.”

I went inside and Lauretta climbed the stairs, then came back down with a sweater.

“I’m going for a walk, Mama.”

Her mother looked over her shoulders at us but didn’t respond as we left the house.

“How are you, Benedetta?” she asked, and I told her about my trip up the mountain. I hadn’t told Iole or Emidio anything about it, of course, and I didn’t discuss it with Zizi Checcone, though I was certain she knew where I had been. I got the feeling she was scared to even whisper any mention of the men in the mountains, after all, we had Germans under the same roof.

Lauretta was someone in whom I could confide. So, I told her about the walk up the mountain with Dominic, the trip to find the parachute, and I told her about the walk to the spring when I lost my temper.

She looked at me appraisingly.

“I’m impressed, Benedetta,” she said. “A little surprised, but still I am impressed. So many Italian women let the men say what they want to them.”

When I thought about the incident with Dominic, I was embarrassed, but the way Lauretta spoke about it, I almost felt a warm resurgence in my heart, I felt proud of what I had done.

I told her about the letter under the rock, as well.

“Dominic Giancarlo. I have heard of him. He is from Roselli, no?” I nodded, feeling fear rush through me. How did she know of him? Did some of her girlfriends know him? Had they been with him? Did he have a reputation for being with lots of girls? I felt myself flush. I had never thought these kinds of things before.

“Yes, I have heard of him,” Lauretta said.

“What do you know?”

“That many, many girls are in love with him, but he is a lazzarone. He likes to be with the men playing cards, drinking wine. Playing around. He dances, he flirts, but his Mama is a strict woman and he does not fool around. At least that is what I hear.”

Relief flowed through me. I knew she was telling me the truth, as much of it as she knew, and I was grateful for what she had told me.

“He is that way now, but there will come a time soon when women will be most important to him,” she said. “And when that happens, there will be lots of girls ready for him.”

I felt another emotion surge through me, this one powerful as well and all-consuming. It was jealousy. I did not like how it made me feel.

“We will see what kind of man he is,” I said. “When he gets my note and reads it, we will see.”

“I think that you do not have anything to worry about, Benedetta. He does not sound like a skirt-chaser.”

I felt a surge of relief that I tried to hide. We walked past the village and out along the outskirts of town where there was a small park-like setting with some logs chopped down and arranged into sitting areas. We sat next to one another on a log.

A bird flew overhead and somewhere a dog was barking. The booming of the big guns reached us from the mountain.

I turned and looked at Lauretta. Her silence confused me; usually it was tough for me to work a word in edgewise. She looked at the ground, her eyes vacant.

“Lauretta, what is wrong?”

She looked at me, shook her head, then wrapped her arms around herself.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”

“Lauretta, I know you too well.”

She whispered something.

“What?”

“They found out,” she said softly.

The guns stopped booming briefly. In the silence, I tried to figure out what she meant.

“Who?”

“Becher. Schlemmer.”

I went cold inside. The guns started booming again and the wind picked up, a chill in the air.

“What did they find out, Lauretta?”

She looked at the ground a long time before answering. “My father.”

“What about him?” I said.

“They found out about my father. Somehow. They did.”

“That he…”

“That he’s a ribellí. I think they caught him and a couple other men trying to blow up a truck. I think they killed him,” she said.

“Did they say they did?”

“No, they said they haven’t and…”

“And what?” I said.

“And they won’t.”

Suddenly, I knew. I wanted to stop, I didn’t want to ask more questions and I didn’t want Lauretta to tell me. But she did.

“They say they won’t kill him if I let them…let them…do things to me,” she said. She started crying.

“Have they…”

She nodded.

“They all have. All of them.”

A strand of hair fell across her face. I tried to brush it back for her, but she jerked away from me.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t want anyone to touch me. Ever again.”

We sat there.

“I want to die, Benedetta,” she said. “I just want to die.” Her lip trembled then, and she fell into my arms. I hugged her as tightly as I could and never wanted to let go.