To Find a Mountain

Chapter Thirty

The pig was getting fat.

It was amazing what a pig could eat and digest. This pig was getting fat on coffee grounds, bones and anything else unfit for human consumption.

I threw him some husks of corn to quiet him down, worried that the sound would alert anyone who might be walking by. I closed the chicken coop door and latched it, then moved the odds and ends in front of the door to disguise any signs of recent use; so far it had worked and as far as I knew, this little guy was the only pig still alive in this part of the country.

Walking back to the house, it seemed that the air was getting colder, and I folded my arms across my chest, hugging my ragged sweater tightly to my chest.

In the kitchen, I could smell the minestrone that was becoming our nightly meal. Zizi Checcone stood at the hearth and stirred the large pot. I looked inside; it was an even thinner soup than normal. Rations were getting lower every day.

Zizi Checcone saw the look in my eye and shrugged her shoulders.

“It is not much, but it will warm the stomach,” she said.

I gathered up some bowls as she carried the large pot to the big table. Several soldiers were already seated at the table, neither Colonel Wolff nor Becher had yet returned from the front. The soldiers were dirty and dazed, tired from fighting; they dug into the weak soup with relish.

Iole placed a small loaf of bread between them.

“Grazie, grazie,” they said to us, in appreciation for a warm meal, probably the first one they’d had in several weeks. The men were rotated to and from the front, spending a day or two here to rest and recover, then back to the fighting they went. It was quiet now in the house, even with the soldiers here. They were so tired, all they could manage to do was just sleep and eat. After the soldiers finished eating, we sat down and took their places, eating the rest of the soup and bread. Anger began to well up inside me when I saw that there was only one small piece of bread left. There would barely be enough for either Iole or Emidio, but not for both. There was no question that Zizi Checcone and I would go without.

But when Iole and Emidio sat down, Zizi went to the kitchen and returned with three thick slabs of bread and a small square of butter. It had been a long time since we’d seen butter and now it sat there, beautifully golden in color. “Eat, eat, quickly!” she hissed at us, fearful that the soldiers would return for another cup of wine and see more bread.

Like wolves around a carcass, we ate the bread as quickly as we could, at the same time trying to savor the presence of real butter; a true delicacy in this wasteland of death and hunger.

“How…?” I started to ask, but the old woman shook her head.

Iole and Emidio did not ask from where the surprise had come, they kept their heads down and ate their soup in silence. I noticed the dark circles under their eyes, the wooden movements of their hands as they ate, and I wept inside. Their childhoods were being destroyed along with the houses, the crops, and so many lives of the men from the villages. But was nothing worse, nothing harder to replace than the joy of one’s youth? Houses could be rebuilt, crops could be replanted, but once their innocence, their joy was gone, I began to doubt if it could ever be replaced.

“Hey you two, after we eat and clean up, I have another surprise for you upstairs,” I said.

Zizi Checcone looked at me questioningly.

We scrubbed the dishes, although it wasn’t too hard to clean the pot in which a watery soup was made, wiped the table, swept the floor, and prepared the stove for a nice warm fire in the morning.

Zizi Checcone brought out needle and thread and began to sew some garments while I took Iole and Emidio upstairs. They bounded up behind me, peppering me with questions: “What’s the surprise? What is it? Do you have a game? Come on, Benedetta, tell us! Tell us!”

I jumped on the bed and they followed, clambering over me. Finally, I set Emidio on my lap, and Iole sat across from us.

“Now, do you two know that I love you very much?” They rolled their eyes and fidgeted, anxious to get to the surprise. “Do you know that ever since Mama passed away, I’ve tried to do my best to take care of you?” They stopped fidgeting at the sound of Mama’s name, and I felt a warmth come into my cheeks. “I just want you to know that all of this will be over one day, maybe even one day soon, and when that happens, Papa will come back and things will go back to the way they used to be. There will be good food on the table and plenty of time to play.”

They nodded that they understood, but I could tell they had their doubts, and I couldn’t blame them, I had doubts, too. The Allies seemed stronger than Germany, but the Germans were committed. And even if the Germans were defeated, what would the Allies do with Italy? Our country was in league with Hitler, and Mussolini was a Fascist. Would we be punished for taking up arms against the Allies, even if for most of us it had been against our will?

I pushed the thoughts from my mind. We would all have to do what it takes to survive. To dwell on what might happen would do nothing more than assure an ulcer if one lived long enough to suffer. I intended to survive, and I intended for my family to just not survive as well, but to come out of all this in one piece, not like some of these soldiers: nothing more than ghosts living in human shells.

Iole and Emidio were looking at me, and I snapped out of my train of thought.

“Are you done daydreaming, Benedetta?” Iole asked. “Or are you just trying to make up an excuse for why you don’t have a surprise for us?”

“I have a surprise. Let me get it for you.”

From inside the top drawer of my dresser, I pulled a small cloth wrapped up into a tight square. I laid it on the bed and Iole and Emidio’s eyes were wide with anticipation.

“Here it is,” I said, caressing the soft cloth.

“Open it! Open it!” Emidio said, leaning forward over the bundle like a deer about to drink from a stream.

“There’s nothing in there, she’s playing a trick on us,” Iole said, her eyes riveted to the small package.

“Oh, really?” I said, lifting a corner of the cloth, then another and another and another.

“Then I suppose you won’t be wanting any of this nothing, eh?” I said, lifting the final triangle of cloth.

They both inhaled sharply.

There, huddling together on the pristine white cloth backdrop were two incredibly thick, incredibly large squares of American chocolate.

Iole started to reach for a square first.

“Eh, eh, eh!” I said. She shot her hand back and they both looked at me again.

“Before I give them to you, you have to promise me a couple of things.”

They nodded solemnly.

“You have to promise that you’ll continue to help me and Zizi Checcone around the house.”

“I promise,” they said in unison.

“You have to promise that you’ll never ask me where I got it.”

“I promise.”

“You have to remember that you are young and deserve to have fun, so promise me that every day you’ll play bocci or chase each other or swing on the big tree out back.”

They looked at each other like I had gone crazy. Benedetta ordering them to play? It didn’t seem possible.

“I promise,” they repeated in unison.

“And finally, promise that you’ll give me hugs and kisses before you dig in,” I said. They giggled and showered me with hugs and kisses.

“Enough! Enough! Eat! Enjoy!” I pushed them off and they reached with reverence for their respective squares. As they bit into the sweet candy, I didn’t believe I had ever seen such ecstasy as I saw then in their eyes; they savored the rich chocolate like it was a forbidden desire at last indulged.

As they ate the chocolate, and licked their fingers, I idly stroked their hair, marveling at the smoothness of their skin, the delicacy of their features. They were growing up fast, even in the middle of a war without enough food to go around, they were still growing up too fast.

I knew all too well what it was like to have a childhood cut short. If there was a way to prevent it from happening to them, by God, I was going to find it.