To Find a Mountain

Chapter Thirty-two

The streets, the trees, the houses, the faces along the way were a teary blur to me. My feet felt wooden as I ran. My face was wet but I wasn’t crying, my eyes were wide open and unblinking; I pictured arriving in time to lift Lauretta down, explain that it was all a mistake and nurse her back to health so we could go back to the clearing in the woods and watch the American pilot wave to us again. I would tell her that we had made it this far that she just couldn’t die on me now, it was too close to the end. And then she would open her eyes and I would help her back to her room where we would lie on her bed and look at Enrico Caruso.

There was a small group of people who appeared to be dispersing from the center of town, and I could see that they were crossing themselves briefly in prayer, then leaving the scene as quickly as possible. I pushed my way to the front.

She was dead.

There was no doubt in my mind as I saw her body hanging limply from a wooden beam. I stood directly in front and looked up.

The world dropped from beneath my feet.

Lauretta’s neck was stretched to twice its normal length, a grotesque sight that I knew would forever be burned into my memory. She didn’t look human, with her neck like that, she looked like a painting in which the artist exaggerated the subject’s features. Her head was tilted down and to the side, her face was pale and her eyes stared sightlessly over the tops of the trees toward the distant hills.

Her feet were pointed outward, both shoes missing. I wondered if they’d been stolen. Her dress was the same one I had last seen her in: a green print with yellow flowers and patches worn smooth and shiny from use. There was blood on the dress, and from what I did not want to think.

“Cut her down,” I said to no one in particular, not sure if I had even said the words out loud.

No one responded, but a few people in the crowd moved away from me.

“Cut her down.”

Two German soldiers, stationed inside the abandoned store, sauntered out and stood to either side of the body.

One of them was Schlemmer. He gestured to Lauretta’s body which was twisting slowly in the gentle breeze.

“Ribellí,” he sneered. “For three days she must hang here, so the rest of you know what will happen if you fight us.”

“Cut her down!” My voice was high and unsteady. I could hear people behind me moving farther away, not wishing to be in the line of fire if it should come to that.

“Her father and some other men bombed a supply truck, killing the driver. This is what happened as a result of that,” he said.

“Who ordered her to be hung? Colonel Wolff?” I asked. “He would not do such a thing.”

“Becher understands how we need to treat you filthy people,” Schlemmer said. The other soldier laughed.

“Filthy?” I asked. “Is that why you had so much fun with her before you killed her?”

The smile dropped from his face.

“Cut her down, capibile,” I spat. “It is enough.”

Schlemmer laughed and looked at the other soldier who was shaking his head. Fury rose up inside me and I stepped up to Lauretta, took hold of her feet which were ice cold. I hugged them to my chest anyway. The rope had been tied over the thick post supporting the sign, then trailed down and was tied off to a stanchion against the wall.

I stepped forward to untie it.

The hard heel of Schlemmer’s boot caught me just above my stomach, in the midriff and lower part of my ribcage. I fell backward into the street, landing on my back; my head crashed onto the hard dirt street. The air escaped from my lungs with a woosh. It took a minute to focus, and I had a flashback to when Becher had done the same thing. But this time, I would fight back.

I threw my weight forward and bounced up, then rushed him, ready to tear the flesh from his face with my bare hands.

Schlemmer kicked me again, harder this time, directly in the stomach. I sank to my knees and he grabbed my hair in his fist and dragged me back into the street. The second soldier followed, kicking me in the legs, thighs, and bottom.

A blind fury seized me and I twisted and clawed, kicked and swung my arms.

I felt hands pin my arms behind my back as Schlemmer stepped back and slapped me hard across the face. The second slap didn’t sting as much as the first. After the third and fourth, I felt almost nothing. The taste of blood seeped into my mouth. It was starting to become a familiar flavor.

The arms released me and I dropped to the ground. New hands, gentler this time, scooped me up underneath the arms and pulled me away.

“This is your friend, girl?” Schlemmer’s voice taunted. I looked up at him through a veil of blood and tears. I was on my hands and knees, my eyes bore into his, and I studied every inch of his face, willing it into my memory so that when the day came, I knew I would be killing the right man.

He lifted his rifle and its steely bayonet glistened in the light. With a backward glance at me to make sure I was watching, a joyously giddy expression overcame his face as he reared back and then thrust forward, sinking the blade deeply into Lauretta’s stomach. I closed my eyes but I had seen everything I needed to see. Pure, raw evil was before me, had touched me, had killed my best friend.

Her body was pushed backward, and Schlemmer withdrew the blade from her stomach.

Her face remained unchanged, but her body swung lightly, the rope chafed against the wooden beam and made a soft squeaking sound.

I sank to my knees again, as blackness descended across my eyes, through my heart and over my soul.