To Find a Mountain

Chapter Thirty-nine

For a week, nothing happened. I received no note from Dominic, but that meant nothing. Even if he made it back to the hideout in the mountains, he would not come back down again. He would need to rest and let his wound recover. And if he didn’t make it, I shuddered at the thought there would be no more notes, ever.

Although I had suffered no physical wound, the week was one of recovery for me, too. The shock of Schlemmer’s attack and the ensuing fight still clung to me; every time I heard the sound of a German I pictured Schlemmer appearing in the doorway, his head lolling crookedly to one side, blood seeping from his throat.

But as the days passed, I calmed down and felt that maybe Dominic and I would be lucky, maybe no one would miss Schlemmer and even if they did, maybe no one would think to look inside an abandoned barn beneath some bales of hay.

Exactly one week later, when black clouds rolled in and light rain began to weigh down the dust of Casalveri, a German soldier on crutches came to the house, followed by Becher, and it was then that I knew for certain my luck had run out.

They came inside the house, and Becher gestured toward me, questioningly. The man on crutches looked me up and down, said something to Becher who turned and looked at me again, then responded, also in German, to the wounded man. He shifted on his crutches and looked at me, then a flicker of recognition passed over his eyes.

My blood ran cold.

The man on crutches nodded again and said something to Becher that was clearly in the affirmative.

Becher turned to me, his cold blue eyes flat and lifeless. He said something to the man on crutches who turned and left the house. I could hear the sound of pushing and grunting as he swung himself along.

Pulling a chair up, Becher sat and looked at me as I stood before him.

“So how did a little girl like you manage to kill one of my soldiers?” There was a smile on his face, but no humor behind it.

When I answered, my voice was even.

“I’ve killed no one. That’s your job.”

He laughed out loud.

“Yes, and since you or whoever, killed one of my soldiers, I will have many more to exterminate.” He emphasized the last word, as if we Italians were rodents.

I said nothing as he continued to watch me.

“So you know nothing about Schlemmer’s death? Even though the soldier who was just here said he was sitting with Schlemmer outside the hospital a week ago when they saw you walk by?” Becher said. “It was very late at night; these soldiers, with all of their medications, they have trouble getting to sleep sometimes.”

He seemed to be almost compassionate when he spoke of his soldiers.

“He said you were walking quickly. Schlemmer apparently decided to follow you. And no one has seen him alive since.”

“I go for walks at night,” I said and shrugged my shoulders. “Ask anyone. Ask Colonel Wolff.”

“I think we’ll leave Colonel Wolff out of this matter.”

“I never saw Schlemmer,” I said. “If he came after me, he never caught up. I walk pretty fast and if he was at the hospital he must have been hurt, maybe he couldn’t keep up the pace.”

He laughed out loud at that.

“You are a good liar, aren’t you?” Becher said. “Well of course you are — you’re an Italian.” He smiled. “I admire you. You are a brave girl, no one ever doubted that.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

Suddenly, he brightened, as if struck by a thought. “Perhaps you would like to see how we can make you talk, make you tell the truth? I know some men who would love to get their hands on a beautiful young girl like you. I would let them do the same things to you that they did to that other girl, what was her name?” He looked at the ceiling as if he were trying to remember. “Lauretta!” He snapped his fingers. “Yes, Lauretta. Now, you two were good friends weren’t you?”

I ignored him, and the anger that rose within me at the mention of Lauretta’s name.

“I would tell them the same thing,” I said. “I don’t know what happened to the soldier named Schlemmer.”

He sighed heavily, but then one of the men from the jeep outside called to him as their portable radio burst with German shouting. Becher stepped to the door and called out to another soldier who was waiting outside; he was young, blonde and had his rifle slung over his shoulder. Becher gestured toward me.

“Keep your eye on her until I return. Do not let her leave the house or your sight.”

The soldier nodded and stepped inside the doorway to let Becher pass, but Becher stopped.

“I will be back shortly. Don’t go anywhere. This matter is not yet settled.” He looked me in the eye, but I returned his look with a blank stare. Then he walked briskly to a waiting truck that quickly started up and roared away.

I went to the hearth and stirred the fire. The house was silent; Zizi Checcone, Emidio and Iole were doing the wash in the natural springs east of Casalveri. They would be back soon.

My mind raced and I forced myself to concentrate on the facts. For one, I knew the Germans had no way of knowing what had happened to Schlemmer. If they had found any evidence linking me directly with his death, I most likely would have been executed on the spot. The fact that Becher asked me for information meant that Dominic had gotten away. I thanked God for that.

I also knew that Wolff had told Papa that if one German soldier died, ten villagers would be executed. That’s what Becher meant when he said more people would die; he believed Schlemmer’s death would be avenged. But would Wolff approve of that?

There were too many questions and not enough answers. Suddenly, fear washed over me and my hands started shaking. I wanted Papa here to protect me, I wanted to run to my mother, I wanted to be far away from anyone who could hurt me; and the realization washed over me like ice-cold water that I might die today. Becher might have me stand against a wall and have his men fire their rifles at me. Or worse, maybe he would have some of them take me behind the house and rape me.

I stayed like that for a long time, I’m not sure how long, but I heard the sound of voices, children’s voices, and I got to my feet. The German soldier was standing where Becher had left him, watching me impassionately, not a trace of sympathy or even curiosity.

The door opened and Iole bounded in with Emidio right on her heels. I looked out the door and saw Zizi Checcone coming toward the house, a heavy basket of laundry on her shoulder. She was looking away from the house, to the right. My eyes followed her and I saw a long line of German vehicles coming down the mountain and into town.

Colonel Wolff was in the lead vehicle.

I motioned for Zizi Checcone to come inside quickly. I needed to get them out of the house before Wolff arrived. If there was going to be any retaliation for Schlemmer’s murder, I wanted it to be directed toward me and I wanted the three of them to be as far away as possible.

Zizi Checcone was ten yards away from the house, her short legs carrying her as fast as they could manage when a deep rumble shook the ground and I looked toward the Western side of the mountain.

Zizi Checcone stopped and stood still, looking in the same direction.

As the long line of German vehicles drew toward the house, the entire Western side of the mountain erupted in a tremendous explosion: a mixture of fire and black smoke, dirt and debris rained down upon Casalveri, turning day into night.