To Find a Mountain

Chapter Forty-three

“America?” I asked, incredulously.

My father nodded. “America.”

The celebration was winding down, most of the people had gone home to begin their lives again. Someone had passed out small cups of coffee to the remaining celebrants.

“But why?” My heart was pounding and my head started to hurt again. “Things are finally back to normal,” I reasoned. “The Germans are gone. We can plant new crops. Rebuild. Why do you want to leave?”

“Zi Antonio,” my father said.

“Zi Antonio? Your little brother?” I asked. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He is in America. He started his own construction company before the war, remember? Well, before the Germans came here, he wrote me from Canada and said he needed a partner, but I told him no.”

“You told him no,” I said.

“But now he sent a letter and said that when the war is over, the American soldiers will come home and start families and build lots and lots of houses,” my father said. “He says life is better there. More food. Jobs. Medicine. It is a better place to raise children.”

I thought about the crops, about the damage to the village and then the stories of America. About the wealth. About big houses and jobs that pay lots of money.

Reading my mind, my father said, “And look at what we have left. Our crops are ruined, we will be starving for at least two more years. And then what?”

I could think of nothing else to say. Except one thing. What about Dominic?

Again, my father knew what I was thinking.

“That’s why I didn’t want you two to fall in love,” Papa said.

Dominic looked at his feet.

“Too late,” I said.

Now it was Dominic’s turn to blush, which he did. My father watched him slowly turn red, then spoke.

“Dominic, I have nothing against you, I think you are a fine young man, and I know that you would treat my daughter with respect.”

He clamped his hand over Dominic’s.

“But I do not want to leave anyone behind.” His eyes clouded over and I knew he was thinking about my mother. “Benedetta is coming with us to America and I will not hear of anything else.”

“When?” I asked.

My father shrugged his shoulders.

“When the war is over everywhere. And the Americans go back to their country. Then we will go.”

My father turned to Dominic.

“If you can make it to America,” Papa said. “I would be honored for you to call on Benedetta.”

He looked at me. His eyes were watering. “Yes I will.”

My father left us then.

“You will come to America, Dominic?” I said.

“I will come to America, Benedetta.”

“Do you swear you will?”

“I swear to God I will.”

I hugged Dominic, clinging to him. I whispered in his ear that if he didn’t keep his promise I would come back and bring him to America myself.

“Enough of this serious talk,” my father called to us. “Let’s get drunk.”