Beneath a Scarlet Sky



When the door shut, the gravity of what lay before them weighed heavily on Pino. Being caught with an American-made shortwave transmitter would be like signing a death warrant. Standing there in the alley, Pino pulled the cork and took a long draw off the bottle of excellent Chianti Uncle Albert had opened, and then handed it to Anna.

Anna took a few swigs, and another longer one. She grinned madly at him, kissed him, and said, “Sometimes you just have to have faith.”

“Father Re always says that,” Pino said, smiling. “Especially if it’s the right thing to do, no matter the consequences.”

They exited the alley. He carried the suitcase. Anna put the wine in the open mouth of her new purse. They held hands and threw a few weaves into their steps, and giggled as if they were the only two people in the world. From down the street at the Nazi checkpoint, they heard raucous laughter.

“Sounds like they’ve been drinking,” Anna said.

“Even better,” Pino said, and led the way to his parents’ apartment building.

The closer they got, the tighter Anna gripped Pino’s hand.

“Relax,” he said softly. “We’re drunk, not a care in the world.”

Anna took a long swig of wine, and said, “A couple minutes from now, it will either be the end of things or the beginning.”

“You can still back out.”

“No, Pino, I’m with you.”

Climbing the stairs to the front door of the apartment building and pushing it open, Pino had a moment of panic and doubt, wondered if it was a mistake to bring Anna, to risk her life needlessly like this. But the second he pushed the door open, she burst into laughter, hanging on him and singing snatches of a Christmas carol.

Be someone else, Pino thought, and joined her as they stumbled into the lobby.

Two armed Waffen-SS sentries Pino did not recognize stood at the base of the elevator and stairway, looking at them intently.

“What is this?” one of them asked in Italian, while the other covered them with a machine pistol. “Who are you?”

“I live here, sixth floor,” Pino said with a slur, holding out his papers. “Michele Lella’s son, Giuseppe, loyal soldier of the Organization Todt.”

The German soldier took the papers, studied them.

Anna hung on Pino’s arm with an amused look until the other soldier said, “Who are you?”

“Anna,” she said, and hiccupped. “Anna-Marta.”

“Papers.”

She blinked, went for the purse, but then rolled her head drunkenly. “Oh no, this is a new purse, my Christmas present, and I left the papers in my other one at Dolly’s. You know Dolly?”

“No. What is your business here?”

“Business?” Anna snorted. “I’m the maid.”

“The maid for the Lellas has already left today.”

“No,” she said, waving a hand at them. “General Leyers’s maid.”

That got their attention, especially when Pino said, “And I am the general’s personal driver. He gave us Christmas Eve off, and . . .” Pino tilted his head to his right shoulder, exposing his neck, and took a step toward them, smiling sheepishly. In a low, conspiratorial voice, he said, “My parents are away. We’ve got the night off. The apartment is empty. Anna and I thought we’d go up, and, you know, celebrate?”

The eyebrow of the first sentry rose appreciatively. The other one leered at Anna, who responded with a saucy smile.

“Okay?” Pino said.

“Ja, ja,” he said, laughing as he gave Pino his papers. “Go on up. It’s Christmas.”

Pino took the papers, stuffed them sloppily in his pocket, and said, “I owe you.”

“We both do,” Anna said shyly, and hiccupped again.

Pino thought they were home free when he went to pick up the leather suitcase. But when he did the bottles inside made a distinct clinking noise.

“What’s in the suitcase?” the other sentry said.

Pino looked at Anna, who blushed and laughed. “His Christmas present.”

“Show me,” he said.

“No,” Anna complained. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Open it,” the second sentry insisted.

Pino looked at Anna, who blushed again and shrugged.

Pino sighed, knelt, and undid the straps.

Lifting the lid revealed two more bottles of Chianti; a red satin bustier with matching panties, garters, and thigh-high red stockings; a black-and-white French maid’s outfit with garter belt, panties, and sheer black silk stockings; and a black lace bra and panties.

“Surprise,” Anna said softly. “Merry Christmas.”



The first soldier howled with laughter and said something fast in German that Pino did not catch. The other soldier cracked up, and so did Anna, who said something back to them in German that got them laughing even more.

Pino didn’t know what was going on, but he took the opportunity to remove one of the wine bottles and shut the suitcase. He held the wine out to the sentries. “And merry Christmas to you.”

“Ja?” one sentry said, taking it. “Is good?”

“Magnifico. From a winery near Siena.”

The SS soldier held it up to his partner, who was still grinning, and then looked back to Pino and Anna. “Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, and your cleaning lady.”

That sent him, his partner, and Anna into another round of laughing. As they made their way to the birdcage elevator, Pino laughed, too, though he didn’t know why.

As the elevator began to rise, the Nazi sentries were babbling happily and opening the wine bottle. When the elevator reached the third floor and they were out of sight from below, Anna whispered, “We did it!”

“What did you tell them?”

“Something naughty.”

Pino laughed, leaned over, and kissed her. She stepped over the suitcase and into his arms. They were embracing as they passed the fifth floor and the second set of Waffen-SS sentries. When Pino opened his eyes for a peek at them over Anna’s shoulders, he caught a glimpse of two envious men. They got inside the apartment, closed the door, turned on a light, and put the suitcase and the radio in a closet before falling into each other’s arms on the couch.

“I’ve never felt like this,” Anna gasped, her eyes wide-eyed and glassy. “We could have died down there.”

“It makes you see what matters,” Pino said, covering her cheeks and face with soft kisses. “It cuts everything else away. I . . . I think I love you, Anna.”

He’d hoped she’d say the same, but she pulled back from him, her face hardening. “No, you shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

Anna struggled, but then said, “You don’t know who I am. Not really.”

“What could make me not listen to the music in my heart every time I see you?”

Anna wouldn’t look at him. “That I’m a widow?”

“A widow?” Pino said, trying not to sound deflated. “You were married?”

“That’s usually how it works,” Anna said, studying him now.

“You’re too young to be a widow.”

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