“I agree,” said Stefano. “People meeting in the piazzas are talking more openly. They are becoming less afraid. Mussolini has lost too much support. We have become too heavily dependent on Germany. It may only be a matter of time before we are only speaking their language.” He was the only one of the group who had learned to speak German.
But they soon learned they weren’t the only ones to be disillusioned. Conti, who had a contact in the ministry, had heard a rumor that certain members of the government were seeking support from the king to oust Mussolini after the heavy losses incurred in North Africa and Russia and the successful Allied invasion of Sicily. Conti had also listened to many in his café complain about the ruination of their country and the fear of an ultimate takeover by Germany.
And in response to these rumors and grievances, Il Furioso sent anonymously printed messages to villages and towns to fuel the people’s fear and to encourage others to take a stance against the current government. Conti was also able to get his hands on a dozen stolen weapons to fight any Mussolini loyalists should civil conflict arise. What they were doing was dangerous, but the air, heavy with dissatisfaction, seemed to lessen any risk.
Whether or not these messages and rumors contributed to Mussolini’s ousting, later that month Stefano and the rest of his small group were jubilant when Il Duce was arrested by his own fascist party, without the need for civil war, and a prime minister, Badoglio, was put in place, supported by the king of Italy. Many Italians were relieved and elated by news of a new government, and they celebrated in marketplaces filled with people no longer afraid to speak freely.
But confidence was short-lived after Mussolini was rescued and flown to Germany and the news of Italy’s armistice with the Allies reached Hitler. In the days following, confusion about allegiances reigned as Italian battle units on foreign soil disintegrated and many troops were captured by Nazi Germany. Murmurings about an invasion by the German army spread through Il Furioso’s underground contacts. Those who had openly been jubilant became subdued when it seemed that Italy’s internal war wasn’t over. Italy was not yet free. And no one felt this more than Stefano. Serafina and Enzo, and even his sister Teresa, still supported Germany, and Stefano believed they had assisted with Mussolini’s rescue.
In the days following, a hostile German army took control of northern Italy, and the king, Badoglio, and his supporters ran for cover to southern Italy, which in days would be completely in Allied hands. SS piled onto the streets, as did members of Mussolini’s new Italian Social Republic, based in Salò. These brutal forces began their quest for blood and revenge on those who had betrayed Mussolini and Nazi Germany. Traitors were hunted down, pulled from their beds, lined up in the marketplaces, and shot in front of crowds who pretended they were now on Germany’s side once again to shield themselves. Boys as young as fifteen who were deemed traitors, women and men, even the elderly, and some with only minor connections to those who had fled from arrest, were murdered.
But the Nazis didn’t stop there. Jews were arrested—from Rome to the cities of the North—and deported to concentration camps in Poland. Villages that had celebrated Mussolini’s capture were torched. And the fear of execution and the desperation for survival turned some to betray their neighbors.
Stefano watched on as an old woman was about to be shot for not revealing the whereabouts of her son, the last of the executions in his town that day, and he closed his eyes and turned away before the rifle was fired. The sound of the firing rang repeatedly in his head, and the pain of these senseless deaths crushed his heart as he returned home imagining his own mother lined up in the piazza. The shadow of something dark and terrifying loomed above him and the peace he craved.
His mother saw the anguish in his face as he entered, and she reached for him, like she had many times before. He held her close and assured her there was light ahead, mistrustful of his own words. He feared where it would end and fought hard against the foreboding that the people he loved would, at some point, bear the consequences of his decisions.
Present-day 1945
Stefano is up early and makes some coffee, reads another of Monique’s letters, then returns it quickly to the shoebox. Erich could appear at any moment. As he has shown previously, he is stealthy.
The visitor steps outside to inspect the surrounds. There is a strong pine scent from the trees outside, and he listens carefully for human sounds. Rosalind’s house is silent; there is no smoke from the chimney. There are several wooden boards nailed across part of Georg’s attic windows, like a prison, he thinks. Did he break the glass, or was it to stop him from jumping out?
Michal appears beside him. He looks up at Stefano curiously, his hazel eyes filled with the images of trees, and the boy finds Stefano’s hand, holds on to it, fingers curling into his.
“You should be outside, running between the trees. I believe that’s what boys like to do. Do you like running?”
Michal shrugs.
“Do you like making things?” asks Stefano, remembering something.
The boy is curious and follows Stefano back inside the house. On the floor, shoved under some old rags and washcloths, is a cluster of yellowing newspapers, with circles of watery damage in places. Stefano drops several of them onto the table and checks the date. On the front page is a photograph of Hitler addressing a crowd in Berlin. Stefano takes one broadsheet and begins to fold.
“This is what I used to do to pass the time when I was waiting for the enemy.”
He folds the paper in half and bends it swiftly until it resembles something Michal recognizes. The boy is absorbed, watching Stefano miraculously create an airplane and fly it across the room.
Michal runs to pick it up, but when he tries the same motion, it nose-dives to the floor. Stefano bends down near him and lifts his arm to show him how to make it fly, makes another airplane also, then takes Michal outside to fly them both across the dirt. Michal takes over the play, unaware of anything else around him.
Rosalind appears with some buckets. She does not look across but heads straight for the river.
“Michal, stay here!” he says. But the boy does not hear him; he is chasing one of the planes to the edge of the trees. Stefano decides to follow her through the woods and focuses on the white of her neck beneath hair pulled tightly up into a bun.
At the river he watches her climb down the embankment to fill them with water.
“Can I help you with those?”
She turns around, but she doesn’t look surprised. Her face is red and flushed, and there are worry lines around her eyes.
“You must be my guardian angel!” she says.
“Perhaps.” And she searches his eyes briefly to see if there is some truth. “Did Georg come back?”
“Yes, early this morning. He came in and went straight to bed. He is still there now.”
Stefano nods and watches her. She doesn’t drop her eyes this time.
She dips the second bucket in, and he bends forward over the edge, reaching out to take it from her.
She is silent. Lips together.
“Are you all right?”
“Those thieves took the good goose and left the lame one. It is clear she is in pain. That is what you get for charity.”
Rosalind leads the way back to the house.
“You seemed upset last night and a little frightened of Georg when he saw us at the table.”
“I’m not frightened,” she says directly.
“I think you should be. He isn’t stable, Rosalind. He needs help. Proper care.”
“And where do you propose he get this proper care? If I take him to the hospital, he will be put in a Russian prison hospital I expect, and I will never see him again.”
“He talks a lot of Monique.”
“Most of the time, Georg doesn’t make a lot of sense, as I said.”
“And what, if you will forgive the question, was his relationship with Monique?”
She stops and turns to look at him uneasily. “You are suggesting something?”
“No, of course not!” he says. “I was just curious why he talks of her.”