She appears annoyed at the questions, shakes her head, and moves again to leave.
“Stay here then. I will find him,” he says, his hand against the door to block her exit.
“He won’t respond as well to you, not in this state.”
“After what I’ve witnessed, he may not respond to you either.”
She lowers her eyes, aware suddenly that he speaks the truth.
“If he comes back in the meantime, don’t answer the door. Keep it locked.”
Stefano hears her turn the key in the lock as he leaves. He walks first through the wood to retrieve his torch that still sits on the embankment casting an eerie band of light across the river, then along the track toward the secret hut. The rain is lessening as it follows the streaks of light now appearing in the distance.
Stefano finds Georg in the hut, holding the patchwork. He doesn’t flinch this time from the bright light that shines directly into his eyes.
“Are you here to kill me?” he says, morbidly calm.
“No,” says Stefano gently, pointing the torch away.
“It is probably best,” says Georg, turning to him, eyes wide, glassy, but the way he has focused on Stefano, there is awareness as well. “I have nothing now.”
“You have much, Georg.”
“I want to be alone,” he says, and then he closes his eyes and appears to end the conversation.
“I will leave you then,” says Stefano.
“She’s out there somewhere,” Georg says suddenly.
“Who?” asks Stefano.
He doesn’t answer.
“Are you talking about Monique?”
Georg is silent.
Stefano crouches in the doorway to be on the same level. He is eager to read more of Monique’s letters, to learn more about her. There are things here that haven’t been said, that Rosalind has kept to herself, and Erich, too.
“Do you remember her?” says Stefano. “Do you remember seeing her here?”
He waits, but there is no response.
“Do you remember what just happened?”
“You should leave here,” Georg responds.
Stefano reluctantly moves to step outside.
“I don’t want to be here,” Georg says, his voice strangled, desolate. “Earlier tonight, you said that you would help me.”
“Yes,” says Stefano.
1943
Stefano passed the letter to Toni.
“What is this?”
“I have been called back. I have to report for duty next week.”
Toni looked at Stefano curiously. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“That is what I have come to talk to you about. I am not going. I am defecting like you, and I will also have to go underground.”
“That is good, my friend,” said Toni, patting him on the back.
Though Stefano knew he could no longer fight on behalf of Germany, he still had some reservations about his defection from the army. With the streets full of suspicion and treachery, he was worried about his mother and sisters. He wondered if they would be in danger not only because of what he was planning to do, but also because of the activities that Il Furioso had been involved in so far: the antigovernment messages and the stockpiling of weapons, along with the possibility that someone outside their group would betray them.
Outwardly, Il Furioso was displaying its loyalty to the new Salò government to allay suspicion, the group’s members pretending to be excited by news of Germany’s successes to others they spoke to in the streets. Privately, they were on edge, and relieved to have not been betrayed during the initial roundup of Mussolini’s traitors. But time was another enemy. They would have to make decisions swiftly: either to break away from Verona and make the journey southward to fight alongside the Allies, or to join the resistance in the North.
Alberto was regularly in touch with the north and west alpine partisans who had formed after Mussolini was returned. Alberto would report on the successful activities of some, as well as news of those who had been caught and slaughtered. If the resistance was to win any fight, they would need more men.
“I have been ordered by Salò to go to the Eastern Front, but I cannot fight against my own brothers, the Allies,” announced Fedor angrily at the following night’s meeting. “We have to do something. We have to commence our own fight against the regime. I believe that we must join our northern brothers in the mountains.”
“I agree,” said Stefano. “But we also have to think about our families. Remember, they are searching for dissenters everywhere. We were lucky that our names were not revealed during the mass executions. There are some out there who have heard of our true loyalties, and soon it will not be safe for anyone here to leave their doors.”
Nina had been sitting quietly, listening, until then. “Mamma and I can take care of ourselves while you fight. Or maybe we can come with you.”
“No!” said Stefano. “It is too dangerous, Nina. You must go south. The churches are helping people through. You must convince Teresa also if you can.”
“You know that she will not leave here. We do not speak much. But regardless, I am not going without you and Toni!”
“I agree with Stefano,” said Toni, catching the indignation in his wife’s eyes.
Two days later more Veronese who had links to the resistance were publicly executed. Fury and outrage kept building within their group, and like an active volcano, Il Furioso was ready to burst. This sad news only strengthened the decision to fight alongside the partisans. With their defection to be shortly noticed when they did not report for duty, Stefano and the rest of the group had moved to Conti’s to hide temporarily, since Conti had not been conscripted and was unlikely to be tracked. From there they planned their trip to the Alps to join other members of the resistance. Stefano would do this for his cousin, in his honor, and he would make his father proud. He did not want an Italy run by Germany.
And there was no choice now but for their families to leave for the South.
“I’m afraid this has to be,” Toni said to Nina. “You cannot stay here, and you cannot join us, not with our baby.” And though Nina had objected, her protests were weaker now. She knew she couldn’t put the baby in danger, and her going north with the group would be a hindrance to the espionage work they were contemplating.
Radios had been banned completely, and news could only come through Conti’s and Fedor’s contacts, if they weren’t shot first.
Present-day 1945
Stefano knocks softly on the window near the sofa where Rosalind sits weeping. They lock eyes through the glass before she stands to let him in. She has dried herself and replaced her wet clothes with a housecoat.
“Georg is in the hut.” Stefano follows her back to the sofa, where he sits close beside her. “He says he wishes to stay there. I think you should lock the door and leave him out there.”
“Everything is worsening,” she says. “I cannot see that it will ever get better.”
“He needs medical help.”
“I have been fooling myself about my husband. I don’t think our relationship will ever return to normal.”
Stefano doesn’t wish to talk about their marriage.
“He is afraid of Erich,” says Stefano, changing the tone, remembering how agitated Georg was at the sight of him, his hands opening and tightening.
“He is not sure how to be around people. He probably senses that Erich doesn’t like him, or perhaps he is jealous of Erich. He might think that he’s taking me away. Or worse.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Why does Georg think anything strange at all? It is all due to the same reason. All because of a bullet.”
“And the drugs,” says Stefano.
“He has been growing more unstable,” she says. “At first the drugs were making him passive, but the more he took, the more he wanted, and now he reacts badly. He breaks things. He broke things in Erich’s house.”
“He told me earlier, when I went and spoke to him outside, that Erich doesn’t live there. That the house belongs to him, not Erich.”