Read Online Between Enemies by Andrea Molesini - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Molesini
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bit of a sore throat. I have to talk little, and quietly. Listen, Paolo, I know you’re not short of guts, but having guts doesn’t mean underrating danger. It doesn’t take much for these people to hang you.’
‘Why are you telling me this, Grandma?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t follow me. Renato can be relied on…but he has a mission to perform. Your mission, on the other hand, is to stay alive. Italy needs its young men to live. At present the heroics can be left to the youngsters on the Piave, and up on Monte Grappa.’
‘Are you telling me to trust the steward, but not to chance my arm too much?’
A smile spread across Grandma’s face. ‘Just that. You’re still a boy, Paolo, and we love you.’ She took hold of my hand and pressed it between hers, looking up at me and trying to hide her emotion.
Grandpa got up and saw me to the door, patting me on the shoulder. ‘See you get something hot to eat. Teresa has put asidea bit of rabbit for you. These Huns are more ravenous than landsknechts.’
The gasmask hung from her belt and the glass eyes, those huge hornet-eyes, brushed the top of the grass. Renato walked fast, three or four steps ahead. Every so often I looked over my shoulder at the lights of the Villa, but very soon even those of the village faded from sight, dim as they were due to the shortage of paraffin. We skirted the woods, following paths through the underbrush. Heading north-northwest. At one moment I thought I recognized the bell tower of Corbanese off to the right. High up, in the belfry, a speck of light glittered then almost went out. Someone was smoking up there. A sentry, maybe. The sight of that sort of firefly, alone at the top of the tower, cheered me up. The tranquillity of that glow coming and going, tiny but distinct in the darkness, went to my heart, so that I thought not of an enemy but of the man who, with a cigarette for company, was fashioning his own peace.
‘We’re nearly there,’ said Giulia at a certain moment. ‘I’ll take the lead now.’
Renato stepped aside to let her pass. The moon was high and almost full. A rocket burst and a flare lit up the wood. Renato shoved us both face down on the ground. A second rocket opened like an umbrella above the streak of its trajectory.
‘What are they looking for?’
‘A friend of mine,’ said Renato. ‘A pilot…These patrols come from Mura, or perhaps from Cisone.’
Another flare. Then the brilliance faded and became one with the bright moonlight. Giulia rose and followed the edge of the wood for two kilometres or so before turning almost back on her tracks and taking us into the thick of it. It consisted mostlyof beeches and hornbeam, and the lower branches lashed me in the face. I warded them off with my upraised hands, so my wrists became a mass of scratches. But I didn’t bat an eyelid. Then, all of a sudden, a clearing.
There before us, about fifty metres away, loomed the black bulk of a cottage. The air smelt of burning paraffin. Suddenly a rectangle of light appeared, and in it the dark silhouette of a man. His shadow stretched out through the darkness until it almost reached us. His head practically touched the lintel of the door, even though he was short and thickset. Renato went ahead to meet him, while Giulia and I hung back.
‘Brian,’ said Renato.
‘There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow,’ quoted the man in English, stepping back from the doorway to let us pass. ‘Come in, take a pew.’
After a fusillade of jokes in English that made Renato laugh, the man offered us tea. One single chipped cup, which we passed around. Giulia did not partake.
‘Assam,’ said the Englishman, patting his cartridge-pouch. ‘Never go anywhere without tea.’ He spoke a somewhat basic Italian with a strong accent. And he eyed Giulia hungrily.
‘Where is the plane?’ asked Renato, holding his palms towards the camping stove, from which arose a mighty stink of paraffin.
Brian pointed to
‘Why are you telling me this, Grandma?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t follow me. Renato can be relied on…but he has a mission to perform. Your mission, on the other hand, is to stay alive. Italy needs its young men to live. At present the heroics can be left to the youngsters on the Piave, and up on Monte Grappa.’
‘Are you telling me to trust the steward, but not to chance my arm too much?’
A smile spread across Grandma’s face. ‘Just that. You’re still a boy, Paolo, and we love you.’ She took hold of my hand and pressed it between hers, looking up at me and trying to hide her emotion.
Grandpa got up and saw me to the door, patting me on the shoulder. ‘See you get something hot to eat. Teresa has put asidea bit of rabbit for you. These Huns are more ravenous than landsknechts.’
The gasmask hung from her belt and the glass eyes, those huge hornet-eyes, brushed the top of the grass. Renato walked fast, three or four steps ahead. Every so often I looked over my shoulder at the lights of the Villa, but very soon even those of the village faded from sight, dim as they were due to the shortage of paraffin. We skirted the woods, following paths through the underbrush. Heading north-northwest. At one moment I thought I recognized the bell tower of Corbanese off to the right. High up, in the belfry, a speck of light glittered then almost went out. Someone was smoking up there. A sentry, maybe. The sight of that sort of firefly, alone at the top of the tower, cheered me up. The tranquillity of that glow coming and going, tiny but distinct in the darkness, went to my heart, so that I thought not of an enemy but of the man who, with a cigarette for company, was fashioning his own peace.
‘We’re nearly there,’ said Giulia at a certain moment. ‘I’ll take the lead now.’
Renato stepped aside to let her pass. The moon was high and almost full. A rocket burst and a flare lit up the wood. Renato shoved us both face down on the ground. A second rocket opened like an umbrella above the streak of its trajectory.
‘What are they looking for?’
‘A friend of mine,’ said Renato. ‘A pilot…These patrols come from Mura, or perhaps from Cisone.’
Another flare. Then the brilliance faded and became one with the bright moonlight. Giulia rose and followed the edge of the wood for two kilometres or so before turning almost back on her tracks and taking us into the thick of it. It consisted mostlyof beeches and hornbeam, and the lower branches lashed me in the face. I warded them off with my upraised hands, so my wrists became a mass of scratches. But I didn’t bat an eyelid. Then, all of a sudden, a clearing.
There before us, about fifty metres away, loomed the black bulk of a cottage. The air smelt of burning paraffin. Suddenly a rectangle of light appeared, and in it the dark silhouette of a man. His shadow stretched out through the darkness until it almost reached us. His head practically touched the lintel of the door, even though he was short and thickset. Renato went ahead to meet him, while Giulia and I hung back.
‘Brian,’ said Renato.
‘There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow,’ quoted the man in English, stepping back from the doorway to let us pass. ‘Come in, take a pew.’
After a fusillade of jokes in English that made Renato laugh, the man offered us tea. One single chipped cup, which we passed around. Giulia did not partake.
‘Assam,’ said the Englishman, patting his cartridge-pouch. ‘Never go anywhere without tea.’ He spoke a somewhat basic Italian with a strong accent. And he eyed Giulia hungrily.
‘Where is the plane?’ asked Renato, holding his palms towards the camping stove, from which arose a mighty stink of paraffin.
Brian pointed to
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