The Golden Hour (13 page)

“Without giving me or Giorgio away?”

“Do you trust me or don’t you?”

I knew the schedule at the School of Santa Maria so well. It would be rare for anyone to be left at five p.m., either the nuns or the German soldiers. On Wednesday evening, I strolled casually into the vicinity of the school, pausing and peeking through the rear hedge. All was quiet. I waited, watching for any sign of Klaus, listening for the sound of his footsteps inside. Nothing. It was five p.m., exactly—I knew that. I squeezed between two bushes and entered the schoolyard. No one was in sight. Maybe he was just watching from inside, I thought. I sat on the swing, where I knew he could see me, and quietly rocked back and forth, my feet gently scraping the ground.

I had no interest in a permanent relationship with Klaus. I was
clear on that. And he, of course, was married. Yet I couldn’t deny my feelings for him. We had forged too close a bond in the last months for me simply to disappear. I wasn’t sure exactly what his expectations were, but I wanted to find out. I was just drifting off into a fantasy of his warm breath on my ear when a tap on my shoulder made me jump. I nearly fell off the swing as I wrenched around. There he was, standing behind me with the note in his hand.

“I was not sure what to expect when Sister Elena handed this to me and I saw the writing paper from the convent,” he said with a smile. “I’ve missed you since our little picnic.”

Did he say Sister Elena?
I tucked a lock of unruly hair behind my ear.
He must have been mistaken. He must have meant Graziella.
I smiled back at him, and he drew me to him, holding my head against his chest and stroking my hair. “That’s my beauty, my treasure,” he said.

I leaned into him, feeling his heart beat beneath the rough fabric of his uniform jacket, and put my arms around his waist.

“Come inside,” he said. “There is no one here.” Then he laughed, adding, “No one yet, anyway.” He took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder.

We settled in the kitchen, probably because of our memories of the picnic, and sat down together on a couple of the small chairs. He leaned forward eagerly, his elbows on his knees. “How are you, my beauty?”

“Sister Graziella told my father what she saw the other night,” I began.

“And?”

“Well, my parents are very angry.”

He nodded. “Yes, I can imagine that.”

“I went to the convent and spoke with Graziella myself, and she doesn’t want me to work at the school anymore.”

He gave a quick little nod and looked away. “This is no
problem. We can meet here in the evenings. You will bring sunshine into my life, just when the sun is getting low.” He leaned forward, taking my hands and kissing me gently, as he always did.

“But, Klaus, you are married. I think about Mathilde, about your baby, and I just don’t know. I…”

He stood up suddenly and began walking back and forth as he talked. “Giovanna, who knows how long we will be here or what could happen? The Allies could come along at any time. I could be killed just setting a mine on one of the bridges. Life is so uncertain that we have to live as if we have one day only.” He took my hand again. His eyes were beginning to tear up. “You are precious to me, and I—life here—would be empty if I could not see your wonderful smile.
Ja
—you are my home now, so far away from Germany.”

I could see that he meant it, every word of it. But as he talked, I became more and more convinced that my situation was not the same as his. I was not far away from home. This was my life—my real one—and I needed to live it in the best way I could. Not to mention the danger he posed to my work with Giorgio and the risk of discovery. Now it was my turn to stand up. “It just doesn’t feel right to me. It isn’t what I want in my own life right now. I’ve found another place to work, and…I just can’t come back here.”

He rose to his feet and grabbed me, pulling me tightly to him. “No, don’t say these things, Giovanna. You must not…you must not make me sad.”

I pushed him gently away with both arms. “I don’t want to make you sad. I don’t. But…”

“If you make me sad, then you will make me angry too. I don’t want to be angry with you, my treasure.”

I was crying now. This was hard, so hard. “I’m not angry with you, Klaus, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I just can’t see you anymore. I have another life to lead.”

He stared at me. “Well, then, you go ahead and lead your life. I
will not be part of it.” He grabbed his coat, turned, and left, slamming the cafeteria door in his wake.

The sound reverberated in my ears for hours.

Violetta showed up at Villa Farfalla the next evening. She greeted my parents with a big hug. “We are so thrilled that Giovanna will be working at the clinic,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “The work is so important, and she will be a valuable member of the team. Of course, the hours are unpredictable, and emergencies do happen. I just wanted to be sure that you’ve accepted that and that you will be willing to let her come and go when she’s needed.”

Mother nodded. “We’re just so thankful for the work the marchesa is doing,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d sleep at night if there weren’t someplace around here for the wounded to be taken care of. And for Giovanna to be part of it…we’re so pleased.”

I thought of the marchesa, her smock spattered with blood, parsing her valuable time between nursing the wounded and finding shelter for escaped prisoners—not to mention her own family. Mother had no idea how dedicated and brave the marchesa truly was—my mother, who passed her days overseeing the garden and planning the family meals. She spent her mental energy resenting the Germans, worrying about Giorgio, and feeling sorry for herself; she had no energy left to actually do anything to help.

I looked at Father. “What do you say, Papa? Are you sure it’s all right with you?”

He looked at both of us. “Well, I’ve never thought of Giovanna as much of a caregiver type. But I guess war makes fools of all of us. If that’s what you want to try,
piccola,
I’ve got no objection. Just don’t faint and hit your head.” He looked at Mother, rolled his eyes, and laughed out loud.

I felt hot tears well up and fought them down. Without looking at him, I took Violetta by the arm. “Let’s go into the garden and you can begin my schooling right now.”

When we were alone, I grimaced. “I just can’t please him no matter what I do.” We walked to a bench and sat down. “But now, tell me: What have you arranged? It sounds perfect from what you said to my parents.”

She smiled mysteriously at me. “You always were the organizing type,” she said. “How would you like to be in charge of the supply closet? You know, straightening the shelves and making sure everything is in its place.”

“Are you kidding? That’s all?” My relief must have been obvious, because she started laughing hysterically.

“You thought I’d make you empty bedpans? Giovanna, it’s no problem. It’s all volunteer anyway, and I just told them you were good at that sort of thing.” She sobered. “If I were you, though, I’d come upstairs now and then so the marchesa and other people get to know you. Make it known when you are there. Then, if anyone asks, they’ll be ready to corroborate your cover.”

“Okay. I’ll try not to faint and hit my head while I’m at it.”

Violetta laughed and got up to leave.

“Wait.” I grabbed her. “Before you go, I have to tell you about what happened last night.”

Violetta listened with full attention. At the end, I added, “The strange thing is that he said it was Sister Elena who had given him the note, not Sister Graziella. Do you think it’s possible that Elena found it and opened it? There was no envelope in his hand. I was so absorbed in our conversation, I didn’t think about it last night.”

Violetta thought for a moment. “I’m sorry, but you know how relieved I am that Klaus is out of the picture. But what about Sister Graziella? If Elena did open it, she probably showed Graziella the note. She might even be planning to tell your parents
you decided to meet Klaus. And none of them knows yet how it all turned out.”

“You’re right—after all the trust she put in me, I’ll just have to find a way to see her again and beg her forgiveness.” And my parents’. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she would show them the note. “I just can’t worry about it now, Violetta. There is such important work to do.”

F
riday night was the eve of St. John’s Day, a celebration I had always looked forward to until the war called a halt to our rituals. Named for John the Baptist, the holiday paid homage to water, fire, and plants, coming as it did nearly on the summer solstice and at the front end of the growing season. On that night, in its long, lingering dusk, we always lit bonfires in front of houses, in the courtyards, and along the lanes. People threw kindling, old furniture, bundled straw—whatever would burn—on these fires until the flames reached up, crackling hungrily with a fierce, hot heat that could purge a person’s soul. The whole area was dotted with these fires, almost like earth stars twinkling as the last of the light faded into darkness.

The Germans had imposed a curfew in the village from six p.m. until six a.m. The SS soldiers, who wore black uniforms with a zigzag yellow lightning sign on their collars, patrolled the streets.

Out in the country, where we lived, there was not as much surveillance, and a few of my friends had hatched a plan to light a bonfire Friday night—just to prove that it was still our country,
that we could be who we wanted to be. It was a cheeky thing to do, but we were young and heedless.

Two boys—Flavio and Luigi—were the ringleaders. They were seventeen and still too young to be recruited to fight, but they were by no means safe. Boys like those two were constantly on the lookout, living in fear of being snatched up for labor by Nazi soldiers. That made them mad enough to want to pull off a rebellious bonfire. The two of them had been working all week, secretly stashing wood and straw and other burnable items near the place in the lane where they had decided to have the fire.

Flavio, who had light, curly hair and a sweet smile, was Violetta’s cousin. I loved him for his shy manner and the way he doted on animals. He would never have come up with this idea, but he would do anything his best friend, Luigi, said to do. Luigi Santini, our neighbor, was a lot taller, all gangly limbs and big feet, with a bad complexion. It was Flavio who had worked up Violetta’s enthusiasm about the fire, and she had recruited me to come along. I had always loved the St. John’s Eve fires, and I was ready for some excitement.

We had dinner at home as usual that night. So far there seemed to be no word from Graziella about my note to Klaus. Toward the end of the meal, I flexed my jaw until a yawn began spreading into a real one. “I guess it’s been a long week for me. I can hardly keep my eyes open,” I said.

“Maybe you should think about limiting your new schedule at the clinic to the mornings,” my mother said.

That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I yawned again. “I’ll think about it, Mother, but now, if it’s all right with you, I’m just going to go to bed early.” I got up and slid my chair carefully back to the table. “Good night, Mama.” I kissed her. “Sleep well.” I kissed Papa on the cheek and went to my room, closing the door.

Outside the open window, it was still light. I thought I smelled a whiff of smoke, but that was probably just my imagination. I picked up a book and stared blankly at the pages, listening hard.

After dinner was cleared away, my parents spent a half hour in the tiny parlor before going into their room and shutting the door. I put on my softest, most comfortable shoes, pulled on a sweater for the night chill, and cracked my door as quietly as I could. No one was about. I tiptoed silently down the stairs and out into the thickening dusk. It was about a quarter to ten.

The group was already gathered in the lane half a mile or so from Villa Farfalla’s front gate, silhouetted in front of the flames that were taking hold. I came up behind Violetta and surprised her with a quick hug. “I was beginning to wonder whether you were going to get away,” she said, taking my hand. Sparks were flying as Flavio and Luigi piled more and more kindling on the fire.

Then I noticed a third boy working with them. Ignazio Lazzari had not been part of the original plan, but he had heard about it somehow and, as Violetta whispered to me, had already been there when they arrived. He was in the boys’ class at school and was a notorious troublemaker: loud and rough, with a perpetual sneer on his face.

“What’s the matter, Giovanna, have a hard time sneaking out?” He laughed a little too loudly and gave me a quick shove toward the fire.

“Hey, watch it!” I shoved him back, folded my arms, and backed away. Then I noticed an army canteen hanging over his shoulder on a canvas strap. He took a swig.

“Want some grappa?” His lip curled into what I supposed was a smile.

“No, thanks.” I retreated to Violetta’s side.

A chair with a frayed rush seat went onto the fire and the flames leaped up with a vengeance; then a whole bale of bound hay sent a shower of sparks in an alarming arc over our heads. “Maybe that’s enough for now,” called Flavio. He was trying to keep his voice game and friendly, but I could tell he was getting worried.
There was no way we could keep this fire small now. It must have been visible for miles.

Underneath the crackling and roaring of the fire, I heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle. The boys, who were closer to the fire, didn’t hear it, but Violetta’s head turned at the same moment as mine. In the low light, beyond the halo of flames, we could just make out the outline of an open military jeep. We looked at each other, wide-eyed and silent, as it headed our way. Then it pulled to a stop just across the street next to a low stucco wall. Four German soldiers were outlined there in full uniform.

Ignazio, whose back was to the jeep, took another swallow from the canteen. “Take that, you sausage swine, you Nazi vermin,” he shouted, fluttering an open book onto the flames. “Let’s see who really owns this town.”

Doors slammed loudly, and the soldiers got out. As they came closer into the glow of the fire, their faces were clearly visible. One of them was Klaus. He looked straight at me but registered no surprise. He looked handsome and powerful, and I felt a flare of regret along with foreboding fear.

The three boys saw the soldiers now and knotted together, staring back at them like cornered game.

Two wore the SS emblem on their black shirts; Klaus and the other man wore the green khaki uniforms of the construction corps. An SS officer strode over and poked a finger straight into Ignazio’s chest, knocking him back a step or two. “Just where is the sausage swine? Just who you call the vermin?” He yanked the canteen off his shoulder, took a whiff, and threw it on the fire. He grabbed Ignazio by the back of the neck, and the other SS officer grabbed both Flavio and Luigi roughly, one on each arm.

Klaus broke from the group and came over to where Violetta and I were standing. “Are these friends of yours, Giovanna?” He said it sarcastically, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I nodded, looking at the ground. I was frozen.

“You know it is
verboten
to be out here like this.”

I nodded again, not looking up.

He walked off to the side and motioned the other soldiers over to him. They all put their heads together, holding the boys off, and talked in low voices. One said, “
Jawohl,
” and slapped Klaus on the back. The others chuckled. They let Flavio and Luigi go with a shove; then they headed back to the jeep with Ignazio in tow. Klaus turned back to the group. “You will put out this fire now. We will come back in one half hour. If you are still here, you will all come with us.” Before he turned to go, he stared back at me, poker-faced, mocking, and held my gaze.

I took Violetta’s hand and dragged her off, leaving the boys to put out the fire.

I was crying, inconsolable. “That was Klaus,” I sobbed. “It’s my fault, what’s happened to Ignazio. We’ll never see him again.”

She put her arm around me. “
Shhh.
You don’t know that it’s your fault. Really, you don’t. Maybe they would have taken all three of them. Maybe Klaus saved Luigi and Flavio because of you.”

She might have been right, but that was not the way it felt to me. Klaus was angry and hurt; Ignazio was small recompense. I still burn with responsibility at the memory decades later, but that was only the beginning.