The Golden Hour (16 page)

“I’m twenty. I was born in 1924. Cecilio’s twenty-two.” He looked up. “So if you’re Giorgio’s younger sister, you must be—”

“Seventeen, but I’ll be eighteen next month.” It seemed important that he not think me too young.

Mario nodded. Then he got up, suddenly edgy and distracted. “Hey, Giovanna, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. But I’ve got to go now. I can’t stay here.”

“Wait. There’s one more thing we have to do.” I took out the thermometer, shook it down. “You’ve got to sit still long enough to do this. It’s important.” I held it out to him like a nurse, and he dutifully opened his mouth, let me slide the glass rod under his tongue, then closed his lips gently around it. Softly modeled lips they were, neat and symmetrical, like a woman’s. A drop of sweat slowly rolled down from under his nose and hung there. I wanted to wipe it off with my thumb, but I held back.

“Mario, I…” This was an opportunity, and I had to take it. “I want you to know I’m really sorry all this is happening to you and your brother. It isn’t right.” I didn’t know what I was about to say,
but I pressed on. “If you need anything, not just food, but help of some kind, let me know.” I looked away, feeling the breeze lift an unruly curl next to my ear, listening to the
kick, kick, kick
of a great spotted woodpecker overhead.

I reached for the thermometer, then tipped it just so in the light: 102 degrees.

“You’ve got a fever,” I said. “A high one.”

He winced. “I was afraid of that. I really don’t feel very well. Do you think it’s my arm?”

“I do. They told me at the clinic that means infection. And it could be serious. You’re going to need a shot. Can you come back tomorrow?” I began stuffing all the old bandages and debris into my bag.

He looked nervous, shook his head.

“Mario, you’ve got to. You
have
to.” I was surprised at the intensity in my own voice. Suddenly this mattered more than anything had in a long time. “I’ll be here, right here, at noon tomorrow. Don’t let me down.” I shouldered the bag, turned my back, and walked away, not waiting for an answer.

I slipped quietly out of our quarters and down the stairs just after sunrise the next morning. My plan was to pass by the Santinis’ garden for some vegetables to take with me that Mario could deliver to the boys, then to go to the clinic to pick up a dose of penicillin. I parked my bike on the road and circled around the back way toward the garden. As I neared their property, I saw Luigi sitting by the path. His bicycle was turned over nearby, and he was bent over, hugging his knees to his chest.

I approached warily, still not sure whether he might be blaming me personally for Ignazio’s kidnapping. “Hello, Luigi,” I said casually. He seemed lost in his thoughts, not in the least hostile to me. “Is something the matter?”

“I’ve just heard about the evacuation, and I’m worried about Flavio.”

“Evacuation?”

“There’s a poster hanging in his village by the fountain. It says that those people and all the villages of the Serchio River valley are to be evacuated beginning on July fifteenth—that’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Where will they go?”

“We talked with Flavio’s parents, and they said they had heard that everyone is supposed to be loaded on trains and taken to some unknown destination in the north. They would be allowed only one suitcase and have to leave everything else behind. Everyone in the village is talking about it. I guess the parish priest has announced that there will be a meeting to discuss it tonight.”

“But that would mean Violetta’s family, too!” I leaped to my feet and brushed my skirt off. “Luigi, I’ve got to run. I’m really sorry about Ignazio, and I’m so glad you’re okay.” The vegetables forgotten, I picked up my bag and took off for the clinic.

V
ioletta was not at the clinic when I arrived. I feared the worst—that she wouldn’t even show up—but I busied myself tidying the supply room while I waited. I sifted through piles of bandages, rolls of flat cotton enfolded in blue paper, small white laundered towels, large containers of aspirin, and bottles of evil-looking mercurochrome. I returned things to their assigned spaces and neatened the piles. No sign of penicillin anywhere. What if she never came? I was searching through a basket on the bottom shelf when the light in the room dimmed. Someone was standing in the doorway. I turned, and the marchesa leaned in.

“Giovanna, why don’t you come out here? Violetta has just arrived, and as her good friend, I think you should hear what she’s saying.”

There were three other nurse volunteers clustered around Violetta near the entrance to the annex. She was talking animatedly, and as I came closer, I could hear that it concerned the evacuation.

“They say we will be able to take only what we can carry, and
that all our houses are to be abandoned—I suppose for German troops to move in and take them over.”

“Is it true everyone is to be put on trains and shipped off?” I asked.

“It is, but from what my parents say, most people are just planning to run off into remote parts of the mountains and stay with friends or family in those inaccessible areas—not to go forcibly by train.”

“What will your parents do?” asked one of the other nurses.

“They are planning to climb up to Piegaio with my aunt and uncle. We have some third cousins who they think will take us in.” That would mean her cousin Flavio would go as well. Poor Luigi would lose his other good friend.

There was a moment of silence while we took this in. Then the marchesa spoke up. “Violetta, I just cannot afford to lose you. We are far enough from the river in this part of the countryside that we won’t be included in the evacuation—at least not yet. I want you to stay here with me and my family. We have a room for you in the villa. You can work in the clinic by day and help me with the children if need be. Do you think your parents will allow it?”

She stared at the marchesa. I could tell she was torn. I knew she wanted to be with her parents, but she would also rather stay here. She glanced at me, then seemed to make up her mind. “I’ll ask them tonight. There’s a meeting about all of this at the church, and we can decide together.”

The group disbanded, and the other nurses climbed the stairs to the clinic, but I pulled Violetta aside. “We’ll talk later. Right now I need that dose of penicillin,” I said quickly, “and I can’t find it in the supply room.”

I didn’t see Mario at first when I arrived in the clearing. Thinking he wasn’t there, I started to pace around the gazebo, but when I reached the back, I saw him lying curled on his side, tucked in
behind the legs of Prometheus. Not sure whether he was awake or asleep, I leaned over to see his face. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily. His forehead and nose were wet with perspiration. I reached out and gently shook his shoulder.

“Oh—I’m sorry.” He sat up slowly, trying to get reoriented. “I must have fallen asleep.” He was holding the bandaged arm protectively, even though it was in a sling. “I’m just so tired lately. It must be the fever. I can hardly keep up with the other guys.” He managed a wan smile, then looked serious. “Were you able to get some penicillin?”

I pulled a wrapped paper package from my bag and held it up. “Here it is. Now I just have to muster the courage to give you the shot.” I smiled and winced. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Trust me, Giovanna. No shot could ever equal the pain in this arm. So even if you botch it, it won’t make much difference.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “What have we got to lose?”

“So…” I loosened the packet and slowly pulled out the vial and the hypodermic needle. “I can either give this to you in your other arm, or…” I paused, embarrassed.

“I only have one arm to speak of, so I’d better not risk making that sore, too. I guess that settles it.” He turned and unbuttoned his pants until they were loose enough for him to lower the back waistband enough to expose an area of flesh on his behind. “Will this do?”

I pulled out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and tore off a piece of cotton. I soaked the cotton and swabbed the fleshiest place I could find. My hand shook as I filled the needle from the vial as Violetta had shown me. When it was full, I put the vial and packet down and took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

I held the needle in my right hand and moved it toward the target. Why hadn’t I practiced this somehow? My hand was trembling violently, and my wrist seemed suddenly weak. I grasped the instrument like a pen between my first and second fingers, but
when I stretched my thumb back to reach the plunger, my whole hand shook so hard the needle dropped to the dust at my feet.

“Oh, Mario,” I cried out. “I’ve dropped it! I was afraid of hurting you.” I picked up the needle, now caked with dirt all the way to the tip.
Should I wipe it with alcohol? Try to sterilize it again?
I had no idea whether that would work. I might do more harm than good. “I’m afraid this just isn’t going to work. The needle’s too dirty now. I’m so sorry. I’ve just let you down horribly.”

Mario, still facing the other way, pulled his pants up and buttoned them. He lowered himself slowly onto the marble platform. “That’s all right, Giovanna. I don’t blame you. I couldn’t have done it any better myself.” He sighed deeply. “You have no idea how little energy I have.”

He began to describe how much work the group of partisans had to do each day: the cooking and the cleanup for three meals a day; the foraging for food and fuel for the fire; the sending and receiving of messages with other clusters of rebels in the area; the building of explosive devices, the testing and the eventual and very dangerous planting of the bombs. “They obviously don’t send me or my brother on those missions into the German camps,” he said. “I’m committed to this work, but I just find it hard to keep up.”

I could hear deep fatigue in his voice, and fear—not only for his and his brother’s safety but also for his own health. A rush of feeling came over me. I wanted fiercely to protect this man I hardly knew, and more than that, to set about it right away. “Mario, I don’t think you should stay with Giorgio and his band anymore. You’re so sick, and it’s just too risky—for you and for them. I have to think of my own brother too.”

He stared at the ground, saying nothing for a while. Then he looked at me. “But where would I go? I couldn’t leave my brother behind. I just couldn’t.”

Where
could
they go? The enormity of that question hung in the air like a huge soap bubble that was about to burst. “I have no idea,
but I promise I’ll think about it and come up with an answer. I have some ideas, but I’ll have to see. It’s Thursday, and we usually meet on Sunday. Will you be there?”

He nodded.

“Your brother too. And bring your stuff—be prepared to come with me.”