The Golden Hour (25 page)

I
needn’t have worried that my parents would interfere. Since my birthday dinner, I had been deliberately remote. They, in turn, had backed off a bit and begun to give me more emotional space. Mother was completely obsessed with the news from Lucca and reports of all the partisan attacks and reprisals—worrying about Giorgio, desperate to know where and how he was, thinking little, if at all, about me or what they assumed was my work at the clinic. Father was busy trying to reassure her and monitoring the news of troop movement on both sides.

The atmosphere was chilly at dinner the night after my meeting with the marchesa. The food itself was bare-bones: a pasta
alla carbonara
made only with eggs, cheese, and a little bacon, some bread, a glass of table wine. I came in a bit late and took my seat in silence as Father lectured Mother: “You must remember, Natala. It wasn’t the partisans who were shot in Sant’Anna. It was the civilians, people of the village who were
aiding
the partisans. They were punished for feeding them and giving them shelter.”

“But what about all the partisan skirmishes with the Germans?
Why hasn’t he contacted us? He must know we are worried.” Mother was picking at her food, moving it around on the plate.

Father shook his head without looking up at her. He shoveled in the pasta, talking with his mouth full. “If something had happened to Giorgio, you know we would have heard about it. No news is good news, in my book.”

“The marchesa says…” I broke in, and Mother looked at me in surprise, as if she had just noticed I was sitting there.

“Oh—Giovanna—speaking of the marchesa, she called this afternoon. She says she wants to keep you overnight at the clinic tomorrow. Is there a problem?”

I looked down at my plate. “Oh, there are just so many seriously injured men that I guess they need more people on overnight shifts. She needed extra help, so I volunteered.”

“I told her it was fine. You do question all of these men about Giorgio, don’t you, dear? One of them might know him or have seen him or something.”

That was all there was. They asked me no more about it, just continued talking with each other, speculating about the progress of the war and imagining Giorgio’s whereabouts.

At one point, as I was absently pulling off a crust of bread, I asked, “Mother, were the boxes of Giorgio’s clothes walled off in the attic or are any of them still accessible?”

She stared. “Why? Why would you want those?”

“So many of the men at the clinic are dressed in rags. I just thought we could share some of Giorgio’s things and then get him some new ones when he returns.”

She ate a few bites and chewed her food slowly without saying anything.

“I’m not in any way implying he won’t still need them, but it just seems a waste to me not to share the clothes with people who need them right now.”

She looked at Papa, who nodded. “It makes sense to me.
They’re just sitting there, wrinkled and crushed. I know where they are—we’ll go through them together after dinner. I’m sure Giorgio wouldn’t mind.”

That is how I was able to set off the next morning with a bag bulging with shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and a decent leather belt. In case, God forbid, we were seen as we made our journey, I wanted Mario to look like someone I might naturally be with, rather than someone who had been living as a fugitive for months.

I made my way slowly on foot toward the convent, devising a new sequence of strange fields and unknown paths, looking for buildings that could briefly offer shelter, for the cover of densely wooded groves, the occasional water pump. I was planning our route with care, my heart beating a steady note of encouragement, urging me on toward this impossible thing I was about to do. I headed for the winemaker’s cottage.

All was quiet. I knocked timidly, absentmindedly watching two hens pecking about on the ground. At last, the door opened a crack. Guido peered out, took one look at me, and opened the door wide, drawing me into his warm embrace. “Giovanna, my sweet girl. Come in, come in. Here, let me take that bag. It looks heavy.” He quickly closed the door behind me and locked it. “Serena, look who’s here!”

“I was just putting some soup on the table,” she said. “Won’t you join us?”

She ladled minestrone into a bowl and handed it to me. “Take this into the back for Mario, won’t you? We just can’t let him sit out here with us in case someone passes by the window.”

So they were all still here, still safe.

I opened the door slowly. Mario was waiting for me. We both smiled. He reached for the bowl, and we held it together for a few seconds. “I wasn’t sure I would see you again after yesterday’s raid,” he said.

I nodded. “I was afraid of that myself. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” I ran to fetch the bag full of clothes. “I think these clothes will fit you. We don’t have any time to waste. And eat up. We might not get another meal for a while.”

Mario stared at me, openmouthed, but before he could respond, I closed the storeroom door and joined Guido and Serena at the kitchen table. The soup was thick and hot and tasted of fresh tomatoes and pungent oregano. At first, we simply ate quietly, savoring the end of summer on our tongues. I broke the silence, putting my spoon down briefly. The three of us sat in silence, just staring at our bowls. Finally I spoke. “I have come to take Mario away.”

Serena let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, God bless you, Giovanna.”

But Guido’s round, soft face was full of concern. “But where will you go? It’s so dangerous to travel. You know that.”

“I have a refuge for him, but I have to keep it a secret. I just can’t take any chances.”

“Is it far?”

“Of course, it depends on a lot of things, but I think we should be there by tomorrow if all goes well.”

Serena busied herself with packing up a little food for us while Guido went to look after Mario. Giorgio’s clothes fit him well, so they decided to burn the things he had been wearing. Within an hour of our departure, there would be not a single trace of the weeks he had spent in the storeroom.

“Will you keep us informed somehow, dear?” Serena handed me a packet of food tied in a cotton cloth. “We have grown to love this young man like a son.”

“I know. I’ll try to let you know what happens.”

“Don’t you want to wait until dark?” Guido asked anxiously. I looked at Mario, who looked normal and presentable in his new suit of clothes.

“We’ll have to travel some in the light or we’ll never get there.
I have a route through the woods all planned. Then, tonight, we can cross the open fields in the dark.”

There were hugs all around. Mario was overwhelmed with gratitude and pledged that someday, when the war was over, he would reward them for their kindness and generosity. “I have nothing to give you now,” he said, kissing Serena on the cheek. “Nothing but my love and appreciation—but you know I will never forget you.”

It was midafternoon when we crept around the back of the cottage and headed into the deep woods. I knew, by going out of our way, we could cover a good bit of ground toward the south and east before we would have to cross any open territory.

We walked in silence, both of us afraid that any voices at all might alert some unknown person to our presence. It was cool in the shade of the forest. I knew the way, and Mario followed me, making very little noise with his feet. The occasional snap of a twig would start my heart beating in my throat. Squirrels chased one another overhead, and now and then their scurrying path through the leaves nearby would sound like footsteps. After an hour or so, we began to relax, and, though we still didn’t talk at all, we hiked with more confidence and made better time.

Around seven, after we had been walking for three or four hours, we stopped and shared some of the bread and cheese Serena had packed for us. We whispered a few words of encouragement as the day began to fade and dusk settled over us like a gentle cloak.

After half an hour of rest, we gathered our things. The light was low enough that I figured we could now head for the main road. We had to cross that principal thoroughfare, then another short span of woods before we could enter the wide fields we needed to pass over in the dark. We began the descent into the steep ravine that led to the road. We were quiet, watching our steps carefully as we planted our feet sideways, holding on to hanging vines and thin tree trunks to keep our balance. Now and then one of us
would slip on the thick blanket of leaves that covered the hillside. Off to our left I noticed a dark hole framed by mossy growth that must have been the entrance to a cave. It occurred to me that animals must use it for shelter in the rain.

When we reached the bottom, it was almost dark. I signaled to Mario to follow me over the rocky creek that was nearly dry. We scuttled quickly up the bank to the road, popped out of the underbrush, and began walking in silence along the shoulder. I glanced behind me to make sure Mario was following close behind, when I noticed a military vehicle. It was pulled over, just behind us, its lights off. Two figures were crouched together over the front right wheel, as if they were changing a tire. I stopped, not daring to breathe, and pointed them out to Mario. Just then the strong beam of their flashlight moved from the work they were doing right onto us.

I know we should have just continued on our way as if nothing were wrong. But we were so on edge, so ready for trouble, that instead we grabbed each other and ducked back into the underbrush.

“They’re German officers,” Mario said. “I’d know that car anywhere. Let’s get out of here.”

“I saw a cave not far back, partway up the bank of the ravine,” I whispered. “Follow me.”

There must have been a couple of other men sitting in the vehicle, for now we heard what sounded like several voices shouting to one another in German. Two of the car doors slammed, and we could see several flashlight beams scanning the trees.

We clutched hands. Our hearts racing, we felt our way through the dark, retracing our steps. At last I could make out the entrance to the cave. I yanked Mario down and pushed him through the entrance, following closely behind. We crouched side by side, panting in the low space. It smelled earthy, like crushed mushrooms and wet moss. We could hear shouting in the distance. We waited and hoped for them to give up the search.

Then there were footsteps climbing the ravine. I heard no voices, saw no light. It sounded like an animal, not a man. They came closer, followed by the sound of sniffing around the mouth of the cave. We backed up against the wall, holding on to each other and making ourselves as small as possible in the darkness, when there was scratching at the cave’s mouth and whining that sounded like a dog. Suddenly against the faint moonlight the black head of a German shepherd loomed in the entrance.

The dog came into the cave and began sniffing at my feet, up my legs, into my lap. It was not fierce at all, but rooted under my arms, whining and pushing its head into my chest as if it were glad to see me. “Panzer!” I whispered. “Get out of here! Go on, get out.”

“You know this dog?” Mario was incredulous.

“Shhhhh.”
I put my hand over his mouth.