Page 36 of The Tuscan Child
“No, each village rings the bell when Germans approach. That way the young men in the village know to go and hide in the woods, and the young women hide wherever they can. I was up in my attic all day hidden in an old wardrobe.” She paused, her eyes holding his, begging him to understand her. “These men are animals, Ugo,” she said. “The war has turned them into animals. We women fear for our honour every time they come near. They took the baker’s daughter once—a young girl of fifteen—and they violated her, one after the other. She has never been the same since. Her mind snapped at the horror of it.”
“How terrible. I’m so very sorry. I can assure you that British soldiers would not behave in that way.”
She gave a wonderfully Italian shrug. “Who can say? Some of these men were undoubtedly good boys at home. They helped the family in the fields, or they worked in banks and took girls dancing. But the war has changed them, ruined them.”
“Are the Germans still there?”
She shook her head. “No, saints be praised. They came to see if our village was a good place to wait out the winter. Their army has established a line just north of here, and they are looking for places where they can defend the roads from the south, from where the Allies will come. But I am glad to say that the views from our village did not meet their liking, and as we have nothing worth taking anymore, they left. Actually, that is not true. They took the mayor’s remaining chickens...may their souls rot in hell.”
A gust of wind swept in, making the candle in her lantern flicker and sending shadows dancing. “So you are safe for a while?”
“Maybe. We hope that they will have news of the Allies advancing and they will flee back to Germany and leave us in peace. But some say the Allies will not advance until the spring now. The snows will come and the roads will be impassable in the mountains.”
“That means I will be trapped here until the spring, too?”
“We do not often get snow. Our hills are not so high. But there are very high mountains between here and the coast. Maybe when your leg is strong enough we can find a way to get you to the south. We have no motorcars and no petrol, but there are farm carts, and those who grow produce take them to market.”
“What produce do they grow in the winter?” he asked.
“Root vegetables. Turnips. Potatoes. Cauliflower. Cabbage—although the Germans have helped themselves to all our cabbages. They love cabbage for some reason. I have some turnips and parsnips almost ready for harvest on my small plot of land.”
“That’s good. And how is the search for mushrooms going?”
She sighed. “I fear I cannot use that excuse any longer. There will be no more mushrooms now, and I think I have found every single one. I will have to sneak out in the middle of the night as I have just done.”
“I am feeling better now. Really, Sofia, you do not need to come so often. If you could come once in a while and leave me a little something to eat, I will get by.”
“Don’t be silly. How will you get well and strong if you don’t eat? There is a new moon in the sky. Soon it will be easy to walk without a lantern, and I wear dark clothes. Nobody will see me, don’t worry.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“After one. I could not leave before I was sure all the Germans had gone. They found some bottles of wine in the mayor’s cellar, and they stayed late, singing their stupid songs.”
“But you will get no sleep. You will make yourself ill.”
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry. Most nights the village is asleep by nine. It is only women and children. The men who remain go off with the partisans to do what harm they can to the Germans by night.”
“Are all the men part of the resistance?”
“Who knows? We do not ask and they do not tell us. Better that way if the Germans question anyone. All I can tell you is that partisans are active nearby and it is possible that our local men are involved. Not that there are many men in the village any longer. The few that are here were with the army in the south, fighting beside the Germans until we changed sides. Then they slipped away before the Germans could conscript them or send them to prison camps. They are brave boys, I am sure, although I am glad that they are off doing their destructive work. That Cosimo is a little too interested in me.”
“Cosimo?” His voice was harsh.
She nodded. “Some whisper that he is a leader in the partisans. No doubt a brave fellow. Not bad-looking. A powerful man. But I told him until my husband is declared dead, I am still married to him. All the same he has been hanging around lately. He brings us an occasional egg or flask of wine, and we don’t ask where he got it. But I think they are an excuse to visit me. So I am glad that he is away for days at a time.”
“He would not try...” Hugo forced out the words.
“Oh no. Nothing like that. He is an honourable man, I am sure. He is kind to my son. But I do not wish to be courted by him.”
“When I escape, you must come with me,” Hugo said.
She smiled sadly. “But what if Guido returned home to find I was not there? And I cannot leave his grandmother. I promised him when he went away that I would take care of her.”
He wanted to say something more, but every thought seemed so hopeless. So he asked, “Is there a saint for everything?”
“Oh yes,” she said simply. “Saint Anne for those wishing to have a child. Saint Blaise for throats. A saint for rheumatism, for chilblains...”
He laughed, then asked, “And one to protect women and children?”
