War in My Town (2 page)

Our story begins before Mussolini’s declaration of war. Though war in Europe had begun long before, in my mother’s remote village of Eglio, it was still a peaceful time, untouched by the turmoil in the rest of the world. But all things change. For the citizens of Eglio, change would come gradually once a new war began.

Chapter 1

EASTER SUNDAY, MARCH 24, 1940

Wonderful days like these in my beloved village in the hills of northern Tuscany are the ones that I remember and cherish the most. Good days, surrounded by my family. I smile to myself as I imagine opening the bedroom shutters to gaze out into the valley below as I had done hundreds of times before, my mother and brothers and sisters downstairs. A beautiful spring day, crisp and pristine. The rolling hills spread before me like folds in a giant carpet, punctuated with snow capped mountains in the distance. Miniature towns and villages dot the green landscape as if placed there by strokes of a brush on a painting. I take a deep breath and draw in the smell of the earth from which I came. The red soil of the tiered hillsides grows our food and nourishes us, our family, our citizens. The quiet majesty of Garfagnana is like an elixir. I am part of it and it is part of me. It always will be.

The days spent with my beloved family, in my treasured village in Tuscany before the start of the Second World War are the ones I value the most, because we were at our most innocent.

Ding, dong, clang! Ding, dong, clang!
The bells in the tower rang out their familiar peel, heralding the end of Easter Sunday services. The participants left our little church soon after, eagerly heading home to an indulgent holiday lunch. There were more people than usual because some had returned home to Eglio for the holiday from their work in the cities and abroad.

As my sister Mery and I emerged from the little grotto chapel into the brilliant early spring sunlight, I was as happy as any eleven-year-old could be because my entire family would be home — all six of my siblings. They would be there until the next day, an entire day of comfort and security, of sharing old stories, laughter and gossip, before they had to return to work at all their various places of employment outside the village. It made my
mamma
so happy to have us all at home together. It happened rarely because most of my brothers and sisters were all grown and quite independent. All of them worked; except for me and Mery. We were the youngest. Mery was four years older and, unlike me, one of the most beautiful girls in the village.

We removed our scarves once we were outside the church and let our hair flow freely in the warm spring breeze. Our friends waved to us. “Happy Easter! And to your families, too,” they shouted before walking home. Our older sisters and Mamma had gone to the earlier mass that Easter Sunday, as they had a large meal to prepare for the rest of us for lunch, a daunting task. My brothers had attended the Easter Vigil mass last evening.

As we left the little church, Mery gave her friend Mario a shy last glance before clasping my arm and hurrying me forward. Intensely curious, I puzzled about it as we bustled home.

“Mery, I saw Mario pretending not to watch you during mass,” I said innocently.

“Quiet, Bruna!” snapped Mery, furrowing her brow. “He was doing no such thing. Now hurry up and let’s get home.” But I saw the far side of Mery’s full lips curl slightly into a smile as she looked away.

Our pace quickened on the sloping cobbled path as we moved closer to home, impatient for the festivities to begin. All that week, Mamma had been very busy cooking our favorite goodies. Before every sacred holiday, she and the other women in Eglio took turns using the cavernous local bakery ovens to cook their wild boar, torts, and breads. Our entire village was enveloped with a delicious aroma for days before the celebration.

As we rounded the corner at Evelina’s house, Mery inhaled a long breath. “Mmh!” her nose pointed toward home. “Bruna, I can smell the rice and potato torts from here. Can you?” she asked, turning to me and smiling broadly.

I sniffed the air. “Yes. It’s heavenly. I think Mamma is the best cook. I’m so hungry,” I announced, dramatically, holding my stomach. On holidays such as this, I felt a keen richness in my soul. Though we were poor, Mamma worked hard to provide us with all the little extras at feast days. Even without a father to provide for us, we nonetheless felt we lacked nothing.

Mery and I chattered away as we hopped from one stone to another in our best shoes. The ruckus coming from our little house was hard to miss. Suddenly, Mery stopped. She grasped my arm and halted, fixing her gaze intently toward the house. “Is that — ” Mery stopped in mid-sentence for effect. “Why, I thought I heard…”

I stared at my sister. “What?” I demanded. “Heard what?”

“Nora! I hear Eleonora,” said Mery, wide-eyed. “She’s arrived! She must have come while we were at mass. Now everyone’s here!”

The two of us bolted for the double door. Mery was the first to get to it. She threw it open and burst inside. I was on her heels.

The sight that greeted us was glorious. There were our older brothers and sisters, some standing, some sitting on stools or stairs — wherever they could find space in the tiny kitchen — engaged in boisterous conversation. Aurelia was the eldest sister at twenty-seven, followed by Cesar, who was twenty-five. Eleonora was the next in line at twenty-three, then Pina, twenty-one. Alcide was born four years after Pina, which made him seventeen.

Mamma was bent over the hearth, tending lovingly to the simmering first course of the feast, a delicious beef stew, or
spezzatino
, complete with carrots, potatoes, and sweet onions. She reveled in having her seven children all together.

“Here are the little ones! Look there!” came a shout from Aurelia as she tugged on Eleonora’s arm.

“How lovely you two look in your best dresses,” cooed Pina, peeking around one of my brother’s shoulders. Pina had a smile that could light up the dreariest of rooms.

“Well, what did the old priest have to say this morning? More fire and brimstone? We’re all going to hell?” Alcide was a tease. Mamma delivered a half-hearted smack to his arm. Cesar, strong and fearless, chortled at the sight of our slightly built mother cuffing his large, younger brother. Alcide, as tall as a lamppost, was the joker of the bunch, with a shock of black hair and a natural flair for narrating and embellishing the most ordinary of events. Cesar was shorter and stockier than Alcide, but strong. Cesar was the man of the house, since our father did not live with us. When my mother and the children returned to Eglio, our father had decided to stay in Brazil, where my siblings were all born.

“Silence now, Alcide!” Mamma said, with mild disapproval. She motioned to the two of us, still in the doorway. “Look how they’ve grown, Eleonora.”

“They are even more beautiful than when I last was here,” Nora smiled, her lovely cheekbones prominent with perpetual roses. She put out her cigarette and walked toward us, but we were already running to her. “Come and give me a hug. It seems like years since I’ve seen you.” We all embraced tenderly in the crowded kitchen.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Nora,” said Mery, hugging her.

“I missed you, Nora,” I said, holding onto her waist. I loved her the most. She was the loveliest and kindest to me and I could never get enough of her company. “Why can’t you take care of the orphans around here? Then you could be closer to us.” I looked up at her with puppy eyes, hoping I could convince her to live back home.

Eleonora was dedicated to her work as a nurse in a home for unwed mothers and abandoned children run by the Italian government. Unwed pregnant women were given support, no questions asked. After their babies were born they could decide whether to keep them or give them up for adoption.

“But the children need me in Florence, my treasure,” she replied, gently cupping my face in her hands. “I can’t just leave them.”

“I suppose,” I said, surrendering her to the poor little waifs I imagined in the orphanage. “But Armando misses you, too.” Everyone burst into laughter. Armando had a crush on Eleonora, and she made it a point to see him whenever she came home from Florence. Armando was as handsome as Nora was beautiful. When they were together, it was as if one of those glamorous couples from the cinema had descended upon our ordinary little village.

Nora tucked a stray lock of dark hair that had escaped her coifed finger waves behind her ear. “You are all horrible busybodies,” she said, smiling. “I shall ignore that. Now let’s help Mamma with lunch. You two,” she pointed to Cesar and Alcide, “can go outside. But don’t go too far. We’re eating soon.” Nora was a natural leader.

“Mery and Bruna,” called Mamma. “Go and change your clothes.”

Mery and I climbed up the stairs to change into our day dresses and aprons. We were always careful not to create more work for Mamma. In addition to working in the fields, she took in washing for some of the women in the village for a little extra emergency money.

As we changed, our sisters bustled about the tiny kitchen, chattering all the while. I could hear them clearly from the second-floor bedroom.

Aurelia, the eldest of my siblings, had come home just the night before from her job as a cook for a wealthy family in Pisa. She lived there, coming home whenever she could. “Maria, at the grocers, told me that Cesar and Ersilia are courting,” she said. It sounded like she was speaking loudly on purpose.

My brothers sat just outside the front door on the little terrace, lined with my mother’s cherished daisies and geraniums. “And what about you and Dante next door?” Cesar replied, as he exhaled puffs of smoke from his cigarette. Aurelia shouted something back at him in Portuguese. My brothers and sisters were fluent in Portuguese, the native language of Brazil, where they were all born and raised. This shout from Aurelia gave rise to yet another peel of laughter from everyone except me. I was the only sibling born outside of Brazil, and I didn’t understand a word.

“Speaking of Dante, do you remember last month?” Alcide snickered just recalling the incident. There was always another funny tale to tell. “After we left the bar? It was you, me, Mario, and Dante.” He was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. Cesar was smiling. He knew the incident in question. The girls listened from the kitchen as they put the finishing touches on our feast.

“It was late and we had all had a few drinks. The village was quiet and we were headed home. We had stopped to talk outside of Egidio’s door and Dante told a joke. We didn’t realize how loud we were. I guess Egidio had had enough of telling us to be quiet. He came charging out in his underwear.” Alcide guffawed, tears streaming down his face.

Cesar chimed in to finish the story. “He was absolutely furious. He glared at us in his baggy underwear,” Cesar said mimicking poor Egidio, with an exaggerated grimace. “Then he pointed his finger at us. We thought he was going to call the police. Instead, jabbing his finger at each of us, he shouted, ‘One, two, three, and four.’ Then he just turned around, stormed back into his house, and slammed the door behind him. That was it! The four of us howled so loudly afterwards, we had to run home.” Cesar was in tears retelling the story.

“What on earth did he mean by doing that?” asked Pina, laughing mostly at her brothers who were in stitches.

“Obviously, he wanted us to know that he would deal with each of us in the morning. It must have been cold out there in his long underwear,” cackled Alcide, wiping the tears from his cheeks with a handkerchief.

“What about that time Guazzelli put a jacket on the sheep?” Alcide hollered, as he continued the anecdotes. There was hardly a need to recount that story, as everyone knew what Edo had done. The fun was in sharing it again.

But further stories had to wait.

“Come now, all to table. It’s time to eat,” I heard Eleonora announce from the kitchen below. The mad rush to secure a good spot at the Easter feast was on.

Chapter 2

Pina and Aurelia placed piping hot vessels of stew, and warm potato and rice tortes, fortified with lots and lots of
ricotta
and
parmigiano
cheese on the crowded table. Not to be left out, Eleonora offered crisp greens with sweet tomato salad, fresh baked bread and sharp, salty olives. Mamma grasped the carafe of wine from the shelf near the window and placed it on the table, alongside a jug of fresh water. The feast was ready.

After we said grace, the eight of us dove in. I was most interested in the cake that followed, a delicious
buccellato
pound cake made with fresh milk from our cow, eggs from our chickens, and lots of creamy butter.

After much initial clattering of cutlery against our plates, compliments to the cooks, and lip-smacking, the conversation predictably turned to a popular topic in our house whenever our family had the good fortune of coming together: politics.

“We are so busy these days in the steel factory,” said Pina between mouthfuls of potato torte.

“Of course,” responded Cesar. “If we go to war, there will be a demand for steel. Rifles, bullets, tanks.”