War in My Town (15 page)

We scrambled to the back trails around the village, and then ran to the closest safe house, paying no heed to the dangers surrounding us.

Elsewhere in the village that day, there was severe damage to many other homes, including my grandparents’ house. A bomb penetrated the roof and traveled through the upstairs and the living room, ultimately coming to rest in the crawlspace in the basement. It too, remained there, unexploded, until it was extracted after the end of the war.

Chapter 28

I have heard it said that those of us who lived and survived World War II were ordinary people living in extraordinary times. Of this I’m certain. I do believe that, despite all that we suffered, we were among the fortunate people. I can’t begin to understand what others in concentration camps suffered, those who were starved, tortured, and mercilessly gassed and murdered. The only thing I can speak to is what I and my family suffered to survive.

The Allies (mainly U.S. and Indian forces), lost much of Northern Tuscany that December, but not for long. By January 1945, Allied forces had regained control and then everything seemed to grind to a halt for us. The remaining winter months brought relative quiet to our village, save for the usual oppressive shadow of the Nazis. There was a stalemate in the valley, with neither side able to advance successfully. But elsewhere in the world there was a definite turn in the tide. The Nazis’ days were numbered. We didn’t know it at the time, but soon they would be gone.

By April 1945, we were all listless and tired from the years of war. Our captors were distracted, anxious, almost preoccupied. Most of our houses had been destroyed. The majority of the dwellings that faced the Garfagnana valley had gaping holes from the constant barrage of mortar shells. The insides of the houses were exposed, the contents spilling out like the guts of a wounded animal. In the interior of the town, many homes suffered the same fate, either destroyed by Allied aircraft bombings or mortar attacks. Their inhabitants crowded together and stayed with other families that still had intact homes. We stayed with any family that welcomed us, sometimes sheltered in the chestnut dryers and barns in the fields behind Eglio, depending on where we found ourselves during an attack.

When the Nazi front fell in Bologna, I believe that the German soldiers in our village had been given instructions to defend their post, to stay in Eglio until their dying breath. But this is not what happened.

Instead, one morning we awoke to an unusual quiet — peaceful, hushed tranquility. Gone was the shouting, the clicking of boots on the stones, the harsh commands. We poked our heads out of our makeshift shelters, like gophers waking from a long sleep to see what had happened on the outside. All was abandoned and silent. No one was skulking around with a gun, ready to shoot if we ventured out of line. We left our houses, shelters, and barns in search of our oppressors.

Our people stepped gingerly out into the village, slowly, warily. There was equipment here and there, where it had been left the night before. The men went to look in the windows of the houses typically used by the officers. No one there. We searched the bunker and the officers’ eating areas. No Nazi soldiers. The men searched the houses still standing and found only leftover equipment. No arms. Was this all a trick? Were they testing us? Or had they just disappeared into the woods in the night like common thieves?

“The Palazzo,” said Oreste, his eyes wide with hope. Would the wireless radio still be there? A contingent of men scurried to the big building and cautiously entered. There it was on the table in the kitchen. They turned it on, but only static could be heard.

The news came to us in piecemeal fashion. The Nazi forces had been pushed out of Garfagnana, but small battles were still being fought. The Allied forces and the Italian partisans scoured the mountains, looking for remaining Nazi soldiers and fascist sympathizers, and searching for any hidden arms.

A few days later, a disguised Benito Mussolini was captured in northern Italy trying to escape. He was shot and hanged in Milan by the partigiani the next day. He and his mistress were hung upside down in a public place for all to see, confirmation to the Italian population and to the world of his execution. Other members of his puppet government were also put to death by the Italian partisans, and their bodies put on display.

Within days, the American Allies approached Eglio to liberate us and secure their position. They carefully made their way from Castelnuovo on the other side of Sassi, where it was safe. I remember being frightened at seeing soldiers again, although these soldiers looked very different from the Nazis. They carried rifles, but the Americans appeared more relaxed and friendly. Were these the same men who had pummeled us with mortar shells all these months? I was afraid of them at first because of this, but my brother explained to me that they were simply trying to destroy the Nazi oppressors. As they walked into our village, our liberators talked with the villagers through an interpreter. To our surprise, there were even a few who spoke a bit of Italian, their families having immigrated from Italy to America.

The
Americani
and our men discussed what had occurred in Eglio for so many months, what the Nazis had done in our village, and where their arms might be. Cesar, Vincenzo, Oreste, and other villagers answered their questions honestly and freely, giving them any information that might be of strategic significance. The Americans listened attentively and seemed sympathetic to the dangers we had been through. They understood that we had been used as human shields by the Nazis.

The men of Eglio invited the liberators into Ferrari’s bar and poured them drinks from wine that had been hidden all these months. They drank a cin cin toast to the disappearance of our captors and to the liberation of Italy. Whatever food the women could find was brought and shared with the victors. The men clapped their newly found American soldier friends on the back. They ate and drank with them for a while and even sang songs. There was joy once more in Eglio. Laughter could be heard in the street and celebration was in the air.

The Americans continued through Eglio, up into other villages higher in the mountains. Later they cleared the landmines and allowed our men to dismantle the barbed wire fences as they went. Eventually, we heard radio broadcasts of Nazi Germany’s surrender and of Hitler’s cowardly suicide. It was May 1945, and at last, the war was over!

Chapter 29

Celebrations, though long awaited, were bittersweet for most of us. There were many in our village who had lost loved ones in the terrible years of Italy’s war. Just about every family in Eglio had lost a son or daughter, husband, mother, or father.

Some of our men who had served in the military, began trickling into town shortly after the peace declaration to the great delight of their families. But others were never heard from again, their bodies buried in some obscure battlefield in Eastern Europe or in a mass grave in a prisoner of war camp. Edo’s brother, Mario Guazzelli, for example, never returned from the Russian front. There was also the tragedy of the villagers who had lost their lives in Eglio, such as Alfezio, Eva, Enrico, and my nonno. They were no longer here to celebrate the end of the war.

But life resumed for those of us who were left alive. The roads were cleared of landmines with great efficiency and people started to venture out again. Aurelia and Dante came back to Eglio with a beautiful baby boy. Cesar and Ersilia were married. Armida, Beppina, and I renewed our friendship after months of virtual imprisonment within our own community. And Edo did manage to become the man of the family for his mother and three siblings with some initial assistance from our kind and brave priest Don Turriani.

Our family was one of the more fortunate ones. We were able to move back home to Poggetti. Though there was damage to the upper level of the house from the shelling, it was repairable.

We were grateful to have Cesar with us. But the war was over and we had not heard from Alcide for years. There was no word of his whereabouts and we had to assume that he had been killed or captured by the Nazis. Our dear Alcide, tall and imposing, fearful but brave, another casualty of war. Mamma tried to accept that her son was gone. I, on the other hand, still believed in miracles. And miracles often come when one least expects them.

It was October 1945, and slowly life was becoming normal again. Death had come to claim our nonna who had just passed away and we were still mourning her. Remarkably, she had made it through the war unscathed. But a few months later, she had surrendered to her many frailties, dementia being only one of them. Earlier that same day, Mamma, Mery, and Eleonora, who had come back to Eglio for the funeral, and I had gone to Nonno’s big house to clear out her belongings. It was not a difficult task as many of her things were still buried in the barn, still too dangerous to approach because of the landmines that might be buried there.

The morning after Nonna’s funeral, I poked my head out of the window at Poggetti and breathed in the clean, crisp morning air. The fog was over Barga down in the valley, covering it like a tufted cotton blanket. But we mountain folk already knew that this was going to be a beautiful day.

I strode downstairs and washed, combed, and braided my hair, securing the strands at the bottom with a ribbon. Mery, Nora, Cesar, and Mamma were already at breakfast when I joined them. Mamma had fixed porridge, thick and sweet with honey and milk. The coffee was steaming hot and smelled heavenly. Just as we were done and starting to clear the table, we suddenly heard a commotion echoing off the hills opposite the valley. Children were shouting, not frightened shouts, but excited, happy cries.

“Matilde!” came a shout in the distance, echoing in the valley. “Matilde, come quickly!”

Mamma was at the sink. She stopped scrubbing the plate in her hand and angled her ear to the window. Mery came closer to the door and stood, waiting. I hurried outside to the railing to see what could be causing such a fuss.

“It’s Alcide!” they yelled. The faint children’s voices were coming from around the bend north of the village, towards Sassi.

Cesar got up from his seat and dashed to the railing. He leaned over the barrier to listen.

Then more shouts. “Matilde! It’s Alcide!” The voice was closer now. “Alcide is coming!”

“He’s back! He’s walking up from Castelnuovo!” said another voice.

“Cesar?” Mery looked at our brother. I looked at Mamma, her face framed through the kitchen window. Her expression was frozen. I ran inside and grabbed both her hands in mine. “Mamma, did you hear?” She nodded her head.

“Could it be?” The wrinkles on her forehead crinkled as her appearance took on an ashen gray color. Her lip was trembling.

“Matilde! Cesar!” This time they were calling from the road underneath our house. I ran back outside with Eleonora in tow. We stood beside Cesar, looking down at a small contingent of children on the road below. “We saw him! He’s coming! Alcide has come home!”

“Where is he?” shouted Cesar. The children babbled and yelped altogether and pointed towards Sassi.

This was too much for mother. I turned to see her faint, crumpling in the kitchen like a rag doll. Mery ran to her and grasped her under the arm, pulling her gently onto a nearby chair. At once, I dashed to Mamma’s side and held her hand as I crouched beside her.

Cesar stuck his head in the door. “You take care of Mamma. I’m going to find Alcide!” He barely got the words out and he was gone, shouting at the children below to take him to Alcide.

“I’m going, too. I need to see this for myself.” Eleonora tore out after him, giddy with excitement.

Mery looked at me and then stood up tall. “Bruna, you stay here with Mamma.” In an instant she was gone, too.

I was alone with Mamma. My mind was racing. I had to wake her and
quickly
. She had to be ready for Alcide when he came back home! I wrung out a clean cloth in cool water and placed it on Mamma’s forehead. I heard people shouting and cheering in the village.

“Mamma?” I gently tapped her hand. “Wake up.” I flipped the cloth over her forehead. “Alcide promised you that he would be back and he has kept his promise.”

Chapter 30

Slowly Mamma began to awaken. Her eyes opened. She glanced around the room at first and then down at me. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Heavenly Father,” she cried. “God has heard our prayers.” Her hands drew mine to her lips and she kissed them. As she did that, I sensed a shadow at the door. I turned, and it was Alcide. He was very thin and looked so much older than when he left. But it was Alcide — a big, familiar boyish smile on his face. He had been gone for four years.

“Alcide!” My mother stood to run to him. He stretched out his arms and, in two of his great strides, he lifted her up in a huge hug.

“Mamma!” he wept. There was no more to say. I was weeping too, as I held on to both of them. Cesar stood at the door and cried, his tough exterior reduced to tears of joy. Mery and Eleonora joined our embrace. Pina and Aurelia, who had been in the village when they heard the commotion, had met him earlier and accompanied him to Poggetti for our reunion, were inside the kitchen now, too.