What Love Is (5 page)

A Room for Nonna

27 November, lunchtime

Mum came home and found me reading the diary. She wasn’t happy.

“You’re supposed to be sorting things out, not reading that book!” she said.

“I’ve done some of it,” I said. “Look, over there, at those piles of stuff.”

“Is that all? Really Gina, here I am day after day, trying to find somewhere for Mum to go, and you’re here reading that stupid book.”

“It’s not stupid! Did you know …”

I was interrupted by the ring of Mum’s mobile phone. I sat down and fumed while listening to the one-sided conversation.

“You have? From tomorrow? How much? Yes, I’ll let the hospital know. Thank you very much. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

She ended the phone call and sank into an armchair with a sigh.

“A room’s just become available at one of the rest homes I visited,” she said. “If I want it I’m going to have to go in tomorrow and sign some papers. And I have to pay to hold the room if Mum’s not ready to come out of hospital yet.”

I swallowed the anger that quivered at the back of my throat. This was good news, but somehow it felt like bad news.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Not far from here, it was my first choice – a not-for-profit organisation. The staff seem nice. And I didn’t want Mum to be too far from where she has lived all this time. I was thinking I’d have to move her to Auckland, but this is better for her. Just means I’ll have to keep coming down to visit her.”

I looked around Nonna’s unit and tried to imagine it without her in it, all her possessions packed up. “How big is the room? How much can we fit in?”

Mum rubbed her eyes and said, “A chest of drawers maybe; there’s space for a TV and maybe a chair, but not much else. She’ll be able to put pictures on the wall, I think, and there’s a wardrobe for her clothes. At least she has her own bathroom. So many places have a shared bathroom.”

“So what are we going to do with her unit?”

Mum sighed. “I may have to rent it out to pay for the rest home.”

I hadn’t even thought about paying for the rest home, I was just glad that we’d found somewhere for Nonna to go.

“But doesn’t the government pay?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve got some information but its all confusing, talks about asset thresholds and subsidies, I haven’t looked at it too much. I can’t even manage my own money, never mind Mum’s.”

“Bevan’s dad knows something about accounts,” I said. “Maybe he can help.”

“Maybe he can. Now you’re really going to have to start doing stuff around here instead of reading that diary.”

I thought about what I had read in the diary, and decided not to tell her I’ll talk it over with Bevan instead. I’ll phone him tonight. I know he’ll be glad to hear me.

22 August

Finally we are at the partisans’ camp. It’s just an overhang in the cliff face, hardly even a cave. I made it here but it was hard work and I almost gave up, but Amelia pushed me on. Patricio hurried us over the meadows where we were exposed if a plane flew overhead, and allowed us to rest in the shade of the forest when he could, but we had to reach their base by the evening, he said. The group was under orders to move if he and his band did not return by this evening, as it meant that they had been either killed or captured and they would have to move to protect the group.

When we came across them, the light was fading and they were getting ready to move. The men greeted each other with delight, having thought that their leader was dead or a prisoner, and looked at me with enquiring faces. Instead of answering each man as they approached him, he waited until he was in the centre of the group before telling them how they had followed a band of Germans before finding me and my dead family in the farmhouse. The men exclaimed that they would search out the Germans and kill them all, but Patricio said that it is I that should have the honour of killing them as I have suffered the most. I wonder if he knew how much I have suffered just getting here. I have kept my pain and my feelings hidden from him so he could not see my feebleness.

While I stood next to Amelia with the press of the men around me, I felt a hand fall gently on my shoulder and I spun around to see who had touched me. To my surprise it was Aroldo. I don’t know why, but maybe it was just seeing a familiar face, a face I had known before my life had changed forever, but I fell into his arms and burst into tears. All the grief that I had kept trapped inside me just erupted as I wept all over his jacket. I’m not sure who was more surprised – Patricio or Aroldo. He led me away to a fallen log where he sat me down and waited until I finished my tears. Then I told him what had happened to my family.

“I’m sorry, Lina, that this has happened,” he said. “Your family were good to me.”

“Why are you still here?” I asked him. “Shouldn’t you be in Switzerland by now?”

“I broke my ankle,” he said, pointing to his left foot. “And I couldn’t travel.”

His Italian is much better. He must have been getting lots of practice, being with the partisans. I asked him if his foot was healed and when would he be leaving but he says that he’s staying for the time being because the British are dropping arms and ammunition by plane to arm the partisans, and he needs to train the men on how to use them. Also, they have a transistor radio and the BBC broadcast coded messages to the partisans in English and he translates for them.

“So I’ve made myself useful, as you can see,” he said.

I’m glad that he is here and that he is useful. As for myself, I’m not sure how much good I shall be. I want to be useful, but I fear that I shall be nothing but burden, and a weeping one at that.

Oh, how I miss Papa and Anna!

27 November, evening

“Hi, Babe,” Bevan said when he answered the phone. “How’s it going?”

I don’t know why, but just like Lina, I burst into tears. Hormones were really messing with my head.

“What’s wrong, babe?” I heard him ask through my sobs.

“The diary …” I stuttered.” Lina … my great-grandmother … she was raped … it was awful … I wanted to tell Mum but …” I drew in a deep breath, “… but she’s too busy trying to sort out Nonna and I had to tell someone.”

“That’s okay, babe, it’s okay to cry.” I did just that and he listened to my wailing without saying anything. It wasn’t just the emotion in finding out that a member of my family had been raped, hearing his voice made me emotional too. For once I yearned for him, for his presence, just to have his arms around me, to feel his strength and his love, to have him whisper into my ear that everything was going to be okay. The old Bevan would have shut me down, this new Bevan was full of patience and understanding. How could someone change so much?

My sobs subsided and I took a deep breath. I wanted to distract myself.

“What have you been doing?” I asked.

“I thought we were going to talk about your great-grandmother.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

I heard him sigh. I phoned him and now I didn’t want to talk. I realised how pathetic that was but I didn’t do anything about it.

“Mark’s been around,” he said. “He’s helping me with the assignment that I have to submit next week. I also went to the Artificial Limb Centre for another fitting. It was nice to get out for a while, but it was straight there and straight back or the police would’ve been around.”

I could sense his frustration at the limitations of the home detention, but it was part of his sentence and it was much better than jail. I waited for him to pause.

“Mark helped you when you were having those strange dreams, didn’t he?” I asked

“Yeah, he did, he got some books from the library.”

“Could you ask him about the war in Italy – what happened in 1944? There’s no internet here and I don’t have time to go to the library. I could look it up on my phone but it’s going to chew through my data. Besides, I’m going to be busy here. Mum’s found a rest home that will take Nonna but we have to pack up her things here at the unit. Mum thinks we’ll have to rent it out to pay for Nonna’s care.”

“I wish I could come down and help you.”

I wished he could too. I felt that Mum was leaving me to do the sorting while she was out, but then I was actually spending most of my time reading the diary anyway, so I suppose I couldn’t complain.

“You have to stay there, Bevan, you know that. It’s part of your detention order.”

Bevan sighed. “I know that, babe, but I miss you and our little one. I hope you get all this crap with your grandmother sorted soon so that you can come back.”

I smiled – his use of the swearword was the old Bevan that I once knew. It reminded me that he was still the same really, same but different.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“Can’t wait, babe, love you.”

“Love you too.” The phrase jumped from my lips before I could stop it. I ended call quickly and stared down at the disconnected phone in my hand. Is this what love is – this longing for his presence, this emptiness that can only be filled by him? Is it enough to sustain me and my child in the years ahead? I’m too young to be making these decisions. I’m too young to be pregnant!

A Courier for the Partisans

25 August

Now that I have arrived at the partisans’ hideout, I’m able to rest and I feel stronger, but there is no healing in my heart. Aroldo has stayed with me since I arrived, bringing me water and food and making sure that I am comfortable. He said it’s because we did the same for him when he was ill and in hiding, that my family took him in even when it was dangerous to do so. When he says it I’m reminded of my family and what I’ve lost. It only deepens my sorrow.

27 August

Patricio wants me to do some work for him. He says I can be a courier for the partisans as I’m young and I will get past the checkpoints easily. Amelia says that I will be killed if I’m found out but I don’t care. If I get the chance to strike back at the Germans, then I will do it.

I know Aroldo isn’t happy either but he understands that I have to do it. So tomorrow I get a bicycle and I cycle from one village to another, but I will be carrying vital plans underneath the flowers in my basket.

28 August

I did it! I really really did it, even though I felt sick to the bottom of my stomach. Patricio led me to the village where an elderly man had the bicycle waiting. He asked if I could ride. It’s been a while since I rode Renato’s bicycle when we were friends at school, but I could still remember.

The old man made me ride up and down the cobbled street, wobbly at first and then steadier before he nodded approval.

“We can’t have you toppling over and spilling everything onto the road.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine.

The plans were wrapped in a length of sacking and placed in the bottom of the basket, and then he carefully placed roses over the top of them. The thorns on them looked long and sharp.

“They won’t want to move the roses with those thorns,” Patricio said with a nod. “You know which way to go?”

I nodded. Patricio had described the route to me. I’d only been to that village once before, many years ago when Mama had been alive. I would know it once I saw it.

I didn’t wave goodbye as I left, I didn’t dare take my hands off the handlebars as I was afraid I’d topple. The day was warm and the sun bright so I quickly became hot. Neither Patricio nor the old man knew whether there would be a checkpoint on the road. The Germans moved them around, not having sufficient numbers to man all the roads all the time. It kept us guessing, never knowing for sure. Most were manned by Blackshirts – my own countrymen who enforce Mussolini’s laws on us – with a German officer in charge to make sure that they did their job in accordance with whatever Mussolini, Hitler’s puppet, dictated.

I hummed a hymn to myself as I cycled, partly to give myself courage and to keep my spirits up. I was almost at the village, elated that I had escaped notice, when I rounded a corner and ahead of me was a checkpoint. Fear rose in my throat, almost making me choke, but instead of following my instinct and turning around, I pedalled towards it, still humming my hymn.

“Stop,” said one of the Blackshirts as I drew near. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to visit my nonna and give her these flowers. She’s been ill.”

“Papers,” demanded an officer as he came over.

I pulled them from the pocket of my apron, crumpled and a little damp.

“Lina,” he said as he looked at the paper. I nodded. “What do you have in your basket?”

“Flowers, that’s all, just some flowers to brighten her day.” I tried to sound cheerful and relaxed but I’m not sure that I did it right.

“Let’s see,” said the officer as he stepped closer. He picked up the roses by the stems and cried out as the thorns pricked his fingers. I watched as his face puckered in anger.

Just then, over the brow of the hill, came cracks of gunfire. As one, the men turned towards the sound and drew their rifles. I hesitated, unsure. The German officer pulled out his pistol and I went cold inside, thinking that they were going to shoot me. Instead he waved me aside and said, “Go on then, get out of here.”

I heaved at the pedals as I rode away, thanking God for letting me through. I found the house that the old man had described to me. Inside were two men who took the plans in their sack but scattered the roses on the ground.

“Here,” one of the men said, putting an envelope in my hand. “Take this to Patricio. Don’t let the Germans get it – it tells of our next target.”

I nodded and placed the paper inside my dress, up against my heart. I stayed for a while, cooling down in the shade of the house, and a woman from inside brought me water. I later saw the two men climbing the hill behind the house, one of them carrying the sack I had brought.

When my heartbeat had returned to normal and the sweat had cooled on my skin, I set off back to the village. The checkpoint was gone; the only evidence was the cigarette butts on the ground.

Amelia was waiting for me when I arrived back in the late afternoon.

“I thought you had got lost,” she said as I slowed the bicycle.

“No,” I said as I came to a stop.

“Or been shot,” Amelia added.

I don’t know why, but at that moment the fear welled up in me and I vomited on the ground. Perhaps it was the heat, or maybe the water I had drunk in the village.

Amelia caught the bicycle as it wobbled while I was bent over.

“It’s your first time,” she said softly. “It will get easier.”

That meant that I’d be doing it again. I felt a little uneasy and yet excited at the thought.

28 November

I went with Mum today to the rest home in which Nonna will be staying. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I thought it would be small and dingy and smell of old people, but it was quite big and clean and didn’t smell at all. Nonna’s room opens up onto a garden so it’s almost like home, apart from the call bells on the wall and the handrails in the shower. Somehow I can’t imagine Nonna living there, but I have to believe that it is the best thing for her.

Mum came away with pamphlets and a huge form she has to fill in.

“Does your mother have an EPA?” the social worker asked. Mum looked at her blankly. “An enduring power of attorney,” the social worker explained. “Everyone who comes in here must have one in case, you know, she becomes unable to manage her own affairs.”

“We’ve looked for it, but if she has one we can’t find it.” Mum looked at me as she said it – I was supposed to be looking for it.

“Here’s the number for the Public Trust,” the social worker said. “Unless your mother has her own lawyer?”

Mum shook her head, “I don’t know if she does.”

When we got back to the car, Mum threw the stuff onto the back seat and slumped down in the driver’s seat. “I don’t know that I can handle all this,” she said. “You’ll have to do it.”

“Me? I don’t know the first thing about this kind of stuff,” I said

“But you can stay here and sort it out. You don’t have a job any more.” I hated the way she said that. “You can stay at the unit and deal with this and I can go back to work.”

“So you’re going to leave me again, like you’ve always done.”

“Don’t you pull the guilt trip on me, Gina. I don’t have much leave due to me and I can’t afford to be on leave without pay. I have rent to pay.”

“And I don’t.”

“Exactly.” She started the car. “I’ll come down at the weekend and help out, but once we get Mum into that place, I’ll have to go back to Auckland. I didn’t think it was going to take this long. I thought I’d come down, Mum would get out of hospital and we’d go back home again. I didn’t think I’d be mucking around with all this crap.”

“Fine!” I spat out, and we returned to the unit in silence.

Bevan didn’t like the thought of me staying down in Hamilton by myself.

“I’ll be okay,” I said to him over the phone. “I used to live here, you know.”

“Yes, but you weren’t alone then, you had Nonna with you.”

I felt at pang at his words. The years I had lived here with Nonna were the best years of my life. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Nonna gave me the stability that my mother couldn’t, and I only appreciated that when Mum came back and took me away. Maybe I would have turned out differently if Mum had never returned.

Right now I hate her! I don’t care now if I spend all my time reading the diary. Mum can go to hell!

3 September

I’ve got another courier run to do today. Aroldo doesn’t want me to do it. I’ll admit that the thought of it makes me feel sick. But I’ll do it. I have to.

Patricio read the message I brought back, gathered some men and was gone for three days. We waited and waited and eventually he came back, dirty, dishevelled and with one man less. He shook his head in sadness when the others asked about the missing man. He’d been shot dead in the attack; another death because of this war. I guess there will be others. The killing is not over yet and I have my job to do.

Today is Sunday so I’m to go to church where a woman will give me further instructions. My palms are sweaty with the thought of the danger and the bile rises in my throat, but I won’t give in to my fear.

10 September

I feel sick every day now. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Perhaps it is fear. While I was in the village I heard that the Germans are blowing up the bridges in Florence. I remember the last time I went there, before the war began, and recall the beautiful bridges and buildings. It is sad to think what has happened to them.

Aroldo came to me as I cried, and put his arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t be sad,” he said, and his bright face made me smile. I don’t know why I feel like crying one minute and laughing the next, but at least Aroldo is kinder to me than my own countrymen, the partisans.

17 September

The German commander, Field Marshal Kesselring, has given the partisans a final warning. It was printed in the Bologna newspaper. It says that our actions won’t be tolerated and that they will take action against us – as if they haven’t already been doing that. It must mean that we are making a difference for him to threaten us like that.

Patricio spat onto the ground when he read it.

“Hah, if he thinks we are going to give up our arms now, he must think again.”

I’m doing another courier run tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to going out in the rain, but Patricio says it will be all right because the Germans won’t like being out in the rain either.

Surely the Anglo-Americans are getting close now – we see more and more planes flying overhead. Patricio thinks they will soon reach Bologna.