Wolf on the Mountain (28 page)

How could that be? Tramps think only of their next nugget of bread and place to doss, cannot feel lust. Lieutenants in steamy hotels on the Nile delta, filling their leaves from the battle-front with a different sweat, feel it. Men who would pass for scarecrows do not. Women too weak for monthly flows do not. The most any of them can feel is compassion.

So much had changed since that night Isabella had appeared in her make-up and tight blue dress. Her breasts and hips had stirred him then, had infected his dreams, but in his days he had forced her from his thoughts. A man attracted by a woman notices nothing but her. A hunted man cannot afford distraction. He has to stay alert, to notice immediately any sign of danger, to look constantly for his escape route lest danger suddenly appear. He is best alone. He had returned to his hermitage on the mountain; and on his mountain Isabella had been relegated to his subconscious dreams, had been forced from his conscious days.

But the incident at the pool, when she had emerged naked from the water, had converted a sensual dream to a different reality. The image had haunted his daylight hours as well. He found himself wanting to take the skeletal girl in his arm, protect her, make her feel wanted. That wanting was dangerous.

Did she feel the same way about him? She had starved herself for him. Had that been inspired by compassion or by attraction? She had blushed in his presence once, but that was in response to a mischievous taunt by Elvira. Or had the older woman spotted something? Why, that day Isabella had bathed in the pool, had she come up on her own for the first time, without Alfonso or Elvira?

Was he at fault? Was he trifling with her affection, if she had one? Was he accepting her food and wanting to give nothing in return? Was he the main reason why she was starving herself? And what would be the consequences of her eating so little? Would she end up barren, a wizened old maid as fleshless as the girl in the pool? Each question he thought of troubled him more.

How would he react when she brought up food again today? He dare not betray the fact that he had seen her naked at the pool, but he could not once again allow her not to eat with him. How would she react to that change in his behaviour? How could he disguise his sadness for her?

–

Isabella arrives in her usual garb, the shapeless dress and coat of thick grey wool, the thick black woollen stockings, all of which camouflaged, as they always had, her shape and substance. She looks the same in them as she did in January when she had a German suitor, as she did on those days when she had leaned over him on his sickbed. She takes off her shawl-like head-scarf and shakes her chestnut hair in the wind, sits on a large stone at the old camp site and opens her satchel to spread out the picnic in the lee of one of the broken walls. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks. ‘You look tired.’

‘Only from the climb’ she sighs.

‘Your face is drawn.’

‘Just tired, Roberto. I worry about whether this war will ever end. Things are getting so short. I’m afraid there’s no bread. And there wasn’t any yesterday. I’ve brought some boiled potatoes and some nuts. What we’re reduced to eating now! A small boy died last week from eating too many almonds. He found a sack of them in a bombed out building and ate them all. The bitterness in them is caused by a small amount of poison. It’s why people can’t eat too many without feeling unwell. That little boy must have been so hungry that he just carried on eating them. Isn’t it sad?’

‘Are you eating enough?’

Isabella looks blankly over his shoulder. ‘Of course not enough. Is anyone? But enough.’

‘Are you sure? I said you looked drawn. You shouldn’t be climbing this mountain on an empty stomach.’

‘You do it often enough. And you’ve got to build up your strength to fight the Germans when the time comes.’

‘We’ll need the women to help us. Not with guns, but as runners, and to take care of the wounded. You’ve got to be strong too.’ He smiles. ‘So today we’re going to eat together.’

He wonders if he has said too much, but she shows no signs of suspicion. ‘If you insist, though, I’ll have some of it. Just to make you feel better. But it’s not necessary.’

She takes the smallest potato and bites out a small piece, sucking it slowly, deliberately, dragging out her eating time so that she eats less than he. She cracks the nuts for both of them, using a stone to hammer the hard kernels against a rock, slyly handing more to him than she slips into her own mouth; and she gnaws them slowly. They argue over whose turn it is for the next piece.

As she nibbles the nuts, like a squirrel in slow motion, a frown appears on her face and her gaze becomes fixed behind his shoulder. He sees an uncomfortable thought growing in her. Did she suspect someone watching her at the pool? Has he said too much, betrayed by his behaviour the reason for his concern?

‘Why are you so suddenly concerned about whether I’m eating enough?’ Her drawing of her coat more tightly to her breasts, the falling of her eyes to her lap, her lacing her fingers there, show that perhaps his fear is justified. ‘What’s happened to make you worried about me all of a sudden?’

It is a question that should make her blush at what she has just said. It means that she did suspect that someone, if not him at the time, had been there. ‘Nothing. Maybe something Elvira said, or did, came suddenly to mind when I saw you looking so… I don’t know… It’s just that your face looks so white, so thin, all of a sudden.’

‘Perhaps if I was still seeing that German officer we’d have more food.’

‘Don’t say that Isabella.’

‘I know what the Golvis used to say about it, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Anyway, I stopped seeing him when…’ She stops herself suddenly.

In other circumstances he would have taken her in his arms. He deflects her self-betrayal by ignoring her last remark: ‘I never suspected you’d done anything wrong, Isabella. You’re a good girl. Now you should go home. Thank your mother for the food. And thank you for bringing it up and for eating it with me. I don’t like eating alone. I’ve done it too often on this mountain.’

Thank the heavens he had at last found words to explain why he wanted her to eat with him. It was a shame he had not thought of them earlier. It would have saved her an admission he didn’t dare want to hear her make. Or did he?

It is a cool moonless night, the stars growing more intense as the campfire dies down. Throughout the meal Roberto has been aware of Ugo’s impatience. Usually his lazy eye wanders disconcertingly, but tonight both eyes have fixed him in the flickering light of the flames. ‘That Giobellini whore’s been up here again, hasn’t she, Roberto?’ he asks at last. ‘Don’t deny it. I saw you with her, at the old camp.’

‘She was only bringing me food. And don’t call her a whore.’

‘And what was she taking back?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Information, Roberto, information’ Ugo replies spitefully. ‘Didn’t the Germans send a patrol just after she and that brother of hers came up to tell you about the Germans taking Luigi? And you said that she’d brought you up food while we were away on that raid. What happened as soon as we got back? Another German patrol.’

Once again Ugo is riling him, again it seems deliberately. Is it just impatience with all the enforced delay, frustration with inaction, or yet another battle in the class war? But he dare not risk further alienation, must treat it as impatience, calm things down. He pokes the embers of the fire with a loose twig, provokes a flare, waits for it to die. ‘It’s just coincidence, Ugo. Surely you’ve got her wrong? She’s just a normal girl who doesn’t care about politics, a gentle one, a nice one.’

‘A nice girl who goes with Germans?’

‘I think Roberto is a little bit in love with her.’

‘For her sake I hope he is, Salvatore’ says Ugo sarcastically. ‘He’s her only chance. No-one from round here will marry her now.’

‘Don’t be unkind’ says Roberto. ‘And don’t forget that each time she came up Elvira Golvi had sent her. She wouldn’t have sent her if she didn’t trust her.’

‘You mark my words, Roberto,’ Ugo says, ‘there’ll be another patrol.’

Roberto turns to Vincenzo. ‘Do you agree with all this?’

‘You say it’s just coincidence, Roberto, but it’s a big one.’

‘I’ll give you a chance to prove me wrong, dear friend. Isabella told me Elvira wanted to see me tomorrow morning, just above the village. I’ll ask her what
she
thinks of Ugo’s suspicions. You’re free to come with me and ask her yourself, if you want.’ He tosses away the stick. ‘That’s unless you think it’s a trap, and that Elvira won’t be there - just the Germans waiting to catch their English radio operator and give the Giobellinis their reward money.’

–

Elvira and Anna are waiting for them in a glade. It is warm and balmy, the shafts of sunlight picking out brilliant new leaves. A yellow butterfly is collecting the last pollen from some tall white daisies in the dappled shade. They could be a hundred miles from danger. Vincenzo and Roberto hug Elvira and tearfully offer their condolences. Elvira swallows her tears and says that life must go on. ‘You were right in what you told Isabella, Roberto. I must hope that Enrico is still alive, just as you are, though your mother doesn’t know it yet. Oh, this war, when will it ever end?’ She sighs, lifts her chin in despair. ‘The passes must have been clear for weeks, the Germans have no planes, no food, so few men. Their garrison here is so small now. Yet the Allied soldiers still don’t come. They just send bombers when there’s nothing left to bomb. Why don’t your soldiers come?’

Roberto cannot answer. For weeks he has been as baffled as she as to why the English army hasn’t advanced. It is weeks since the river through the village was threatening to burst its banks with its torrent from the mountains’ meltings. Banks of white stones, tree trunks carried in the flood and then bottoming out, have emerged from its falling waters. The western and southern sides of the mountains are free of snow, the eastern and northern sides now only streaked with white near their tops. The soil in the valley is dry, the cicadas vibrating the air all day long, but still the army doesn’t come. Surely conditions are right for a big push forward, all the reasons for delay gone? He has no idea what is holding them up. Surely the Spitfire pilots are returning with reports of roads empty of military traffic, the bombers with reports of no German fighters or ack-ack? ‘It makes no sense. I’ve no idea, Elvira, no idea.’

‘Alfonso is coming up to join us. He needs to talk to you. Something important. He’ll be up shortly.’ She sees Vincenzo bristle. ‘Don’t worry, Vincenzo, he can be trusted now. Hasn’t Roberto told you?’

The partisan leader huffs and turns his back as Alfonso arrives. Alfonso too is clearly discomforted by Vincenzo’s unexpected presence. They are men who would hate each other in any situation, the proud peasant and the slim, elegant, privileged young man, but in the context of this war and the experiences of the village Roberto can imagine them drawing guns on each other and hang the consequences. Elvira speaks quickly to restore calm in the quiet glade: ‘Tell them, Alfonso.’

‘There’s going to be a raid up the mountain tomorrow morning. The Germans have noticed some suspicious damage after the recent air raids, suspect that there are saboteurs in the area.’

‘How many of them are coming up?’ Roberto asks.

‘None of them. They’re sending the fascist militia.’

‘The fascist militia!’ Vincenzo turns back to face them. ‘What fascist militia?’ He laughs disdainfully. ‘You’ve been hiding in your barracks since the day of the Armistice. Why are you suddenly finding some courage now? Does your major suddenly think the Germans are about to win the war after all?’

‘He hasn’t got a choice. Half the German garrison has been sent over to a new battle in the west. The Allies are supposed to have broken through the line at Cassino. No-one knows if it’s true, but certainly the Germans have moved men out. They haven’t enough left for the raid, so the major has been told to do the Germans’ work for them or else. I’ve been ordered to the barracks tonight. We’re setting off before dawn.’

‘What’s morale like in the militia?’ Roberto asks. ‘Are they a serious threat?’

Alfonso is grateful for a question not steeped in enmity. ‘Half of them are scared to death, hoping what they’ve done in the past has been forgotten, afraid of being shot when the Germans leave, or of being shot at tomorrow. The other half are still as crazy as they were when Mussolini was in his pomp. You’ve got to take it seriously.’

‘Let them come. We’ll have a surprise waiting for them!’

‘No, Vincenzo,’ Elvira quickly interrupts. ‘That’s silly. If you fight with them, the Germans will just shoot hostages in the valley. And they’ll know for certain that you’re up here. It’s better that they find nothing.’

‘But then the Germans will believe we didn’t do it properly. Then they’ll send up their own raiding party, if they can find the men.’

‘What do you think would happen, Alfonso…’ Roberto starts, then pauses, ‘… if they found evidence that one or two men were sleeping in the old camp? We could build a makeshift roof against one of the walls and leave some blankets and cooking things there, make it looked lived in. If they found that and could say that they’d blown it up, like the Germans did in December, would they carry on looking for more? After all, it only takes two men to do a little sabotage.’

‘I don’t think they’d want to carry on combing the mountain if they could say they’d achieved something, Roberto. They’d just go back to the village and tell the Germans they’d found evidence of two saboteurs on the mountain, in the camp those deserters had been in before the December raid, and that they’d blown up the place and their supplies.’

A broad grin spreads on Vincenzo’s face. ‘So the militia announce a successful mission and the Germans see no need ever to come up the mountain again. Beautiful!’

–

‘Do you believe me about the Giobellini children now, Vincenzo? They’re good people really. They just grew up in the wrong house at the wrong time.’

They are climbing back up the mountain, sweating in a sun that is now too warm for comfort, squinting from the reflected glare from the rocky mountainside above them.