AT TEN IN the evening, Donata went back to work at the posto. A little while later, close to midnight, Vitantonio reached the barracks that the Englishman had managed to commandeer near the airport some way from town, and everyone piled on him. They wanted to know first-hand what had happened in the centre of Bari over the last twenty-four hours. Vitantonio went straight to his corner and laid down on a blanket that served as his bed. He was dead tired and in no mood for conversation. He summed it up as best he could: ‘They pounded us. Bari is a hellhole.’
He turned his back and went to sleep.
When he woke up he saw that Roosevelt was watching him. The shepherd from Murgia was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall of the barracks. From the other room he could hear Captain Clark and Lieutenant Donovan shouting at each other in English. The American seemed nervous, the Englishman angry. Roosevelt put a finger to his lips and Vitantonio crept over to him.
‘What are they saying?’ he whispered, unable to follow the argument.
‘The American just came back from a secret meeting in Bitonto. All the top brass in the Allied forces in southern Italy were there. It seems the bombing blew up an American ship loaded with two thousand mustard gas bombs: the John Harvey. The water in the port is filled with it and the smoke has spread through the city. In the next few days hundreds more people will die.’
‘My mother’s there! I have to go back to Bari!’ he said, jumping up and starting to head into the other room.
Roosevelt stopped him. ‘That’s not all. The Americans have decided not to say anything, not to the local authorities and not even to the Allied commanders in the area. They don’t want the Germans to find out that they’ve been stockpiling chemical weapons in Europe.’
Vitantonio stormed next door, walked straight over to Clark and threatened him with his fist. He had never liked him and he’d never understood why Donovan’s group was helping a chemical weapons expert. Now he had the proof that it had all been a huge mistake.
‘How can you keep this a secret? Are you crazy?’
Clark looked at Vitantonio in surprise and then, with growing horror in his expression, he turned to the Englishman, as if demanding an explanation. From day one he’d assumed that none of the Italians understood English: no one had told him Roosevelt’s background. Roosevelt didn’t like the American either and had never revealed his past. The day the American had joined them, he’d been excited, especially when he found out Clark had been born in Italian Harlem. But as he was going over to give him a hug he overheard that he had grown up on a block of Pleasant Avenue near 118th Street and he stopped cold. That had been the first street Roosevelt had lived on in New York and they had kicked him out before he’d found work, breaking with their sacred duty to protect new arrivals: nothing good could come from someone raised on Pleasant and 118th.
Clark’s panicked eyes travelled between Donovan and Vitantonio, waiting for one of them to speak. He needed to hear them say that they understood the seriousness of the situation and the need for discretion. But neither of them said a word.
‘The Germans can’t know that we have chemical weapons in Europe. It’s a war secret. If you open your mouths, you’ll pay with your lives!’ he threatened, overcome by panic.
‘You bastard!’ shouted Vitantonio before punching him in the face and sending him reeling to the floor.
‘You don’t understand! The future of the war depends on the Germans not knowing our movements,’ shouted Clark, lying prone.
‘You are the one who doesn’t understand! Bari is filled with people, exactly like you and me. I just came from there and I saw hundreds of dead and wounded. If we don’t warn them soon thousands more will die. My mother is there—’
‘I won’t let you leave. I haven’t shot you yet because you saved my life once; but now we’re even. If you move, you’re a dead man.’
Clark was looking up at him with hatred in his face. He had pulled out his revolver and was pointing it at him. He got to his feet and walked over to him. ‘You’re under arrest.’
‘Who’s arresting me? You? On what authority?’
‘In the name of the US army. Move a muscle and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Your life doesn’t mean shit to me and I couldn’t care less about the people in Bari either. This is a war: sometimes you have to sacrifice lives to save many more.’
Primo Carnera had entered the barracks and was watching the conflict, standing disconcerted beside the Englishman. He saw Roosevelt creeping cautiously behind Clark. Vitantonio had also seen him come in and was amazed by how stealthily he moved.
When the American sensed that Roosevelt was behind him, he turned round. Vitantonio took advantage of the distraction, knocking the captain’s hand just as he pressed the trigger: the bullet lodged in the ceiling. As Clark took aim for a second time, Roosevelt pounced on him. A shot rang out and the revolver fell to the floor. Primo Carnera kicked it aside. When Roosevelt staggered back from the American, his legs buckled under him. From his left side, just under his shoulder, blood was pouring. Vitantonio caught him as he collapsed and lowered him gently to the floor. Roosevelt was losing a lot of blood and Vitantonio desperately tried to stem the flow by pressing a cloth over the wound.
The American went over to the Englishman and begged, ‘I know you’re with the partisans, but you’re a British officer and you know that it is vital this information doesn’t spread to Bari. You have to help me arrest him.’
‘Vitantonio is right: you are a bastard!’ the Englishman answered. And he punched him in the stomach so hard Clark’s knees gave out. ‘You’re the one who’s going to be locked in the barracks,’ he added, ‘at least until we patch up Roosevelt and Vitantonio has set off for Bari. Then we’ll see what we do with you. Anyway, you’re the one who’s committed treason by revealing secrets from the Bitonto meeting. If you’d like, we can discuss it with your superior officers …’
Roosevelt’s bleeding from the shoulder still hadn’t slowed. Vitantonio wailed, ‘Why did you get involved? This was my fight!’
‘When he invoked the authority of the US army I had to step in. We had to fight it out between Americans.’ Roosevelt turned towards Clark and spat. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted, in his best New York accent.
Half an hour later they had bundled Roosevelt and Vitantonio into a military ambulance headed for the Policlinico in Bari. Just as the ambulance was about to leave, Giovanna and Salvatore arrived from Barletta. When they saw all the blood on the floor, the Englishman reassured them, ‘Roosevelt’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s not in danger: the doctor said that the bullet has shattered his shoulder.’
Without saying a word, Giovanna jumped in the ambulance.