CHAPTER 44

“THIS IS THE LAST person for today. Go home, Fikerte. See you in the morning.” Marco turned to the Ethiopian nurse working beside him. She was young and pretty, and just as tired. It was difficult working surrounded by so much death. Both of them deserved a rest.

The girl smiled, her eyes meeting his over the cloth she wore over her mouth.

Marco was exhausted. He couldn’t remember when he had last really slept. He had already seen so much death he had ceased to count. He had lived with the dead and now wondered whether he could ever be a civilian again. He remembered his conversation with Ceseli on whether you grow immune to death. There was something sure: he hadn’t.

He walked outside looking at the people who were waiting for his help. He could see the horrible suppurating burns on their feet and on their emaciated limbs. They looked at him with begging eyes and raised their plight-filled voices. The sound was a low, moaning wave of misery–Abeit! Abeit! Abeit! Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

He saw that a brown mule was coming up along the winding path. The rider was shrouded by a dark gray burnoose. The animal drew abreast and stopped.

“Ceseli!” he almost yelled. “Ceseli!”

“Marco!”

He didn’t need to know why she had come. It was sufficient that she was here and with a smile only for her, he helped her down from the saddle and into his arms. Their eyes met and held for a long time. She had come a long way for him and now in the middle of a battlefield, hidden from anyone who knew them, they realized they were there for each other, for as long as it was possible, for as long as they had.

He kissed her warmly and then turned holding her tightly. The coarse wool of the burnoose was so different from the soft skin of her arms. “I thought you were in Addis? Or home,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I thought you were safe.”

“I know. I got your letters. No, I’m with the doctors attached to the emperor.”

“I guess it’s stupid for me to tell you that you’re in great danger.”

“It was something I needed to do. You of all people can understand that.”

He continued to look at her, his voice muted, but not the expression in his eyes. “The Italians are going to attack. And they will win. You know that.”

“That’s why we came to Maytchaw. For one great battle. As custom demands, the emperor will lead it himself. But for the last week there have been nothing but delays. Yifru is very worried. He’s convinced that these delays are killing the emperor’s chances. That the Italians have had more time to dig in.”

“He’s right,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the only small tree on the plateau. He took her saddlebags off the mule. “I’ll get him some water.”

“He’s afraid of the bombs, but I’m sure he’d like some water.”

“How did you find me?”

“Yifru told me he thought you were here.”

Ceseli took off the heavy burnoose and sat down. While she waited she took her camera from the satchel. She looked out across the peaceful valley. It was almost twilight, but in the far distance she could just see the emperor’s campfires. They seemed so far away.

She looked around at the men who were waiting patiently on the other side of the tent. They were almost lifeless automatons in their acceptance of life and death. It reminded her of a recurring nightmare of battle where the severed limbs started a grotesque dance. She remembered the childhood verse that had been going through her mind for weeks. “Early in the morning in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.” She shuddered.

After a bit, Marco returned. “I’ve put him down near the spring. There’s a pretty deep cave. It could hide a whole herd of animals. He’ll be fine there.”

“It’s the mustard gas, isn’t it?” she said, pointing to the white splotches on the dark skins.

“The planes come every day. These are peasants from the area. There’s no food. The crops are poisoned. The livestock are dead.” Marco touched her hair caressing it and forming little curls with his fingers. “There’s not much to eat here.”

“I wasn’t expecting a feast,” she smiled.

“Good, because you’re not going to get one,” he grinned. “No special pasta. But we can have some soup. And the villagers bring me injera. That’s their way of thanking me.”

“You know I didn’t come for the food,” she said. “It’s funny how our concept of food changes. There is food and Yifru looks after me. And while we were at Dessie, there was a little boy named Habtu. He brought me eggs and other treasures one takes for granted. I showed him the mirror of my compact. I don’t think he’d ever seen himself before. He was smiling and moving his head from side to side. It reminded me of when I would sit at my grandmother’s dressing table and try out her powders and rouge.” Ceseli smiled. “I didn’t know you were so close. I thought the Red Cross hospital was all the way on the other side of the valley.”

“That’s the British one. How did you find out?”

“I needed to warn the doctors to expect a great many wounded tomorrow. Yifru showed me where you were. But I had to promise I’d be back by early morning. He doesn’t want me to be bombed along the way.”

“You’re safe here. See that,” he said, pointing to the huge Red Cross on the top of the tent. It was a large square American army tent. The camp was marked by five Red Cross flags: three on the tent and two more, ten to twelve feet wide ground covers.

“We were bombed in Dessie, almost immediately after the emperor arrived. I was really afraid. It’s something so completely out of one’s control.”

“You learn to live with it. The planes come here every day. They don’t bomb. They’re just trying to intimidate us. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Ceseli smiled. “Have you heard anything from your family?”

“Not in a long time. When you think of it, we’d need those famous messenger pigeons you were joking about.”

“On the train. I remember. It seems like another lifetime.”

“So will this one day.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Zeri’s here you know. With Badoglio. He came to see me the other day. He left me a pack of his Tuscan cigars.”

“That you don’t smoke.”

“It was a gesture. He’s a thoughtful person. Those cigars are precious to him. He took a letter that I had written to my family. It isn’t hard for him to get it mailed. He has a secret reef of papers. Musical sheets. He told me he’d tell me about it when this is over. He’s not very fond of Badoglio. I asked him why he didn’t leave.”

“And?”

“Said he needed to watch him.”

“Badoglio?”

“Yes. Says he made a pact with the devil.”

Later that evening, she sat leaning back against him. She had taken pictures of the men with their white scarring burns and a few of Marco, pantomiming in front of the hospital tent. A timed one of the two of them. She hoped that they’d come out.

The soup was good and so was the injera. The night was very still now. Below, across the valley, the bonfires were covered by the mist, but the stars were gleaming overhead. The crickets were vibrant in their chatter.

“Funny,” Marco said. “I was just thinking about a badly injured Muslim soldier. He was just sitting and waiting for me. There was a green parrot overhead in the tree and he was studying it. He said, ‘You know that we have a belief in our religion, that all of us who are killed in battle for our faith go at once to heaven.’

“But, you’re not fighting for your faith in Ethiopia,” I told him.

“I’m cheating just a little,” he smiled. “Our belief is that until the Day of Judgment, the souls of the faithful go into the crops of green birds, which eat the fruits of paradise and drink from its rivers. Look at that beautiful green bird,” he said. “I wonder if it will please Allah that I shall be killed and my soul take its flight to paradise in its crop.”

“What happened to him?” Ceseli asked.

“He didn’t die.”

“I’m glad. Green is a sacred color for the Muslims. It’s the green of grass and fertility.” She turned to study him. “You know, you’re like that warrior.”

Marco studied her quietly. “You, too.” They looked at each other, not needing words. Marco took the chain from around his neck. “Now that you’ve come all this way, I want you to have this. I think you need it more than I do.”

“I can’t take it,” she said, fingering the delicate gold chain with its small medal.

“Of course you can. It’s the patron saint of Florence. I want you to keep it. I’ll come and retrieve it.”

“On loan then. That’s a promise, and I’d like to give you this,” she said, undoing the dog tag she wore around her neck and handing it to him. “It was my father’s.”

“I would be honored to wear it,” he said, kissing her lightly, then more tenderly as she moved into his embrace. They kissed urgently both understanding what little time they had to be together. From deep within, from her soul and her heart, she felt she knew everything about him.

“Shhh,” he said, covering her mouth with a finger, and then without another word, he lay down next to her and took her in his arms. As they lay in each other’s arms, her kisses were as passionate as his. And there was something very sweet about the way they felt about each other physically and emotionally. It was at the same time romantic and old fashioned.

Early the next morning, a summer fog cast a lacy mantel and the grass lay like a white bed of clouds. Birds floated on the wind sunning themselves, or alighted on the wet limbs that looked like a gigantic spider’s web casting knitted shadows on the ground. As she sat looking out over the valley, minute crystals of moisture hung to her hair like seed pearls.

“Good morning,” she whispered as he sat down next to her.

“You look like some kind of fairy,” Marco said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You should make a wish.”

“I have. I can’t tell you what it is because otherwise it won’t come true. Will this ever end?” she asked, continuing to stare out over the valley.

“It will end. You must go, now. It’s getting late.” He continued to hold her to him. “Yifru will get worried.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” her voice trailed off. “I know.”

“And I must begin my work. By the time I have tried to help these people there will be many more. I don’t mind. I just wish there were more of us. But it won’t be for long.”

Ceseli clung to him as if to a raft in a stormy sea. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had made a promise to Yifru and she needed to keep it. She hoped Marco couldn’t see the tears that were beginning to sting behind her eyes. Then he pulled away from her and Ceseli watched as he went back into the Red Cross tent. He returned with her canteen bottle. “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll get you fresh water from the spring.”

Returning from the spring, he saw the first white Caproni bombers flying in formation, approaching along the rim of the valley. It was very early. He watched fascinated as they neared, their silver bodies glistening like a polished sword. He continued to watch mesmerized like a deer at night with a light flashed into its eyes.

Marco turned to make sure the large Red Cross lettering on the tent was clearly visible. Relieved, he ran back up the steep incline looking around him. The planes were approaching now. Ceseli was standing near the tent her camera bag next to her and ready to start back.

“I should have brought the mule,” Marco said, as she turned to look at him. The menacing planes were approaching. Suddenly, Marco realized that the planes were headed directly for the tent. The tent was the target. They were the target. He could do nothing. Even as he looked around for cover, Marco knew there was none.

He ran to her, grabbing her and then instinctively crushing her headlong to the ground beneath him, holding her to him. His body was hard on top of her, like a protective shield, covering her. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

She held his hands feeling him on top of her, holding on to him for dear life. “Pretend it’s a beautiful display of fireworks,” Marco whispered. “Remember the emperor’s party.”

“I’ll try.”

He could feel her relax under him. Then he lifted his head to watch as the first of the planes began dipping toward the tent, letting loose its deadly load of bombs. Around him the men started to wail.

Abeit!

Abeit!

Abeit!

“This one is blue. Do you remember?”

“Yes. It was beautiful.”

The next three planes were releasing the spray of gas.

“The next is green. It’s beautiful, too.”

“Yes.”

“We’re missing only the yellow and the red?”

Ceseli was hardly breathing.

“Everything will be over in a minute.”

She could hear the planes going over them very low. Bombs were dropping all around them. The noise was crescendoing. The bombs like firecrackers, ptut, ptut, ptut. The smell of the gas was nauseating. Then they were past. Both the yellow, and the red. Thank God. She could hear the planes leaving. She waited a moment, needing to control her breathing. “Marco?”

She moved her hand in front of her looking out from her clasped hands. The tent was a shambles, the iron bars bent like matchsticks. The tarpaulin was smoldering. From under him she could see the bodies of the men like sacks of feathers. She could feel his dead weight on her. She struggled to free herself. “Marco. It’s okay. They’ve gone.”

The silence was louder than the pounding in her heart. She struggled out from under him. Then she looked at him as her hair suffocated her scream. Up his back, against the white of his shirt, was a little red picket fence. Blood burst from the back of his head where the curls of the Renaissance angel had once been.