CHAPTER 60

CESELI TURNED THE KEY in the lock and quietly pushed the door open. She knew she was not prepared for the flood of emotions that poured out as she walked into her father’s Geneva apartment.

She went to the large French window and pulled open the doors. Outside, the Jura Mountains were green with their white peaks. It looks like the photo in some calendar of Swiss vacations, she thought looking out across the lake. Walking out onto the wide balcony, she looked below her at the bustling Quai des Bergue and down the broad avenue to the illuminated Palais des Nations, the headquarters of the League of Nations.

Slowly, she retraced her steps coming back into the living room. All the furniture was clothed in white cotton sheets. She removed them. She took the key and stopped to wind the grandfather clock. Next to the fireplace was the huge brown leather stuffed pig she remembered buying with her father in London. How many years ago, she thought. Slowly she walked around the room, touching the mantelpiece, rearranging the small Etruscan statuettes they had bought at Cerveteri in Italy. There’s certainly a lot of dust, a year’s dust, she thought rubbing her hand over the mantel. She must ask Madame Sorell to come and clean.

She dragged her trunk down the hall to her bedroom. She opened the window to get rid of the smell of must. Not being able to settle down, she walked back to the living room to her father’s favorite blue leather chair next to the fireplace. A fire was set, but it wasn’t cold enough to need it. Next to the chair on a small piecrust table was a copy of Dicken’s Tale of Two Cities, under it was the Hounds of the Baskervilles. How ironic, she thought, briefly remembering the conversation with Bruno Zeri. I wonder what has happened to him, she thought, putting her head back against the leather chair and closing her eyes.

A loud ringing of the doorbell drew her back to reality. She went to the door peeping through the little hole. She opened it, flinging it wide. “Standish? How did you find me?”

“Surprisingly easy. How are you?” he said, coming in. Ceseli noticed there was someone else on the stairwell.

“Zeri?”

“Can I come in?” the journalist asked politely, with his unlit Toscani dangling from the side of his mouth.

“Yes. Of course.”

The two men followed her into the living room and took seats in front of her.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

“There is plenty wrong,” Zeri said quietly. He was silent for a minute watching the curling smoke rise from his cigar.

“I thought you were in Ethiopia?”

“I was, but when Badoglio returned to Italy I came with him. He was already tired of being the viceroy of Ethiopia. He wanted to relish in his glory in Italy. Anyhow, my assignment was over. The war was over.”

“Who replaced him?”

“Graziani? I’m sorry for the Ethiopians. He’s a butcher.”

Ceseli looked at him quizzically. “You went to see Marco’s family. That was very nice of you.”

“I felt it was my duty. I liked and respected Marco. I wish there were more like him. I’m afraid there won’t be for a very long time. You have my music don’t you?”

“You said to guard them with my life.”

“Those little ditties document how the Italians used mustard gas and just how much of it, and when.”

“You did it. You took sides.”

Zeri shrugged. “Did you take pictures all through the war?”

Ceseli hesitated, looking at him more carefully. “Yes.”

“Did they come out well?”

“Yes. Of course!”

“May I see them?”

“Could you tell me what this is all about?”

“You’ll have to trust me. You don’t like that, but you trusted me once.”

“You saved my life.”

“Several people contributed. Do you still think of me as the enemy?”

Ceseli shook her head.

“That’s good, because this time, I’m going to have to trust you,” Bruno said, putting his hand into his inner jacket pocket and taking out some more sheets of music.

“Look here,” he said, opening one of the pages and handing it to her. “I’m glad I lived to do this. It took twenty-three thousand shells and four hundred tons of high explosives to defeat Mulugeta at Amba Aradam. Some seventy-three tons of high explosives at Lake Ashangi. That doesn’t mention the mustard gas. If your photos are as good as they should be, I think we have proof of these atrocities.”

“You’ve documented this?” Ceseli looked at him, finally understanding.

“You were right. It is Zeus or Hera,” he smiled, cynically. “But these facts would be useless without your photos.”

Ceseli got up and walked into the bedroom returning with several large envelopes. “The first are from Dessie. The first bombing. December 6, 1935. They’re all numbered and cataloged,” she said, handing the envelope to Bruno.

Standish looked across Zeri’s shoulder as he went slowly through the photographs. He put a few aside. Most of them were of horribly disfigured people. In all the months he had been with Badoglio’s forces, he had none like these. That was because Ceseli had been on the receiving end of the bombs and poisonous gases.

“Ceseli,” Standish interrupted. “How did you bring out all these photos? I know you had a few in your satchel, but there are so many of them.”

Ceseli hesitated for a moment. “I had Daniele construct a false bottom for my trunk.”

Standish studied her for a moment. “I’m not saying I don’t approve that you got them out. But have you heard about diplomatic immunity? You were traveling as if you were Warren’s family.” He paused, shaking his head. “Thankfully you didn’t get caught. It could have been quite an incident.”

“I guess that was of such a secondary consequence I didn’t give it much thought. My first and foremost thought was to get these photos out. My trunk never left my side.”

“Any of civilians?” Zeri asked.

“Plenty,” she answered, returning with another larger envelope full of other photos. The obelisk. The boy on the obelisk. The lioness frieze she planned to use for her dissertation. She handed them to Zeri and sat down.

“It will be dangerous for you, won’t it?” Standish asked.

“I thrive on danger. But this is a war we can win. It may take a long time, but we can win.”

“I’ll do anything I can to help you,” Ceseli said, vehemently.

The three of them nodded in commitment.