TERESA’S STUBBY FINGERS SMOOTHED THE WRINKLES OUT of the lace on the little table. ‘Is it all right here, madam?’
‘Yes, it’s just right there. A small table for a grand occasion.’
‘Those poor girls. Who ever will take those poor girls now?’ Teresa waved her open palms towards the ceiling.
‘Don Lorenzo has taken them to a convent near Feltre,’ said Donna Maria. ‘But we have many more troubles ahead of us… and when those poor girls come back there will be a lot else to think about, and a lot to be done.’
‘But those medallions round the neck of a dog…’
Donna Maria had moved to the window. ‘Put on a bit more wood, Teresa. It’s getting chilly.’ She stroked the thick, rough woollen shawl that fell over her still firm, fine bosom. ‘Put out the German’s soup tureen as well as his silver…he’ll have stolen them from some other Italian house. Those bastards,’ and she lowered her voice, ‘call looting a requisite of war. They have a nerve.’
‘They ought to be shot,’ grumbled Teresa, and vanished through the doorway.
Aunt made a tour of the room lighting one candle after another. She told me she was going to ask the captain to provide more paraffin for the lamps. She used the bellows to liven up the fire burning on the terracotta firedogs, embossed with the faces of two centurions wearing helmets not unlike those of the Prussians. And she began to talk about the eagle of the Roman legions, of the two-headed eagle of the Hapsburgs, and the German eagle. ‘No one uses the horse as a crest,’ she said with a smile. ‘And the horse is the noblest of animals, the one all armies exploit, even unto death.’
‘Even the Americans have an eagle, Aunt.’
Grandma Nancy burst in without knocking. ‘It’s all the fault of Rome,’ she said. ‘All these countries have the Scipio complex.’ Grandma liked history and politics almost as much as mathematics. ‘If we of the gentle sex were in command, wars would be made for self-interest, or perhaps for reasons of jealousy.’ And her eyes fixed on me. ‘You men, though, make war to show off your strength, you like killing, you act like brainless children almost all your lives, especially when you stop playing, which is in fact the only serious thing you do well. Don’t be in any hurry to grow up, my boy.’
The two women exchanged glances. Grandma’s face had the strong features of an ardent race, fierce Border raiders accustomed to command; while my aunt’s warm eyes, set between prominent eyebrows and cheekbones, held a grave look of loneliness, gracefully borne though it was.
‘If I didn’t know you so well I’d think you were out to seduce someone.’
Donna Maria responded with a wan smile. ‘I’ve invited Captain Korpium to dinner.’
Grandma stiffened. ‘I thought I had enjoined silence.’
‘I want those men shot.’
‘It’s none of our business. Why are you poking your nose in?’
Donna Maria put her fingertips to her cheeks. ‘You must understand…I have to do it…or at least try.’
Grandma was aware of Aunt’s deep-seated melancholy. ‘I would prefer to be informed next time.’ She turned and reached the door without deigning to glance at me. Her dress with its shot blue reflections rustled on the parquet. The candlelight flickered ever so slightly.
The moon was already high when Loretta announced the German.
‘Come in, Captain,’ said Donna Maria, upright with one hand on the mantelpiece and the other touching the ivory brooch conspicuous against the dark blue of her long dress, with its lace collar caressing her chin.
Korpium clicked his heels and stood for a long moment at attention, his cap under his arm. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Madame,’ he said, accompanying the words with a nervous little bow.
‘Please be seated, Captain.’
They sat down face to face, Loretta standing beside her mistress and Teresa beside the captain. And the dance began.
I followed the scene from a hiding place – we called it ‘Grandpa’s cubby-hole’ because he kept his cache of cognac there – where I had concealed myself with the complicity of Teresa. Not even Loretta was in the know. Teresa was very fond of me, spoiling me by making me biscuits and doing me almost countless favours, which I repaid with smiles and – every now and again – a few ten-minute sessions devoted to listening to her woes. There in Grandpa’s cubby-hole Grandma and Aunt Maria had stacked old rugs and rolls of cloth, a dozen table-lamps, a tiny showcase containing three broken teeth – the brass plate read ‘Relic of the Thirteenth Century’ – and a burst armchair in which I accommodated myself. I had a good view of the little table through a hole in the wooden door where a knot had fallen out. This hole was a thumb’s width, so I didn’t even have to put my eye to it, while it was concealed by the yellowed gauze hung from the ceiling to hide the cracks.
‘I see that you are wearing regulation uniform.’ Aunt’s voice bore a trace of vexation.
The captain coughed into his gloved hand. ‘A soldier takes pride in his war uniform, though this is a profession at which your people do not shine.’
Donna Maria responded with an artful smile. ‘Perhaps we should stop fencing, don’t you think, Captain?’
The captain screwed in his monocle: ‘Touché, Madame.’
‘On the Piave, though, you have met with some resistance.’
The captain dropped his monocle into his left palm. ‘Shall we savour the Marzemino, Madame?’
‘With pleasure. Indeed, I must thank you for not having commandeered our demijohns.’
The captain poured two fingers of wine into Donna Maria’s glass.
‘Are you so very attached to your headgear, Captain?’
Korpium realized he still had his cap under his arm. He handed it to Teresa. ‘I am jittery. Punishing these men…’
‘Punishing? And in what manner, for goodness’ sake?’
The captain removed his gloves and handed them also to Teresa. Then, clearing his throat, he said quietly: ‘I am posting them to Monte Grappa. The men say that whoever goes up there doesn’t come back down.’
‘You ought to shoot them,’ said Aunt in a firm, clear voice. ‘An example needs to be set.’
The captain pretended not to have heard, and helped himself to a ladleful of the steaming risotto which Loretta was offering him. Then, following my aunt’s lead, he swallowed a mouthful and his features relaxed. ‘I have demoted them and transferred them to the most dangerous section of the front line. They have been with me for a year.’
‘Those medallions round the dogs’ necks. How cheap!’
‘It was…unworthy…on the part of those men. I knew them all personally. They knew their job. I have led them in attacks on enemy trenches. They had iron truncheons and daggers and… How do you say it…guts! Yes, they had guts! It was a great grief to me to punish them, but discipline is discipline. Do not let it distress you, Madame. The priest removed the girls at once, and you will see, the village will soon forget it.’
‘You ought to have shot them. Refrontolo would have been grateful.’
‘You do not shoot a soldier for…and I do not require the gratitude of this village.’
‘Do not forget, Captain, that I am a woman. There are some things a woman does not forgive.’
‘But they have been punished!’
I thought I heard a snort from Teresa.
I felt like having a go at our Buddhist’s cache of cognac – I only had to reach out a hand. But I didn’t, for fear that even the rustle of a sleeve might be heard; the wooden partition was so very thin. I even tried to breathe quietly.
The captain raised his fork to his mouth, seeing that even my aunt couldn’t resist the risotto.
I saw her make a sign. Teresa and her daughter left the room, Loretta dragging her feet.
‘Monte Grappa has a curse on it. There’s a little while left before the snow puts a halt to the manoeuvres. In action an officer gives life-and-death orders every day, and every day he demands immediate, absolute obedience. When there is no action, when the men are…resting…I have to be lenient with them, because the next day I might have to order those same lads to swim across a river, even if it’s in flood, even under a full moon. And what I tell them to do, they do, even if it means death.’
I didn’t manage to see my aunt’s expression, but her tone of voice softened as she said, ‘Men like you, who are on close terms with death, have an appeal all your own…doctors, soldiers…murderers…every woman feels it.’ I heard her sigh. ‘It has something to do with waiting. A soldier waiting for the battle or a woman waiting for her man’s return. The terror is in the waiting, while action leaves no room for fear. I have seen terror. It was there in the eyes of the wounded men our troops abandoned by the roadside. I have seen it in the eyes of horses, when they are dying. And I have felt it within myself, Captain.’
The captain laid down his fork and adjusted his monocle. I suspected that he used that gadget as a shield. Perhaps he was afraid of his eyes betraying him, of being caught with his guard down.
‘Do you think, Captain, that a woman does not know what it feels like to crouch in a hole while grenades are out to get you? Do you think I cannot imagine what it is to hear those blasts, those explosions, get nearer and nearer? Or to find yourself with the head or the arm of a friend in your lap, a bodiless head or arm? I am a woman, it is true, but I have seen what happens to soldiers. It is not their words that speak to you, but their eyes. Eyes which ask you, “Why now, why here, why me?” But one dies simply because one dies. A grenade carried off your hands, your legs…So it is up to us to speak out, to us mothers, and sisters, and fiancées and…even prostitutes. It is us, we women, all women, who give the answers. We do not give them with words, Captain, but with womb and with voice, with our lips and the very hair of our heads, we are your yearning and your consolation.’ Aunt was speaking quietly, but passionately. The candlelight flashed in the German’s monocle as he sat still and silent. ‘What is the fuel of war?’ Aunt went on. ‘Cynics say it is alcohol. Because you go drunk into the attack, don’t you? But I think it is something else.’
The officer removed his monocle. ‘When you are there in the mud,’ he said, ‘and preparing to go over the top, what you think of is staying alive, and you fight with and for the man on your left, with and for the man on your right. Because they and they only can help you to stay alive. Then and there you have no fatherland, no emperor, but only a rifle on your left and another on your right, and your own rifle, and bayonet, and hand grenades.’
‘But that is not all there is to it. You fight also to discover how far you can hold out, to understand who you are. But maybe I am talking nonsense, maybe you fight only because you cannot help it…’
‘We shoot cowards.’
‘Yes, that’s another thing. You cannot bear being thought cowards…However, no soldier has ever got himself killed just for his pay, has he, Captain?’
There followed a long moment of silence. I watched the glasses coming and going to their lips. I imagined that they were avoiding each other’s eyes.
‘I lived for a while in Tuscany, and I got to know the Italians: staunch people, much attached to their homes, their fields, their children, as well as to money, but you are different…You are eager and curious…You have in you an impulse towards abstraction which is rare in a woman, very rare.’
‘It is that I…I know horses. There are times when I seem to feel their sadness, their fear.’
A thunderous blast shook the windowpanes.
‘Excuse me, Madame.’
The captain stood up and went to the window. ‘Artillery!’ He turned, and added, ‘It has begun to snow heavily again. If it snows in the mountains…’
Aunt Maria rang the brass bell standing near her glass. ‘Can the snow stop the big guns?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed the snow can. Only the snow. But it will not happen. What has been begun must be brought to a conclusion.’ The captain resumed his seat.
Teresa entered, followed by her daughter. She was carrying a tray, and on the tray was a chicken, or perhaps a turkey. At that moment I remembered that during the afternoon I had seen the steward leaving the Villa with an empty sack over his shoulder.
Another rumble, further away. ‘If winter brings the war to a halt in the mountains…’
‘But have you not already won it?’
A shadow fell across the captain’s face. It was that of Teresa, in the act of serving him.
‘Do you like guinea-fowl?’
‘I have not eaten so well for months, Madame. For years, I should say. Ever since…’
‘Since…?’
‘Forgive me, I was about to…to bore you with personal matters.’ The captain’s voice broke slightly.
‘You are not boring me. You have said you have stayed in Tuscany. Is that where you learnt our language? You express yourself with extraordinary correctness, and I do not say it to flatter you, believe me.’
‘You are too kind.’ I saw him screw in his monocle. ‘Yes, as a boy I spent many of my summer holidays at Piombino, where a friend of mine called…Anselm, Anselm von Feuerbach, had a villa. His mother came from Grozeto.’
‘Grosseto.’
‘Ah, Groseto indeed! You had just paid me a compliment, so I made a mistake.’
‘I assure you, Captain, that I would be very happy to speak your language as well as you speak mine.’
Loretta refilled the wine glasses. I felt a sneeze coming, and stuffed a hanky into my mouth. All I heard was the clatter of knives and forks, and then once more the captain’s voice, slower now, with a note of sadness.
‘Von Feuerbach, a great friend. It is to him that I owe my Italian. We were always together, every summer, on the Tyrrhenian. There was sweetness in my life in those days. In those days I used to read Horace.’
‘Horace?’
‘Yes, I used to read the Latin poets. There was still room in my head for books. I remember the rocks, the undertow. We would dive in at night, Anselm and I…swimming naked, just the two of us…I remember how huge the moon was.’
‘Hearing you talk like this…the war is far from your thoughts…just now.’
Something made me turn my head; I seemed to have heard a sound of scuttling. It was a sparrow! Inside Grandpa’s cubby-hole! If I don’t let it out it’ll die of hunger, I thought. It was hopping about on an old dust-laden newspaper folded over the top of a lamp, and with hefty pecks with its beak was digging a tiny crater in that relic of the freedom of the press.
‘Do you know what is good about war? That it makes things simple. It puts the good men on this side, the bad men on that. You know you have to kill that man: your uniform tells you so. You know you have to give orders to this man and you owe obedience to that one. You only have to glance at his insignia. A soldier even has time for reflection. Civilian life is dull because it is too full of – supposed – liberties.’
‘In peacetime people don’t die, though.’
‘People die anyway, always, all of them.’
‘You have no children, have you, Captain?’
‘I have my men.’
I seemed to see my aunt smile. The captain lifted his glass to his lips. ‘A little more, please,’ he said, turning his eyes to Teresa. I heard not a sound, but I’m fairly sure that the cook, through clamped lips, uttered a diambarne de l’ostia.
Loretta replaced some of the candles. The light became colder, stiller.
‘We need some coffee. We have a little coffee today…real coffee. Let us seat ourselves more comfortably.’
The captain slipped his monocle into his pocket as he rose. ‘I am fond of coffee.’
My aunt went over and sat in front of the fire. The captain did likewise, and cleared his throat.
‘You know, Madame Spada, you remind me of a French lady I knew in Agadir, in Morocco. It was in 1910…’
‘Morocco?’
‘Yes, there was one of our destroyers in the harbour…On military business…I would have liked to marry her, but she hated the army, she hated people who give orders…She had just such a brow as you have, and the same grave look in the eyes.’
‘You wish to flatter me, Captain. But…do you find me so sad?’
‘She is dead.’
I could have heard a pin drop.
Then came two thumps on the door. A few words in German. The captain shot to his feet. There was a brief exchange.
‘Madame, I have to go. This dinner has been…Well, thank you.’
I heard the click of his heels, and pictured him stiff at attention.
‘Teresa, Loretta, get a move on…clear the table.’