To Find a Mountain (11 page)

C
HAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
topped out on the first rise, the one Dominic and I had fallen down together, and looked back toward where we had left Papa. I felt a small surge of fear; I hadn’t paid close enough attention to where we were going when I walked with Dominic. I was too busy thinking about him, about his hands, and lips.
Stop!
I told myself. It was time to concentrate, to find Papa, get the goods from the parachute, and then get to the cabin.

Working my way back, I hurried, hoping to find him and get back as soon as possible. I had never seen anything like the cargo inside the parachute! All that food! There was enough flour in that barrel to feed a family for a year. Not to mention the goodies: the coffee, the cigarettes, and the chocolate! Oh! I felt like telling Dominic and Papa to keep everything, but give me the chocolate.

Soon, it was necessary to slow down. I realized that, in addition to not paying enough attention while walking to the parachute, I was now walking the same path but this time going in the opposite direction, which changed everything. All the landmarks were different. The rock piles looked different; the trees stood out at opposite angles. And when I looked back, even that didn’t help.

With each hill, I stood and scanned the land before me. But with many rises and depressions in the field, Papa could easily remain hidden. He had said he would search nearby then rest and wait, but that if he had the strength, he would follow our line and meet us coming back. Now I was starting to have my doubts. The fear that had been seeping into my stomach now started bubbling, like a pot of water heating to a boil.

Finally, I began waving my arms at each of these higher outcroppings and at last, I received an answering wave, slightly off to the right of where I was headed. Was he off course or was I?

Carefully marking my spot with a small pile of sticks, I raced toward the waving arms. I knew Papa would be so happy and so proud. There would be a celebration at the cabin tonight; that was certain. And it was something Dominic and I had found together. There was something I liked about the sound of “together” being used in the same breath as Dominic’s name and mine.

My feet flew over the rocky ground, hurtling me closer to my father. As I ran, I could hear the sound of voices.

I stopped in my tracks.

The voice I heard was speaking German.

The fear gripped me and I stopped breathing. I heard another voice hush the first one. They were waiting for me and they knew I was close.

I stood riveted to the ground. I had no weapon. No radio. I was a young girl; surely they would not think I was a spy. The questions would certainly come, though. Who was I? Where was my family? What was I doing here?

And were the Germans searching for the parachutes? Or were they the soldiers I’d heard about, who were hunting the
ribell
í
?

I had to do something. If I ran and they caught me, they might kill me. Better to just turn myself in, show that they were not my enemies, and that I wasn’t theirs. They would understand, certainly.

I started forward, but then the image of Schlemmer’s face filled my mind’s eye—his yellow teeth, his mad-dog eyes—and I dropped to the ground and began to half crawl, half crab walk backward. Because of the uneven terrain, I was able to negotiate my way around the hills, taking care not to silhouette myself against the sky.

Soon, breathless, I was back to my pile of sticks. With a strength driven by fear, I raced back to the parachute, not sure of what I would find there, and not sure if the Germans would be following me.

I stumbled several times, scraping both knees and twisting an ankle. Blood from my knees streamed down my shins, but I felt no pain. My hair was sweaty and tangled; it stuck to my face and strands were in my mouth. My chest heaved; my legs burned.

I must have looked like a crazy woman when I stumbled over the last hill, slid down the bank, and landed almost right on top of my father.

“Benny!” he said, catching me in his arms. “I just got here! I was panicking!”

I was completely out of breath, and turned to face the direction from which I had come.

I pointed, but no sound came.

Hurriedly, Dominic and Papa hoisted the bags they had made from torn sections of the parachute onto their shoulders. The makeshift bags were bulging with supplies.

“What, Benny?” my father asked.

“Germans,” I finally got out.

“Brutta bestia,”
my father said, scooping me into his arms. “Come,” he said to Dominic.

We ran from the parachute, my father taking the lead, me in the middle, and Dominic bringing up the rear. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block the pain coming from my legs. I gulped air when Papa stopped to get his bearings or conferred with Dominic on the best way to go.

We raced in the opposite direction from the Germans, then gradually circled back and headed for the safety of the woods. When I heard my father’s breathing start to labor, I ran alongside him. Finally, I lifted the pack from his shoulder and ran ahead. He seemed to want to protest, but couldn’t manage to produce the oxygen required.

When we reached the woods’ edge, we stood together and looked back. We felt safe, at least for the time being.

C
HAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
he crude fireplace held a small fire—small because, although it needed to generate enough heat to cook the food, it also needed to create as little smoke as possible. A screen made of wire mesh and sticks was placed over the top of the chimney to break up what little smoke did escape.

A pot over the fire held bubbling tomato sauce, a creation that drew much attention from the men assembled in the small room.

The bread had been baked, not in an oven but in the back corner of the fireplace. It wasn’t scientific, but it was the area of the hearth that most likely enjoyed the most consistent temperatures. From time to time, I turned the bread so it would bake evenly. The loaves were thick and rich. It was solid bread, the kind no one in the cabin, myself included, had seen in a long time. It drew
ooh
s and
aah
s when I slid the first loaves out of the hearth.

By the time the men returned in the evening from their hiding places, Dominic, Papa, and I had the treasure spread out on top of the big table. The haul from the fallen parachute was impressive. Even after the goods had been split up among the men to be distributed to their families in the villages, there was enough left over to last the cabin’s inhabitants for several months, as well as to make a celebration dinner, the job of which had fallen gladly onto my shoulders.

After the men feasted their eyes on the goods, and as the first aroma of my cooking began to make its way through the tiny cabin, the men responded appropriately. From out of shirt pockets and packs came a few ingredients, not enough, but at least something. A small clove of garlic, part of an onion, a rolled-up cloth that inside held a pocket of rich black pepper. One of the men had trapped and killed a fresh rabbit. The tender meat was added to the sauce along with the ingredients. Although not enough for a strong, bursting flavor, the meat and spices would be the delicacy, the hinting of familiar tastes that the men would enjoy.

A bottle of wine hidden for many months was brought out, along with nuts and a small brick of cheese that had managed to elude mold. The cards were placed on the table, shuffled, and immediately a card game began. An older man pulled out an accordion and proceeded to inspire several men to dance before the fireplace, toasted by their comrades.

Dominic watched all with a frequent smile, but he seemed somewhat quiet, observing the activities. Several times, I caught him looking at me, whereupon he quickly turned away, pretending not to notice. The cooking duties kept me busy, and I also pretended not to notice his looks.

Even after I knew the sauce was ready, I let it simmer longer than necessary, to draw out the occasion and let the men enjoy themselves a little bit longer. The accordion played on, the cards kept hitting the table, and the wine was still flowing.

Finally, the accordion player put down his instrument and looked at me questioningly.

“Bring your plates,” I called.

The men reached quickly for their battered metal plates and forks.

“Ah, Heaven awaits,” the first man in line said. I ladled a mound of pasta onto his plate, then smothered it with the thick sauce, being sure to include a hunk of meat. There would probably be just enough for each man to have a piece. Next to the pasta I put a thick slice of bread on his plate.

“
Grazie
,
Signora
,” he said.

All the men filed through, except for Dominic and my father. Dominic approached first.

“It feels good to cook food you caught yourself, no?” he said, grinning.

I laughed and checked the bottom of the pot. There were several pieces of meat left, so I ladled a few extra onto Dominic’s plate along with the rich red sauce.

“
Grazie
, Benedetta,” he said. Breathing the sauce’s aroma deeply, he said, “It takes beauty to create beauty.”

I blushed and looked away, muttering a thank-you.

My father stepped up as Dominic turned and Papa caught my expression, but his eyes revealed nothing.

I scraped all of the meat together, many pieces, and ladled them onto my father’s plate. He started to object but I cut him off. “Hush,” I said. “You need strength, Papa. Strength to come home.” I emphasized the last word and he closed his mouth.

The cabin had gone from loud and boisterous to eerily silent as the men dug into their meals, savoring the rich sauce and hearty bread. It was a meal they remembered from a long time ago, back when they were with their families. Back before the Germans came.

I sat next to Papa and we ate in silence. He looked at me and shook his head in wonder at the meal.

“You are a magician, little girl,” he said.

One by one, the men finished their meals, put their plates down, and leaned back, some with their hands clasped across their bellies, others stretched out on their makeshift mattresses. When the last one put down his plate, they turned as one to me and started clapping.

“
Bravissim
o
!
” some of them called out.

A small bottle of anisette was passed around and poured into the metal cups. A bowl of nuts and wild berries followed. It wasn’t much for dessert, but enough to put a sweet taste in the mouth and take the edge off the heavy aftertaste of the sauce and bread.

After the men cleaned their plates (most of the sauce had been wiped clean already with bread) the card game quickly resumed and the accordion player picked up his instrument once again. But instead of the lively tune he had been belting out, this was a slow song, full of emotion and gentle cadence. Some of the men seemed to be sad; the aftermath of the festive feeling was one of wistfulness for family to be near.

A heavy, thickset man approached and asked if he could have the honor of cleaning the big black pot used to cook the sauce. I nodded and he produced a thick piece of bread and proceeded to wipe the sides of the pot with slow, deliberate strokes. Each stroke produced an oily, rich spread. The man ate with slow ecstasy, winking at me once in the process.

Dominic slowly made his way across the room and stood before Papa and me.

“Signor Carlesimo, would I offend you by asking your daughter if she would like to accompany me on a walk?”

Papa smiled, but remained silent. I would realize much later what that hesitation meant.

“Benny, do you want to go for a walk with Dom?”

I was trying desperately not to blush, feeling the eyes of my father as well as the other men in the cabin upon me.

“It is a nice night for a walk,” I said.

“Go. But be careful. Not too far.” He looked back down at the walnuts in his hand, popping more into his mouth, followed by a drink of wine.

I stood and followed Dominic out the door.