Elena (The Love and War Series) | eBook

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April 1944




Rubble lay all about, clogging up the street; one could smell the charred wood and the evading stench of drains and sewage. An old man with a glass eye led a mule down the street, trying to navigate the beast around the piles of fallen masonry and roof tiles. But to the group of half a dozen or so scruffily dressed children running down the street, overtaking the mule, they’d become so accustomed to such devastation that they hardly noticed it as anything unusual. From the street, they took a left onto Piazza del Plebiscito and stood sheltering from the mid-morning sun within the shadow of the Royal Palace. The American soldiers looked busy today; there were dozens of their jeeps parked haphazardly everywhere, and soldiers running around, some with clipboards, others shouting orders. Elsewhere, clusters of soldiers sat or lay on the stone cobbles, shielding their eyes from the sun, smoking their Camel cigarettes and joking amongst themselves. Shoeshine boys with dirty faces and even dirtier fingers were doing a brisk business. Soldiers, when relaxed, like to have clean boots. Elena and her friends considered their plan of attack. Some of the boys went off to try their luck on these relaxed men with their helmets and big leather boots. Cioccolato, dolci, per favour? they’d ask with pitiful voices and grubby, outstretched hands. The soldiers knew the words for chocolates and sweets by now and they also knew if they wanted to be spared the cloying attention of these street urchins, it was usually best to give them something, however small, and be rid of them. Elena would have joined them, she usually did, she was part of the gang, but her attention had been taken by a group of soldiers, equally redolent, to her right, lounging on some stone steps beneath an archway. They seemed very separate from their fellow soldiers, and she couldn’t work out whether it was by choice or not. She’d never seen such men before – they were all black. She crept towards them, keeping to the wall, not wanting to be seen. One rattled off a tune on his mouth organ, two others, lying on the steps, were having an arm wrestle. If she could scrounge some chocolate off these Negros, she thought, it would elevate her position within the group.
One of the soldiers, a huge man with square shoulders and long legs, his helmet pushed back, strolled languidly towards the fountain. He pushed a brass button and water spurted from the mouth of a dolphin pouring into a shell-shaped tub beneath it. Elena watched as he bent his head and took in mouthfuls of water. She crept up behind him. She watched him as he rolled up his sleeves, removed his watch and put it in the side pocket of his tunic. She felt a ripple of excitement wash over her – now, that’d be something. Imagine the kudos she’d get from the others if she could snatch the watch. But no, it could be worth a lot and the bigger boys would take it for themselves. Better to take it home to her sister. Nina could sell it. They’d live like queens. It was worth the risk – as a girl it was easier. The boys risked too much of a beating but as a girl… She glanced back at the other soldiers. Their attention had been diverted by a pretty woman passing by, wearing a black dress, swinging her hips and swinging a wicker basket. A couple of them whistled at her. Elena crept closer and closer still to the point she could almost tap the soldier on the back. Cupping his gigantic hands, he splashed his face with water, letting out a groan of satisfaction. Quickly, she reached out and fished the watch out of his pocket. She turned to walk away, trying her best not to run and arouse suspicion – just a girl walking by. ‘Hey…’ he shouted in a booming voice. She turned, saw the quizzical look on his face, and then, catching her eye, the sudden realisation. ‘Hey, you…’ She ran.
She ran as fast as possible, confident that she’d soon escape him. She heard the other soldiers laughing at their colleague running after the little street girl. Part of her was enjoying this. She headed for a side street, off the square, and ran straight into the woman with the black dress. Apologising, she turned to see the soldier was almost upon her. With a yelp, she made off. She heard him shouting, ‘You, hey you. Stop! My watch, give me back my damned watch.’
She headed north along Via Toledo, then took the next left, onto Via Carlo de Cesare, a steep, narrow street. Laundry, like white flags, hanging from balconies. Then the second right – heading for home. Yet, he was still there, she could hear his heavy army boots pounding the rutted pavement and cobblestones right behind her. She wasn’t enjoying this any more, chased by a huge man, black as the night with hands the size of bats. She was almost home. She should avoid it; he’d know where she lived, there’d be no escape. But she didn’t know where else to go; she was frightened. She’d go home and Nina would protect her, Nina would know what to do.
Climbing over a pile of bricks and stone, Elena stumbled into her house, squeezing through the gap where the front door hung off its hinges, and straight into the living room-cum-kitchen. She found Nina sitting at the table darning a pair of stockings, drawings of children and donkeys scattered across the table.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘There’s a…’ Elena tried to catch her breath. ‘A giant…’
And then he was there, pushing at the door to squeeze through. Elena stepped back towards her sister.
‘Right then, you little scamp,’ said the soldier, having pushed his way in. His eyes darted from one girl to the other, his chest heaving from running in the heat of the day. Elena had never seen a man so big, his black skin shone with perspiration, he wiped his almost invisible pencil moustache. He put his hand out, palm up. ‘My watch, please.’ He repeated the phrase in Italian. ‘Il mio orologio, per favour.’
‘You… you speak Italian?’ asked Nina slowly.
‘Sure I do, one hundred per cent,’ he said in Italian in his deep voice that seemed to shake the ground. ‘And your… your…’ He pointed at Elena.
‘Sister,’ said Elena. ‘I’m her sister.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘So, come on… my watch, if you don’t mind.’
Gingerly, Elena stepped forward and handed the soldier back his watch, placing it in his huge, upturned hand. He looked at it, turning it over, as if making sure it was still intact, listening to its tick. ‘Thank you,’ he said, reattaching it to his wrist.
‘You stole that?’ whispered Nina.
‘Yes, she did; she stole that,’ said the soldier. He looked around, his nose twitching with the smell of mould and general decay. ‘One hell of a place you’ve got here. So, where are your parents? I’d like to have a word with them.’
‘They’re dead,’ said Elena firmly.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Dead? Both of them?’
‘Yes. And Aunt Luisa. She’s dead too.’
‘Oh. OK, then,’
‘August last year,’ said Nina. ‘The bombing.’
‘Lordy, I’m sorry to hear that. Anyone else here apart from you two?’
‘No,’ said Elena.
‘Our brother was taken by the Germans to work in Germany,’ said Nina.
‘I see now. So it’s just the two of you, right?’
‘Yes.’
He started to wander around the room, taking in their little apartment which, like any other building in Naples in 1944, looked shattered. The wallpaper mouldy, the paint on the windowsills flaking off, brown, sticky tape on the cracks across the windows, a picture of the Madonna with child now layered in dust, dead flies stuck to the flypaper, the brown-stained kitchen sink, the cracked tiles, the rust-coloured taps. He picked up a little figurine of Christ, ran his finger along the spines of a few, dusty old books that had belonged to their father, opened the door to the toilet, quickly closing it again. The two girls watched him, occasionally glancing at each other, wondering what was going through his mind. He seemed to fill the space of their tiny apartment, like watching a giant in a doll’s house. He carried with him an air of propriety without appearing aggressive, assertive without being threatening, confident without being patronising.
‘How do you make your money? Apart from stealing, that is,’ he added, looking at Elena sideways.
Elena looked down.
‘I darn socks and mend things,’ said Nina. ‘But one day I’m going to write a book, and draw it too.’
‘These pictures?’ he asked, motioning at the drawings on the table. ‘The donkey?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re good. Very good.’
‘Tell him what Signore Battistini said,’ said Elena.
‘No.’
‘What did this Signore Battistini say?’
Elena knew Nina would be cross, but in her excitement wanting to say something shocking, she ploughed on regardless. ‘Signore Battistini reckons Nina should take her clothes off for you soldiers–’
‘Elena! Shut up.’
‘Signore Battistini says she could earn loads.’
‘Does he indeed?’
‘I’m not going to,’ said Nina, crossing her arms over her chest.
‘And so you shouldn’t. How old are you?’ he asked both of them.
Nina was fifteen; Elena twelve.
‘So you’re Elena and you are Nina. Nice to meet you. I’m Brad.’
‘You’re one of our liberators,’ said Nina.
‘Glad you think so.’
‘Would you like some coffee?’ asked Elena for no other reason than it sounded grown-up.
‘You have coffee?’
‘No.’
He laughed. ‘Thank you for the offer, anyhow, Missy.’ He checked the time on his watch. ‘Lordy, I’d better be off.’
He paused at the door. ‘It’s been…’ He looked at them both, these young orphan girls with their black hair and their dusty faces and wide eyes, eyes that should have been innocent but had been toughened by war and necessity.
‘Would you like to come back one day?’ asked Elena, feeling that perhaps she should have asked her sister before blurting out such an invitation.
‘That’s kind of you, Miss, one hundred per cent, but as much as I’d like to, I cannot. You see, we’re heading north this very night. We’ve got some Germans to catch up with and some fighting to do. There’s still a long way to go in this war. Naples is one hell of a city. One day, when it’s over and I’m a rich man, I’m gonna come back and find myself a pretty Italian wife. So I’ll say goodbye now.’
‘It’s been nice meeting you,’ said Elena, conscious of how small her voice sounded next to this enormous American with his black, shiny skin.
He hesitated, his hand on the side of the door. His eyes seemed to melt for a moment. Removing his watch from his wrist, he offered it to Elena. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you can have it…’
Elena hesitated, fearing a trick of some sort.
‘Go on, take it. You can probably sell it.’
Elena glanced at her sister for approval, then, like a nervous cat taking food from the hand of a stranger, reached out and took the watch. ‘T-thank you,’ she spluttered.
‘And for you,’ he said to Nina. ‘Here…’ He passed her a few bank notes. ‘Buy yourself some bread if you can. Feed yourselves up for a day or two.’
The sisters simply stared at him, still expecting to do something in return. Elena thought of Signore Battistini and his furtive manner. But no, the American winked at her, said he had to go, and left.
The girls looked at the space he’d just occupied, wondering whether this vision of kindness had just been that – a vision.
Eventually, Nina broke their spellbound silence. ‘Look at all this money. My God. Mary, Mother of Jesus, we thank thee. He liked my drawings too. Here, let’s see that watch.’
It had a black leather strap, a black face with white numbers, hands the shape of swords showing the right time, and a little circle at the bottom for the seconds hand. The glass was cracked right through the middle from the twelve down to the seven. ‘I guess it must be American,’ said Elena, mesmerised by the idea she was holding something that had come from so far away. She loved it.
‘My God,’ said Nina, ‘that could be worth a fortune.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ll sell it and–’
‘No,’ screeched Elena. ‘We’re not selling this.’
‘Why not, think–’
‘No, he gave it to me,’ she shouted, backing away from her, clasping the watch behind her back. ‘He gave it to me! Brad gave it to me. A gift. I’m never giving this away. Not for all the money in the world. He gave it to me and if you ever touch it, I’ll…’
‘OK, Elena, all right. I won’t sell it.’
‘I don’t want you to even touch it. You promise?’
Nina sighed heavily. ‘If that’s what you want then yes, OK, I promise.’
But Elena didn’t believe her. She’d wear it, she thought, even if it was too big, and she’d never let it out of her sight. Not for a single second. ‘I want to keep it,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘And one day, he’ll come back.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘He said he would,’ she snapped.
‘And you’re going to be his pretty Italian wife, are you?’
Elena decided not to deign her sister’s sarcasm with an answer.