Between Enemies Read Free Page B

hung down onto her swelling breasts, which even her padded jacket barely restrained. The two glass eyepieces made her look like a giant insect, and the pot at the end of the snout added a Martian touch. ‘I picked it up for half a bucketful of carobs. This German wanted a kiss and I slipped him the carobs. Even horses don’t like them much.’ She laughed, and taking the mask from her face released a swarm of freckles.
    ‘A bit macabre, your headdress.’
    ‘I think it suits me. You told me yesterday that my eyes are too blue. With this I’ve got eyes like a hornet.’
    ‘Come on, let’s go indoors. Too many soldiers here.’
    Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Renato following a sergeant towards the wood with a shovel over his shoulder.
    ‘Let’s hope they’re not making him dig his own grave,’ said Giulia.
    ‘They’re going to dig a trench further off, in case the wind blows this way. These toff officers have delicate noses,’ said Teresa as she stood aside to let us in. It took a little while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the kitchen. There were five men round the fireplace, one of them Italian, a prisoner. They looked at me unseeingly. They were blotto. One of them, his tunic unbuttoned, was stirring polenta over a sparkling blaze. Without weapons on their belts they had a cheery look, as if the war had gone away along with the officers who had left at dawn.
    With the staring eyes of famished men the soldiers gazed atGiulia as she made her way between the blackened pillars. To take the edge off my agitation I took a deep breath of the odour of mould and polenta. The Italian gave us a sketchy greeting, while the others looked away, pretending a sudden interest in the cauldron. In them I no longer felt the arrogance of the marauders of last evening, but more the embarrassment of uninvited guests, prisoners of a foreign language, almost regretful at being unable to exchange courtesies. Bavarians or Prussians as they might be, their firesides at home couldn’t be all that different from ours, and their employers must have had kitchens no less spacious than this one. Giulia went through into the drawing room, and I followed her.
    ‘Is it German, that pendant of yours?’
    ‘No. It was on the corpse of a
bersagliere
officer. Would you rather have a rag doll?’
    I wasn’t interested in what she said, but only in her voice. Giulia was chaos personified, an irresistible force. Grandpa had described her as the crupper of a horse, the shudder it gives, the lash of its tail on a horsefly. But she was far, far more than that: she was beautiful, she was ablaze. She regarded me with the hauteur of one who, knowing herself desired, strives not to reproach the unrequited lover.
    ‘I must see your grandmother. At once!’
    ‘She’s been shut up in her room ever since…this lot arrived.’
    ‘They’ve kidnapped some girls. Over at the church. And knocked out the priest.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘What I know I know.’
    ‘Go upstairs then. Try knocking.’
    I was left alone in the dark room. They had carried off the carpets and nearly all the chairs were smashed. The pianolahad vanished. The great oak table was still there, and on it two filthy mattresses which made me think of the kidnapped girls and what it said in the
Corriere
about the iniquities committed by the Huns in Belgium. I had never really wanted to believe it, even if at the inn they spoke of certain details…
    I left by the back door, wound my scarf around my neck and buttoned up my overcoat. I took the path that goes up to the little temple. It wasn’t far, but it took me almost ten minutes. I saw Renato digging the latrine along with a German soldier and an Italian prisoner with his neck swathed in grey, bloodstained bandages. I exchanged a glance with the steward and almost unwittingly turned to look at the church, one whole side of which adjoined the rear of our porticoed
barchessa
. Six or seven soldiers were