Page 8 of The Girl from Sicily

8

LUCIA, JULY 1943

A flurry of small, brown-feathered sparrows swooped down, chattering away in high-pitched chirps while they pecked at the grit by Lucia’s feet. She was sitting on the front doorstep, sipping her barley coffee. The morning sun cast long shadows across the narrow street as it appeared over the top of the houses opposite. There was no one about – Dinu and Pa had already gone to work – and Lucia was relishing the chance to show her face without being reprimanded for shamelessness.

She thought about the progress of the war. It was July now, and Gero had been supplying Lucia and her family with information about what was occurring. In the Pacific, the conflict had finally turned against Japan. She gave a deep sigh. If only that would happen in Europe, where heavy fighting had been going on for nearly four years.

A couple of days ago, while eating with the family – Ma had made involtini with the beef Gero had brought – he’d said Nazi Germany was bogged down in a costly defensive war in the Soviet Union, fighting to protect their ever-shrinking occupied territory. That meant an Allied initiative on the Western Front of Europe might take place any day now, whilst the enemy’s resources remained diverted.

Yesterday, Gero had gone with Dinu and Francu to observe a German camp near Enna in the centre of the island. On their return, Dinu told Lucia it was most likely only a temporary base, given the lack of permanent structures. By all accounts, the Nazis had reduced the strength of their presence in Sicily. Another reason for the Allies almost certainly picking the island as their first objective in liberating Europe from Hitler.

Lucia’s chest tensed. Although she and her family would be safe from direct contact with any fighting – Villaurora was too remote – she couldn’t help worrying. Allied aircraft flew over the village ever more frequently on their way to bomb Palermo. What if one of them crashed? She gave herself a shake; she was being silly. The chances of a plane coming down on her home were practically zero.

Footfalls sounded. Someone was approaching. It was Gero, and Lucia groaned inwardly. What was he doing here so early? Usually, he only came to use his radio in the evenings. She wished he’d found a different location for the purpose. Not because he’d be discovered; Gero had explained he wasn’t putting Lucia and her family in any danger. The nearest military camps, where the enemy might have detection devices, were far enough away.

She pressed her lips together, feeling conflicted. If he weren’t such a show-off, she might have swooned. His almost-black hair was swept back from his face and his Greek god good looks wouldn’t have looked out of place in Hollywood. It was the fact he was living with don Nofriu that worried her.

‘ Ciao , Lucia,’ Gero said, a smile twinkling in his dark brown eyes.

She wished him good morning and rose to her feet. If anyone saw her talking to him without a chaperone, they would brand her a pulla and she’d bring disgrace to her family.

He followed her inside and went to the suitcase housing his transceiver, where he began sending a coded message.

Curious, she pulled up a chair and sat next to him, breathing in his smell of fresh soap and cigarettes.

Ma brought him a coffee, for which he thanked her.

‘I suppose you’re not gonna tell me what you’re communicating,’ Lucia said.

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Top secret.’

‘Are the Americans coming soon?’ Lucia fixed him in her gaze.

She knew for a fact that, almost a month ago, the Italian island of Pantelleria, located just over one hundred kilometres southwest of Sicily, had surrendered to the Allies unconditionally after nineteen days of aerial bombardment. Would Pantelleria be a suitable base for launching the invasion of Italy?

‘Can’t say.’ Gero leant away from her.

‘Can’t or won’t?’ She could hear the annoyance in her tone.

‘I’m just trying to do my best in a difficult situation, Lucia.’ He exhaled a deep breath. ‘You’re a smart girl. You don’t need me to spell things out to you.’

‘You think I’m smart?’ She huffed. ‘How come?’

‘I’ve seen the way you look at me, like you can see right through me.’

‘And what can I see, then?’

‘That I’m un sceccu .’ An idiot. He laughed. ‘Every time I open my mouth, I put my foot in it.’

‘You’re always bragging, Gero.’

Another laugh. This one embarrassed.

‘It’s your fault,’ he said.

‘Mine? I don’t get it?—’

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He stared down at the ground, then shrugged ruefully. ‘I wanna impress you, but my words always come out wrong.’

‘I’m not beautiful.’ A flush warmed her cheeks. ‘I think you need glasses.’ She shoved her hands into the pockets of her apron.

‘Have you looked in a mirror lately? You have the most incredible eyes, the glossiest hair, and the most perfect oval-shaped face.’

‘You’re making me uncomfortable.’ Lucia suddenly felt impossibly hot, but resisted the urge to fan herself.

‘Sorry ’bout that,’ Gero said. ‘I was only telling the truth.’

‘When did you enlist in the army?’ she asked, wanting to change the subject.

‘They drafted me just over a year ago. I was supposed to be an infantryman but, on the first day, they did a roll call and deployed those of us who had Italian last names to the Office of Strategic Services.’

‘The Office of Strategic Services? What’s that?’

‘I probably shouldn’t tell you, but it’s an intelligence agency set up to get information and to sabotage the military efforts of enemy nations. They enlist bilingual personnel like me for missions behind adversary lines.’

‘Were you happy about being sent over here?’

‘I’ve always wanted to visit Sicily. But not under these circumstances. I guess it’s better than fighting somewhere else, though.’

‘Was the training difficult?’

‘Jeez, you ask a lotta questions, Lucia.’ His smile belied the criticism of his words. ‘Our camp was in the Blue Ridge Mountains. A typical day began with a five-mile run. We then had to do two hours of gymnastics. After lunch we attended lectures on various topics, such as personal disguise, observation, communications, and field craft.’

‘ Bedda Matri ,’ she exclaimed. ‘That must have been amazing.’

‘Sure was. In the afternoons we trained with explosives in an open field, practised with small arms at a basement firing range, parachute jumped from a ninety-foot jump tower, and crawled under barbed wire while machine guns fired live rounds overhead.’

‘ Mizzica! ’ Woah. ‘Was it very tiring?’

‘Yep. In the evenings, we either had to study assignments, go out on night manoeuvres, or undergo simulated interrogations by instructors or by one of the German officers from an enemy officer internment camp nearby. The course ended with us having to find our way back to the camp after parachuting into a forest thirty miles away.’

‘So that’s how you managed to work out how to get to Villaurora?—’

‘It helped that my dad could draw me a map. I didn’t tell anyone he’d done that, or he could’ve been in trouble.’

Lucia caught his sudden melancholic expression and asked, ‘Do you miss your folks?’

‘A lot. But there’s a war on and I need to prove my allegiance to Uncle Sam.’

‘I heard Italians are considered enemy aliens in America.’

‘Only those not born in the States. The government could have interned my parents, but they’re keeping them under surveillance instead.’

‘I miss New York.’ She sighed. ‘Can’t wait for the war to end so I can go back there.’

She didn’t say how she hoped to achieve her dream. It would take a lot of money. Money she didn’t have.

Gero gave her a searching look. He appeared about to say something, but Annita chose that moment to come bounding up to them.

‘Ma needs you to help sweep the floor,’ she said, then turned to Gero. ‘And she’d like you to go now, so we can get on with our day. She also said she’d love you to come for cena if you can manage to bring some beef.’

Trust her mother to send Annita as her messenger, Lucia thought as she glanced at Gero.

He was smiling widely.

‘Tell your mother her wish is my command.’

Lucia kept her gaze firmly fixed on him as he made his way out the door.

* * *

Gero came for supper and, as promised, he arrived with a packet of ground beef. Ma cooked purpittuni meatballs, which she served with macaroni and some of their tomato paste made into a sauce. After they’d eaten, they all sat outside in the cool night air.

Without warning, a terrific noise echoed from above, and Lucia looked up at the sky. Bombers were flying in a V-shaped formation, shining silver in the moonlight. A chill squeezed at her stomach. The Allies were on their way to rain death and destruction on Palermo and on her fellow countrymen.

It was the first time she’d considered herself to be Sicilian, she realised. Up until that moment, she’d always thought of herself as American.

Gero went inside to listen to his radio. Not long afterwards, he returned and whispered something to Dinu.

‘We’re going for a drink at the Bar Centrale.’ Dinu turned to Lucia.

‘Can I come too?’ she asked.

‘Sorry, sis.’ He shook his head. ‘You know that can’t happen.’

‘I know.’ Her shoulders sagged.

‘Keep your chin up. We’ll go huntin’ rabbits soon, I promise.’

‘With Gero?’ she asked. ‘I wanna challenge him to shoot better than me.’

‘If that’s what you want.’

Lucia gazed at Gero, and her heart skittered a beat as she caught him staring at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration.

‘I want that a lot,’ she said.