his pocket and took out his cigarette lighter. He touched the flame to the corner of the envelope. It caught quickly. He held the letter between his fingers and watched it burn, charred bits fluttering off in the breeze and falling like dying fireflies into the courtyard below.
THREE
A convoy of troop trucks passed, splashing rainwater from the potholes across the pavement. Cioffi stepped back to avoid the spray. He waved a fist at the last truck as it moved off. The soldier standing in the open tailgate grinned and showed him a middle finger.
The water soaked through Cioffi’s broken shoes. He looked around him. He had come as far as the university. Across the road from him was the darkened facade of the main building. Seeing it, he thought of another day when soldiers in trucks had crowded the boulevard, though then it had been Germans, not Americans.
On that day the trucks had not driven past. Instead, they had stopped and the soldiers had climbed down and begun to herd the people together. They pushed everyone into the roadway and set up barricades to pen them in as if they were so much livestock brought to market. After that another truck, with a flatbed, arrived; on the back of it was a newsreel camera. A German officer came forward and climbed the steps of the university. He wore a smart grey uniform, freshly brushed and with polished buttons that gleamed in the late summer sun. He spoke to the people through a megaphone, warning that there were traitors among them. On his signal, a man was taken from the front of the crowd. He was led up the steps and bound to a pillar near the entrance. There was a look of bewilderment on hisface as the ropes were tied, as if perhaps he thought it was some sort of ruse. On the flatbed truck, the newsreel camera focused on the German officer as he repeated his claim, in stilted but formal Italian, that there were traitors in their midst. There was only one way, the officer told the people, with which these traitors would be dealt. Then he put the megaphone aside and took his pistol from its holster. He placed the barrel of the pistol against the base of the man’s neck. The shot sounded like a whip crack, and the bullet, which tore a plum-sized hole in the man’s left cheek, erased the expression of bemusement from his face. Slumped against the ropes, his body jerked twice, shuddered, and then was still. Even from where he stood at the back of the crowd, Cioffi could see the spray of blood that sullied the officer’s meticulous uniform. After this, the German calmly retrieved his megaphone. He pointed towards the newsreel camera that now panned over the crowd. His amplified voice commanded: “ Adesso applaudite .” Slowly people began to clap their hands. The officer shouted for them to applaud louder and soldiers moved through the crowd, sticking the butts of their rifles into the ribs of those who did not show enough enthusiasm. Cioffi clapped his hands together as hard as he could; he clapped them until they throbbed. “ Bene ,” the German officer had said. “ Bene .” Then he had his men set fire to the university.
It was a dangerous time in the days and weeks after Marshal Badoglio agreed to the armistice. The Germans, always cool, had turned from ally to enemy in the blink of an eye. They brought their cruelty to the streets. At best they ridiculed you; at worst they tied you to a post and shot a bullet through your face. But while they were there, Cioffi had managed all right. His training had made him an adept forger, and he had paid his way supplying bogus medical certificates to the prostitutes in the German enlisted men’s brothels. A girl couldn’t work in any of these establishments without a clean bill of health—the Wehrmacht didn’t want their Oberschützes going home syphilitic. But when the Americans arrived, they brought free enterprise with them, and for the brothel business that meant the Camorra, and they didn’t bother with paperwork. So with
THREE
A convoy of troop trucks passed, splashing rainwater from the potholes across the pavement. Cioffi stepped back to avoid the spray. He waved a fist at the last truck as it moved off. The soldier standing in the open tailgate grinned and showed him a middle finger.
The water soaked through Cioffi’s broken shoes. He looked around him. He had come as far as the university. Across the road from him was the darkened facade of the main building. Seeing it, he thought of another day when soldiers in trucks had crowded the boulevard, though then it had been Germans, not Americans.
On that day the trucks had not driven past. Instead, they had stopped and the soldiers had climbed down and begun to herd the people together. They pushed everyone into the roadway and set up barricades to pen them in as if they were so much livestock brought to market. After that another truck, with a flatbed, arrived; on the back of it was a newsreel camera. A German officer came forward and climbed the steps of the university. He wore a smart grey uniform, freshly brushed and with polished buttons that gleamed in the late summer sun. He spoke to the people through a megaphone, warning that there were traitors among them. On his signal, a man was taken from the front of the crowd. He was led up the steps and bound to a pillar near the entrance. There was a look of bewilderment on hisface as the ropes were tied, as if perhaps he thought it was some sort of ruse. On the flatbed truck, the newsreel camera focused on the German officer as he repeated his claim, in stilted but formal Italian, that there were traitors in their midst. There was only one way, the officer told the people, with which these traitors would be dealt. Then he put the megaphone aside and took his pistol from its holster. He placed the barrel of the pistol against the base of the man’s neck. The shot sounded like a whip crack, and the bullet, which tore a plum-sized hole in the man’s left cheek, erased the expression of bemusement from his face. Slumped against the ropes, his body jerked twice, shuddered, and then was still. Even from where he stood at the back of the crowd, Cioffi could see the spray of blood that sullied the officer’s meticulous uniform. After this, the German calmly retrieved his megaphone. He pointed towards the newsreel camera that now panned over the crowd. His amplified voice commanded: “ Adesso applaudite .” Slowly people began to clap their hands. The officer shouted for them to applaud louder and soldiers moved through the crowd, sticking the butts of their rifles into the ribs of those who did not show enough enthusiasm. Cioffi clapped his hands together as hard as he could; he clapped them until they throbbed. “ Bene ,” the German officer had said. “ Bene .” Then he had his men set fire to the university.
It was a dangerous time in the days and weeks after Marshal Badoglio agreed to the armistice. The Germans, always cool, had turned from ally to enemy in the blink of an eye. They brought their cruelty to the streets. At best they ridiculed you; at worst they tied you to a post and shot a bullet through your face. But while they were there, Cioffi had managed all right. His training had made him an adept forger, and he had paid his way supplying bogus medical certificates to the prostitutes in the German enlisted men’s brothels. A girl couldn’t work in any of these establishments without a clean bill of health—the Wehrmacht didn’t want their Oberschützes going home syphilitic. But when the Americans arrived, they brought free enterprise with them, and for the brothel business that meant the Camorra, and they didn’t bother with paperwork. So with
Similar Books
