Hero on a Bicycle (5 page)

“What do you want with me?” Rosemary asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“We don’t intend you or any of your family harm,
signora.
We want your help — that’s all. Just a little help, like the last time.” He paused. The man with the rifle shifted uneasily.

“Things are different now,” said Rosemary. “It’s far more dangerous. The Gestapo is watching us all the time.”

The first man ignored this and went on urgently: “It would only be for one night. We need to bring two men in close to the city, to put them into contact with friends who will help them.”

“What men?”

“Who they are need not concern you too closely,
signora.
The less you know, the better.”

“You mean Allied servicemen? Escaped prisoners of war who you are trying to get back to their own lines?”

This was greeted by silence, but Rosemary knew she was right. She had been asked to do this before, several times, and on each occasion, she had unwillingly cooperated while desperately wishing that she had never, ever become involved. She had done it for Franco’s sake. But she knew very well what a terrifying risk she was taking. She thought of Paolo and Constanza and what would happen to them if she were arrested. They had both been away at school before and known nothing about it. But now . . .

“I can’t —” she began.

But the man cut in: “Just one night — that’s all we ask.”

His voice was persuasive, but the rifle still pointing directly at her was more so. Rosemary was silent. These people were as ruthless as the enemy, especially now that the Allies were so close. They were eagerly awaiting the time when they could rise up out of hiding and fight alongside them.

She tried to think about Franco and what he would want her to do. But instead, her mind was filled by thoughts of Paolo on his bicycle, riding at night through the empty streets, and what might happen to him — or any of them — if she did not cooperate.

“Very well,” she said at last. “For one night only. . . .”

“Good. It will be soon. We’ll be in touch to let you know when.”

Rosemary hurried back to the house with her arms wrapped around her. She was shivering, not with cold but with fear. She was only just beginning to realize the full implications of what she had agreed to do. But she would have been far more terrified if she had known that as the three men melted away into the darkness, her son, Paolo, was following them.

Paolo had known all evening that there was a certain tension in the air. Although his mother’s reaction to the message had been noncommittal, he sensed that she had something on her mind, so he was keeping an eye on things. This, he told himself, was what detective work was all about. It was one of the skills he was planning on practicing professionally one day, when he was grown up.

When he got to his bedroom, he settled down to wait until he heard Rosemary come upstairs. A long silence followed. He could sense her sitting there in her room, wide awake. At last, after what seemed like an endless time, he heard her reemerge and creep out onto the landing, where she paused outside his door. He held his breath and prayed that she wouldn’t look in. Then he heard her go downstairs. Cautiously, he poked his head out of his bedroom window, which overlooked the terrace, and saw her flit across the dark garden. Within minutes he was following her.

As he drew near to the shed, he crouched low in the bushes. The sight of his mother in conversation with three armed men gave his stomach a lurch of fear mixed with excitement. He was pretty sure who they were. The Partisans. The men whom he had admired so much and for so long but had never met until last night. And now here they were, armed, in his own back garden. He couldn’t imagine why they were here or what business they could possibly have with his mother. He strained his ears to hear, but it was no good; they were speaking too softly. When Rosemary hurried back to the house, he watched the men set off into the darkness. He waited a few more minutes. Then, not thinking about why he was doing it, he followed them, keeping well into the shadows of the trees that bordered the path.

After skirting the side road to the farm where Maria’s brother lived, the way continued sharply upward, past the terraced vines that sprawled out across the hillside. The path became stonier, hardly a path at all, winding up into the dense scrub and olive trees that grew on the higher ground. Paolo was painfully aware of his every footfall. And he was terrified of what would happen if the men turned around and spotted him. But he knew these hills well. He had roamed around them since childhood, and he had a good idea of where these men were heading. Somewhere up here, the path ran alongside a deep gully with a dried-up riverbed, very overgrown. It was an ideal place for a camp hideout.

He had kept the men in sight, but then, quite suddenly, he lost them. Sweating with exhaustion, he paused and peered ahead. There was no sign of them. They had vanished.

Paolo stood still in the darkness. There was no sound except for the rustling of dry grass. Fear came down on him like a cold hand. Before, he had hardly thought about the risk he was running by following the men onto the lonely hillside in the middle of the night. Now he remembered those rifles, and the stories of the kind of treatment the Partisans handed out to spies. Despite his fear, a plan formed in his mind — but now was not the time to put it into action. He turned around and scrambled back the way he had come, expecting at every turn to meet an armed figure looming up at him out of the darkness, perhaps even a man with the eyes of a fox.

I
t was after three o’clock in the morning when Paolo reached home. He was exhausted. Rosemary had locked the house up again, so there was nothing he could do but stay out all night and appear just before breakfast, pretending he had gone for an early-morning stroll. He hoped his disheveled state would not arouse suspicion. For what was left of the night, he huddled down on one of the garden seats on the veranda.

He was dozing there when, three short hours later, his mother came across him as she stepped out into the early-morning sunshine. He was amazed at how normal she seemed, considering the events of a few hours ago.

“Up early, Paolo?”

“Yes. I’ve been for a bike ride.”

“Good. Now, I want you and Constanza to cycle into Florence this morning. There’s a chance of some bread and pasta in the market today and maybe some vegetables and cheese. It’s too much for Maria to carry. Hurry up and have your breakfast, then you can start right away before it gets too hot.”

Paolo was drooping with exhaustion as he slowly assembled the shopping baskets and got out his bike. Constanza appeared reluctant to leave. She came out of the house slowly, wearing one of Babbo’s old cotton shirts, her feet thrust into a pair of leather sandals.

“I suppose I’ve got to ride Maria’s ancient bone shaker,” she said. The sun was already uncomfortably hot by the time they had pumped up the tires. They were both silent as they coasted down the hill into the city.

As they drew closer to the outskirts, it became obvious that many other people were on the same errand. Most were on foot, carrying baskets, and some were pushing handcarts.

There was an atmosphere of tension everywhere. German troops were a heavy presence, and many streets were sealed off. By the time Paolo and Constanza arrived at the market, they found it already packed with a bad-tempered mob. There was a great deal of pushing and shoving, good manners having long since evaporated in the grim struggle to get enough food to feed a family.

Constanza was surprisingly good at this sort of thing. She managed to elbow her way deftly to the front of the crowd, choosing only the market stallholders whom she knew were honest, and making no attempt to bargain with them. She just pointed firmly to the goods she wanted and waved the money, while Paolo struggled behind with the bicycles and filled up their baskets.

They were both sweating and disheveled when they managed to extricate themselves from the crowd and so stopped to wash their hands and faces at a wall fountain. Paolo was so tired that he could hardly think straight. And there was still the prospect of the long, heavily laden ride uphill to their home.

They were sitting dejectedly side by side on the stone rim of the fountain basin when Hilaria Albertini suddenly appeared, trotting up the street in high heels and a white linen dress, as fresh as if she had just stepped out of a beauty parlor. Her blond hair was swept up elaborately above her forehead and curled in an immaculate long bob at the back.

“Constanza!
Carissima!
Whatever are you doing here?” she said. Then, “Oh, hello, Paolo. Been shopping?”

Paolo didn’t reply, but Constanza managed a confident smile.

“At the market,” she said. “It was awful. What are you doing, Hilaria?”

“Oh, I got a lift in with Aldo in his car. He’s gone off to some kind of high-level meeting somewhere. But all these people! I can’t think why they all choose to come into the city when there’s so much military traffic here already.”

“They need food, I suppose,” said Constanza. Her tone was neutral.

“Oh, yes — of course. Aldo gets all our stuff delivered for us.”

“Where from?” Paolo asked pointedly.

“Oh, I don’t know. I leave all that sort of thing to him and Mamma. Though things are so difficult for her at the moment, poor darling, with hardly any servants.”

“I love your shoes,” said Constanza, changing the subject. They were all regarding Hilaria’s feet when a shadow fell across them. A large open German military car had drawn up with two uniformed officers in the back. One of them jumped out. It was Lieutenant Gräss. Hilaria quickly adjusted her legs into a demure fashion-model pose. The lieutenant saluted her politely, but it was Constanza he was looking at.

“You have been to the market, I see,” he said, indicating their loaded bicycles. “I wish I could offer to help with your heavy burdens. But I have a great deal to do, things being as they are. You really should avoid coming into the city if you can, you know.”

“We have to eat,” said Constanza simply.

“What’s the latest news, Helmut?” Hilaria asked, looking up at him, wide-eyed. “Is the fighting really getting closer? You know everything that’s happening, of course. We poor civilians know nothing. Are we going to be shelled? Or bombed?”

Helmut inclined his head very slightly to indicate that of course he was not at liberty to answer.

“You must stay in your house and not go out unless it is absolutely necessary” was all he said, still addressing himself to Constanza and Paolo. “It is not wise to go out into any of the countryside surrounding your home. There was a major incident to the north of the city quite recently. Four of our army personnel and two Italian drivers were killed.”

“The Partisans, you mean?” said Paolo.

“Yes. They are armed and very dangerous. If you have any information of their whereabouts or see anything suspicious, you must report it at once.”

Hilaria shivered with exaggerated fear.

“But of course we will,” she said eagerly.

“Now I must insist that you return to your homes as soon as you can.” He glanced over his shoulder. His fellow officer made an impatient gesture. Helmut saluted again and jumped back into the car. Then the driver revved the engine and they were gone.

“Well, I must be on my way, too,” said Hilaria brightly. “Helmut is quite right, of course; we shouldn’t stay here too long. I must run if I’m going to catch Aldo. So sorry we can’t give you a lift home.” She made as if to go, then turned around, smiling, and said, “What a pity you have to wear that old shirt, Constanza. Is it one of your father’s castoffs? And by the way, where exactly
is
your father these days? We all long to know.”

A
fter they had arrived home and unpacked the shopping baskets, Paolo had a short nap and awoke refreshed. For the rest of the day, he made himself useful, helping Maria hang up the family laundry she had toiled over all morning. Maria always did the wash in the big stone sink, up to her elbows in soapsuds, and then wrung it out by hand. The two of them draped the sheets over some low bushes to bleach in the sun and hung up the rest on the clotheslines. When they had finished, Paolo asked her if there was anything else he could do. Maria reacted with mild surprise. Then she put her arms around him.