Le Amiche

September 10, 1943 Carissima, I finally received your letter. It took more than two weeks, I guess because Maddaloni is in the country and caretaker sent it to me here in Naples. You say that it is just about the same for you in Rome. I miss you very much and wonder when we will meet again. Maybe never. The bombs are getting closer and closer; one of these days, we might not survive. I hate to sound so pessimistic. What upsets me so is that my mother is not coming down to the bomb shelter during the bombardments, as I told you. What if our building gets hit? She will surely die. Things are getting worse. We are prisoners in our own apartments except for the long hours spent in the shelter below the building and the early morning standing in line to buy some vegetables, but the farmers no longer come to Naples because of the bombardments and lack of transportation. All we can find are dried beans and chestnut flour. No salt and the bread is rationed and it tastes like straw. There is a farmer up hill who has four cows and never leaves his farm for fear the cows are requisitioned. Our maidservant walks up hill every morning to get a bottle of milk. The water is scarce because the aqueducts have been bombed. Every day we go up the hill for water. Two bottles each and if one fills more, the people in line get upset; more than that, they become angry and force you out of the line. We get up at six every morning when it is still dark to collect enough water to last us the day. It takes us one hour to walk to the fountain and back. What about you? Do you have running water? What about electricity? We are on candles. Were you scared when the Germans occupied Rome and you had them in the Caserma across the square from your apartment? I understand if you think best not to go into details. One day we will see each other again and will be able to tell each other everything. Have to leave you now. The sirens just started. Have to go to the shelter. I wonder if you received my last letter… Baci, Silvia October 25, 1943 Today we are concerned about the safety of Manlio and Oscar. The Germans have posted bulletins all over the city warning the population against hiding Italian soldiers in their homes. The statement says that not only the soldiers will be shot on the spot, but also the head of the home that protects them. They both decided to go to the top floor and check the access to the roof. When they came down, they said that they can easily escape by jumping from roof to roof. We hear someone at the door. It is the lady upstairs. She is also hiding her sons and pretends not to know about our cousins but simply says that in case of danger, being that we are on the first floor, would we send someone upstairs to ring three times her doorbell? Finally the desired hour of supper comes. We are so hungry. The food is getting scarce. We always sit around the table way before suppertime. My brother, two years younger than I, is restless and begins to talk out of turn. “What do we eat in this house?” Everyone pretends not to hear him, but he continues, “In the morning, chestnut mush, ladies and gentlemen, at noon there will be potatoes, half cooked with onions of course quite raw, and at night, just to be different, potatoes once more and, if it isn’t potatoes it will be fava beans and onions, lots of onions and more potato.” Papà says that if he doesn’t like it, someone else will enjoy having his portion. After the meager supper, we have a visitor. He always comes and starts every time by saying, “A friend of mine told me.” One more visitor, our house is like a bus station. One more ring and it is a church member, a soldier who is also hiding and Papà tells him not to venture in the streets, but he does not pay attention. His usual answer when asked how he is doing is that we could be doing better. Him gone, a colleague of Papà comes and we enjoy his visits because he always has something strange to say and tells many funny jokes. He is the professor that tutors me in math, Latin and Greek. He has a goatee, his black hair, with a few gray strands, comes into a peak in the middle of the forehead, and he speaks in a nasal monotone without ever taking a breath. The evening ends with the usual game of cards for the young ones, the radio for Papà, the last bits of news, and the hope of no sirens. Something terrible happened during the night. Nonna heard German trucks and a lot of commotion in the piazza. When she looked behind the shutters, she saw that the trucks were loaded with Italians. The Germans were searching the buildings. There was no time to waste. Manlio and Oscar ran up the stairs ringing each doorbell on the way up while their beds and all their belongings were quickly moved into a storage room. All this was done in the dark not to attract attention. Our cousins tried to alert other fugitives, should there be some in the palazzo. They climbed on the rooftop and started jumping from roof to roof. There was no assurance that they would not be shot first, but they would try to escape. Later they told us that once they reached the rafters, ten young men climbed up there, even though none suspected the presence of the others in the palazzo. The Germans did not search our palazzo after all. They were looking for an Italian Officer in the building next to ours and, when they didn’t find him, they took the maidservant instead, and left the Piazza. At four in the morning we were again in alarm, but we didn’t go to the bomb shelter.