Memories Of Our Days. Chiara Cesetti
and for the old people who did not work anymore.
The bread that men did not bring home because they were stuck in the Karst Plateau.
That was in in winter, once the olive harvesting was over. First they were picking from the trees for the owner then, if the owner allowed them to, they were picking olives for themselves off the ground, to get a couple of litres of the precious olive oil.
When the war broke out, Rudi joined the army, but Giovanni stayed at home. He was thirty-five and his position as the head of the family spared him from joining in the war. In the last two years the financial situation of the Barrieri family had improved indeed. The army required great quantities of horses and food and he doubled his livestock. Many pieces of land were fallow because nobody was working them so they were up for sale and Giovanni bought them without making the most of the situation because he was happy to help people if he could, he did not take advantage of people’s misfortunes. At home, in some parts of the year, when the work in the land had stopped and people did not know what to live on, there were women coming and going offering the most diverse things they could do, bringing a basket full of chicory or wild fruit as a present, hoping to get something in return.
Giulia, Maria and Ada knew those women, they knew their stories and they would always send them back home with food to eat for their dinner. Before accepting what they offered, many of them would say that they had come over in case there were some things to do but their eyes would say thank you before getting the gift in their hands because the words that went with that were not words of pity and would not demean them:
-You’ve just come at the right time, I’ve just prepared this- they said handing the packet over- Take it, please, I’ve just made too much of it and it would rot..
-Giving without humiliating- Giovanni stressed that – because humiliation is worse than poverty- The three of them had learnt that.
That morning Ada woke up with her usual headache. It would happen often and when that occurred, the best way to look after it was to stay in bed, in the darkness, in peace and quiet for a few hours until the pain would alleviate and only then she would manage to get up, still daze and pale.
Dr Marinucci, the elderly family doctor, always felt that the cause for this was her nervousness. –It’s anxiety, it is not a serious condition. Ada is a strong and healthy woman. She should have got married…-
She did not leave the house and stayed with her father and her older sister instead. She was only two years younger than Maria and she looked less resigned. Compared to her thinness, Ada’s body looked almost plump, more feminine, with her large breasts in a corset which made her waist thinner and highlighted her round hips.
She moved around the house with quite some energy which was too much at times as if she was jerking, showing an agitation out of control and some kind of permanent unhappiness. In these days she could work for hours without feeling tired, she cleaned the house from top to bottom, she washed curtains and covers, she rubbed out old stains frantically. She was extremely generous. In a burst of affection she would take the kids’ breath away when she would hold them in her arms against her soft bosom and would smother them with kisses. Antonino couldn’t stop laughing, Clara tried to escape from that torture and the little ones, Agnese e Luciano, were mesmerized, laughing and crying, not too sure if that little pain was worth putting up with.
The first of November was dull day and the sun was just a dull light behind a cloud that was slightly fairer than the others. Maria was still in bed and Ada, once over the worse part, was not sure whether to get up or not. The house was unusually quiet got her to do downstairs. Antonino and Clara were at school and you could not hear the voices of the little ones.
She got up and got dressed. The fire was already on in the kitchen to warm up the air. Giovanni was in his work clothes and was sitting with his arms resting on the table in front of the open newspaper. Giulia was sitting in front of him, she was pale. Her face which was usually stern but not worried, was furrowed by a line on her forehead showing deep concern. Her blank eyes were following a far away thought . Maria was moving about quietly, busy making something to eat for the children, who were sitting on the ground and were talking in a low voice, feeling the worry in the room. Ada, stood at the door, and felt that unusual atmosphere.
-What happened?-
-How are you, Ada, are you feeling better?- Giulia asked, fighting hard to come out of her thoughts.
-Yes, I am feeling better. What happened?-
- ….things are not looking so good….- said Giovanni
-Which things….-.
-The war…. The news about the war is not good…. Rudi wrote a letter…-
-Rudi?...what does he say…? Where did he write from…? how is he…?- Ada rested her hands clenched in a fist on her stomach and her voice was now panicky.
-He wrote from the warzone-, Giulia answered, thinking now about the current situation and looked as if she was in control again –He says he has fought in Caporetto and now he is at a field hospital….at least up until ten days ago when the letter was written…here, read it..-
Ada took the pieces of papers in her hands and saw that Rudi’s handwriting, usually with big characters, looked unsteady and crooked. She started to read silently, quickly:
‘ Dear Giulia and dear all,
As you can see I am able to write so please don’t worry about me.
I am at a field hospital ….because during an operation my shoulder was injured, luckily it is not serious. What I experienced with my fellow soldiers over the last few months is virtually nothing compared to what has happened over the last few days. I hope you have received my previous letters. If so, you are aware of the situation we have endured for months: the barricades are our home, these dugouts where mud gets as far as your knees, and you can only get out of them to go and fight the enemy who is not too far from you. It is cold in there, very cold. I can say it to you: I am scared. I am scared when I can get some sleep for a little while and I am woken up by the blast of the bombs nearby, I am scared when we have to advance and my riflemen look at me with their ashen eyes, without expression, almost indifferent to their destinies, fear when Tornieri, my fellow soldier, collapses beside me with his stomach opened up and you can see inside and begs me to help him, not with the words because he has no more, but with his eyes. I look at him crying, he knows there is nothing I can do to help him and I have to leave him there because we have to go. So I go but I can’t see anything because of the tears in my eyes and I pray, for a quick moment, I pray for Tornieri, whom I was talking to just a moment before, to die quickly. I pray for his death, he is so young and far away from his home which I got to know thanks to what he recounted, without anybody around him. No, no, it does not have to be like this! I turn back then just in time to hold his hand, soiled with mud and blood. He looks as if he is smiling at me and he passes away near me without even a sob: just a little sigh and he is gone forever.
I am scared because I don’t know what tomorrow would be like and I am horrifies that it is going to be like today, or even worse.
On the night of October 24th, we are in the barricade on Livek gap, waiting for the enemies to attack. It is the middle of the night, it is raining heavily and there is a thick fog everywhere. Around two in the morning there is the first blast, and then it goes on for hours on end. The cannons are fired so often that at dawn the land is covered in deep holes which were so near one another that the soldiers jump into them to get some shelter during their advance. They are given the order to defend the post and that’s what has to be done, whereas the holes they jump into to get some shelter are full of dead bodies and men all deformed in the attempt to breath, due to gas asphyxiation.
The night never ends. We advance for a few metres and when the position seems to be consolidated, here come the enemies, ready for an attack. I gather up my men, there are so few of them that I think it is pointless to resist, yet we just fight, we just keep at it without thinking, then we withdraw again, and again on the dead bodies of our fellow soldiers. All of a sudden I cannot remember anything about this living hell, apart from a sensation of heat