Free War in My Town by E. Graziani Page A

loved ones, our food, and our belongings.
    One night, Cesar gathered up the empty steamer trunk that had held their clothes on the voyage back from Brazil. Cesar and my older sisters hiked to the family barn in the shadowy fields below the town. The trunk was heavy, but Cesar was strong and he held it securely on his back.
    Earlier that day, Mamma had carefully gathered up all her treasured belongings and placed them in bundles. “Here,” she said, with determination. “Wrap fabric around all the breakable items for protection.”
    In the bundles, she placed the matrimonial sheets and blankets that she had embroidered as a bride, along with her best linen tablecloth sets with matching napkins stitched with her initials. Among the cloths, my sisters hid some of our grandmother’s belongings from her days in the hotel business, such as silver candlesticks, flatware, and crystal. We had to hide them from my nonna who would never have parted with them otherwise. I was certain that Nonna wasn’t even sure there was a war going on. Her dementia grew more severe as the months passed and Cesar was constantly having to retrieve her from wandering in the woods.
    We worked at night under the dark sky so as not to attract attention. My sisters and mother carried the treasures balanced on their head and on their backs. They hiked back and forth from Poggetti to the barn in the valley below. Cesar neatly cleared the dirt floor of hay. Then he set to work digging the hole. Once all of our possessions were safely laden in the trunk, my sisters took small spades and shovels and helped him dig a hole deep enough to bury the trunk.
    The donkey was moved outside so it wouldn’t be spooked and the chickens and rabbits remained in their pens as Cesar and we women worked quickly to finish before the sun came up. When the hole was large enough, they lined the bottom with dry, crunchy hay and then lowered the bursting trunk into it. Once it was securely in place, they stuffed hay along the sides and filled it to the top to absorb excess moisture. Cesar had fashioned a lid with barn boards and they placed it carefully over the top. This was covered with heavily patted down dirt, followed by a thick layer of hay. No one could possibly see the hole underneath. The donkey pen was moved over the top and the soil from the hole was carried out with baskets and pails and thrown far from the barn so that it would not be obvious.
    Our family’s treasures were safe for the time being.

Chapter 14
    Winter had pulled a heavy gray blanket over the skies above the village. The Christmas of 1943 would be another lean holiday. Cesar cut a little tree in the woods and brought it to the house. Mery and I decorated it with some homemade trinkets and dried fruit from our grandparents’ orchards. There were no gifts under the tree. In our home, gifts were exchanged on the Epiphany in January, as was the Italian custom. We knew that there would be nothing save for the socks that Mamma had knitted for each of us from the wool that we had sheared from Nonno’s sheep earlier that year. The woolen socks were a bit scratchy, but they were warm and kept my feet cozy at night.
    Christmas Mass was a solemn event and our Christmas feast was simple: chicken, potatoes, greens, and some dried fruit for sweets afterwards. My family ate in silence, the specter of Alcide’s absence never far from anyone’s mind. At one point, despite putting on a brave face, Mamma’s eyes grew mournful. Alcide’s place at the table was empty, and so was Nora’s. It felt like a huge piece of our family was missing that year, even though there were six of us around the modest meal. Everyone knew Nora was safe, but no one could possibly guess what had become of our brother. This was too much for Mother to bear.
    “Mamma, don’t cry,” pleaded Pina. “The fact that we don’t know is good, isn’t it Cesar? He could be alive somewhere, hiding.”
    Cesar set down his fork and wiped his mouth.