The Chelsea Girls(5)

Their driver, who’d finally made it to the boys, looked up and spotted the vehicle. The look of relief on his face was quickly replaced by an angry snarl directed at the Neapolitans around him. He grabbed both boys by the scruff of their jackets, like a couple of puppies, and yanked them in the direction of the Jeep. As Maxine tumbled back into the rear seat, revealing a flash of pale upper thigh, a man standing at Hazel’s elbow said something in Italian and tried to reach inside. Hazel swatted him off and gave him a good thunk on the forehead with the meat of her palm for good measure. Finally, the driver got close enough to shove the dark-haired boy into the front passenger seat and the blond one next to them in the back, before taking the wheel.

He reversed up the street to a crossing, executed a quick turn, and sped away. Hazel breathed in great gulps of air, thankful to be free, as the dark-haired boy sobbed into his hands. The blond one, grimacing, allowed Maxine to dab at his forehead with a handkerchief.

Maxine said something quietly, under her breath, and the boy, eyes wide, responded in kind. In German. The suspicions of the crowd had been correct.

Hazel leaned over. “You speak German?”

Maxine addressed Hazel without taking her eyes off the boy. “My grandmother is German. I learned some from her.”

No one with German or Italian parents was allowed to audition for the USO tour. Hazel supposed grandparents were all right, although she doubted Maxine would have been crazy enough to volunteer that information.

Hazel noticed the driver watching them closely in the rearview mirror. The rest of the ride, the boy spoke fast and furiously, Maxine interrupting every so often to ask a question.

“What is he saying?” Hazel couldn’t wait any longer.

Maxine spoke loudly, so the driver could hear as well. “His name is Paul, his father was a senior colonel in the German army, who sent for him and his mother to join him in Calabria early in the war. I don’t think the woman was married to him, more of a mistress. Paul befriended this Italian boy—Matteo, he’s called—and says they both worked with the Italian resistance, against the Germans.”

“Against his own father?” Hazel glanced ahead at the driver, who remained stone-faced.

“That’s what Paul says. He and his mother were left behind, abandoned by his father when the German army retreated. His mother was killed soon after. Paul went into hiding, protected by his friend’s family.”

The German boy addressed Maxine again. She nodded. “He says he can prove that he was part of the resistance, if they reach out to Matteo’s father.”

Matteo nodded. “Mio padre, in Calabria.”

“What are they doing here in Naples?” Hazel asked.

“It was becoming too dangerous in the countryside, Matteo’s family was threatened, so the two boys ran off to try to make it to the Americans in Naples. The idea was for Paul to turn himself in and explain his story. They stole bikes and traveled by night. Until they got caught.”

They pulled up at a large square called the Piazza Municipio, ringed on three sides by official-looking buildings in a deep ocher. If their story were true, the boys had made it to safety, just barely. But Hazel had a suspicion that they weren’t in the clear just yet, as did they, judging from their terrified faces.

Maxine addressed the driver. “What happens to them now?”

“I’ll take care of them. You go up this way.” The driver nodded toward an arched doorway. “Through there.”

The German boy grabbed Maxine’s arm and rattled off something fast.

“He says he’s only fifteen, that he never hurt anyone.”

The driver gave her a dark look. “He’s a prisoner. Not a pet.”

They had no choice but to watch as the boys were driven off, but Maxine and the German boy locked eyes until the Jeep rounded the corner and disappeared.

Inside, Hazel filled out her paperwork in triplicate while Maxine explained to the major in charge what had happened, trying to convince him to look further into the situation.

“The German one, Paul, says he was brought here when he was just eleven,” said Maxine, “and that he can prove that he’s been part of the resistance if you reach out to the father of the other boy.”

The major barely contained the scorn in his voice. “What makes you think you can trust some German kid, take his words at face value? He’s just trying to save his hide. Probably a regular soldier who got stuck behind enemy lines. They’ll say anything to stay alive.”

“He’s too young to have been a soldier. After all, the Germans retreated two years ago. Will you at least look into his story?”

Maxine’s bravery in the square, as well as now, with the major, astonished Hazel. She wished she were that brash. But she wouldn’t dare question an authority figure. Always the understudy, in life as well as in art. The thought smarted.

The major didn’t answer Maxine’s question. “You said you spoke German to him?”

Maxine responded with a barely perceptible nod. “My grandmother is German. But she’s lived in America forever. She has nothing to do with the old country.”

“Huh. Don’t go anywhere. I have to check something.” He disappeared into a back room.

Hazel looked over at Maxine, whose face had turned white. “Are you all right?”

“Let’s hope they don’t haul me off, too.” She laughed but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I couldn’t help it. They were so young. Just boys.”