The Tuscan Child(91)

“Let’s just go a little way and see what’s there,” I said. “You smoke, don’t you? Do you have matches?”

“Yes, in my pocket. I’m game if you are.”

He picked his way over to the opening and started down the steps. They were now covered with rubble where the floor above had fallen in. Renzo kicked some of it down, clearing a path for me. I followed step by step. When we were in almost total darkness Renzo lit a match. I heard him say what was probably a swear word in Italian.

I could see what he meant. It was a perfect little chapel with a carved altar at one end, statues of saints in niches, and several large paintings on the walls.

“Look at these,” Renzo said, holding up the match to the nearest painting. “They are magnificent. So lucky that the German soldiers didn’t find them. They looted any art they could get their hands on.”

The match went out. I waited halfway down the steps until he had struck another, then came to join him. It smelled damp. A chilly draft curled around our feet, making it feel strange and spooky. I moved closer to Renzo. “Any sign of my father?”

He had advanced around the room. “There is a door over here. Perhaps it leads somewhere where your father could have hidden.”

He wrestled with the bolt and opened it. It would only open a foot or so.

“The passage behind it must be blocked,” he said.

“Let me see if I can squeeze through. I’m slimmer than you,” I said.

“Be careful.”

I squeezed around the door. “You were right,” I said. “The passage behind is blocked, but there is something stopping the door from opening. Wait a minute. Light another match for me.”

Renzo did so. I bent to pick up the object that was lying at my feet. “It seems to be a painting,” I said. I struggled to lift it as it was jammed so completely between the door and the massive pile of rubble. “I can’t budge it,” I called back. “Let me see if I can move some of this rock.”

As I tried to clear rocks away, more cascaded down to join them. I was in danger of starting a small avalanche and trapping myself behind that door. “It won’t . . . ,” I began, giving the painting a savage jerk. Then I almost fell over when it came free in my hands. “I’ve got it,” I yelled triumphantly.

“Pass it through to me,” Renzo said.

As I went to do this I had a sudden sense of fear. Was this all part of a plan? He’d take the painting and shut me in, and no one would ever find me. Ridiculous, I told myself. I had to start trusting again sometime. I had to believe, to take a leap of faith. I handed him the painting. As I squeezed myself out around the door, I heard him gasp.

“We’ve found it, Joanna. It’s their beautiful boy.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE





JOANNA


June 1973

We carried the painting over to where the sunlight came down the steps.

“Oh.” There was nothing more I could say. The radiant child, laughing as he held his chubby little hands out to the fluttering cherubs—I had never seen anything more exquisite.

“So they were down here,” I said. “And I bet they hid that painting away so that nobody could steal it before the war was over and they could come back to rescue it.”

“Yes,” Renzo said. “That must have been true. Behind the door of a passage that went nowhere. And only someone as thin as you could squeeze around. Quite safe where nobody would ever find it.”

“As you say, quite safe,” said a voice from above. Cosimo stood at the top of the steps, his large shape blotting out the sunlight.

“Father, how did you get up here?” Renzo asked.

“With difficulty, but I made it. I drove up in the Land Rover and hauled myself up the steps. I wanted to make sure you were safe after the earthquake.” He was speaking calmly, evenly, but I could hardly breathe. “Hand the painting up to me, boy.”

“It’s magnificent, Father. There are other paintings down here, but this one—this is the most beautiful I have ever seen.” Renzo started up the steps with the painting. “Look. Isn’t it magnificent?” He held it up to Cosimo.

“It is indeed. We must decide what should be done with it. Now come up quickly.”

I looked up and saw that he was now holding a gun. “The young lady will have unfortunately had an accident. She was warned about coming up here. So dangerous.”

“What are you talking about, Father? Put that thing away,” Renzo exclaimed. I could hear the shock in his voice. “Why are you behaving like this?”

“She has been asking too many questions,” Cosimo said. “She wants the truth about what happened in the war. Why does she ask these questions?”

“I told you. I wanted to find out about my father,” I called up to him.

“No, I don’t believe you. There was no English airman. Sofia ran off with a German.”

“No, she was taken away because you betrayed her!” I shouted up the stairs. Renzo was still standing halfway up the flight, between me and Cosimo.

“That is not true. I loved her. She spurned me, but I took in her son because of my love for her.”

“I think you wanted her land,” I said. “You felt guilty so you took in Renzo.”