The Good Left Undone(110)

The men rode in silence until they passed the Acocella farm. Once prosperous, the dairy farm was leveled flat, the ground was covered in black char where the fields had been burned.

“It’s been two years since the war ended. Why the smoke?” Speranza asked.

“That’s the old farmhouse. Old Antonio made wine in the basement. He built tunnels underground to get between the barn and house during the winter. When the Nazis burned it, the alcohol fed the underground fire. When the spring rains came, I thought for sure it would put the fire out. They’ve tried, but it appears to be an eternal flame.”

They chatted about the planting of the corn and wheat as though the German army hadn’t occupied towns from Treviso to Friuli. The man didn’t mention the prisoner of war camp, just forty miles north, which they could find if they kept driving.

“How is your farm?” Speranza asked the driver.

“We survived. For the first two years, we thought we were safe because somebody had to provide eggs and milk. The Germans had to eat.”

Speranza nodded. He remembered how the Germans ate. Sausages. Ox. Fresh bread. Kreplach stuffed with a paste of ground chicken and beef. They ate with glee like gluttons while their prisoners of war rejoiced when they added potato to the broth.

“They took the Cistone farm. But first, they had Signora make them a fine meal. They ate well and drank their best wine. The next morning, before they departed, they burned it to the ground. They even took their horse. Where were you?”

“Berlin.”

“In a factory?”

Speranza nodded.

“Lucky you survived.”

“Am I?” Speranza said dryly.

Speranza was lucky until he went to the camp and learned of Agnese’s fate. Up to that moment, he had been like his neighbor; he thought he had a chance.

The farmer stopped the truck. “Is this your farm?”

Romeo nodded. He offered the man money, but he wouldn’t take it.

The truck drove off. Romeo began to walk the road shaded by a grove of cypress trees on either side. He looked down at the stone markers he had placed at the entrance. Speranza 1924 was carved on the largest one, the year Romeo and Agnese Speranza purchased the property from the Perin family, who had picked up and sailed to America to do better and have more.

As Romeo walked down the familiar road, he noticed that from the bend to the house, flat fieldstones had been laid where there had only been dirt. He looked for his silo, the chicken loft, and the springhouse. All were intact. He wondered if his eyes deceived him. Was it a mirage?

The clapboard on the exterior was freshly whitewashed. The porch was swept. Was she here? Had Agnese escaped and made it home? His heart filled with anticipation. Speranza tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open.

The three-room house was as Agnese had left it. Speranza called out for her. He walked to the kitchen. He looked around before opening a drawer. He slid a long kitchen knife up his sleeve. He brushed his hand across the dining table—no dust. He went to the window. A soft breeze ruffled the paisley curtains Agnese had made from fabric she had purchased at the bazaar in Venezia. He walked through the house. The bed was made with a coverlet and feather pillows. The bathroom he had installed indoors as a gift to his wife was scrubbed clean.

Romeo went outside and walked to the back of the house. Across the green field, the breeze carried the sound of laughter and conversation from the one-room guesthouse beyond the springhouse. He walked in the direction of the sound.

Emos the shoeblack was chopping wood by the fence. He looked up. Romeo raised his hand to wave. Emos went into the house from the back.

“No! No! Emos, it’s me,” Speranza shouted.

Emos emerged from the front door with a woman who carried an infant in her arms. Soon a second child around age three followed them out.

Speranza watched them as they crossed the field. While he was busy wasting time in service to the enemy, life on the farm had gone on.

“Signore!” Emos ran to greet his padrone. “Welcome home! We’ve been waiting! Where have you been?”

“Berlin.”

Speranza, who had not said a word or shed one tear when the Americans brought him to Buchenwald to find his wife, began to weep.

“Oh no. No.” Emos motioned to his wife. She took the children and went back inside.

Speranza removed the knife from his sleeve and handed it to Emos, who set it aside. Emos helped Speranza to the edge of the porch to sit.

“It’s true what they did?” Emos asked.

“Signora did not make it out of the camp. She died there.”

Emos’s eyes filled. “She is safe now.”

“I want to be with her,” Speranza wept.

“But you cannot go because you want to,” Emos told him. “Only God can call you.”

Emos’s wife emerged with a cup of water and handed it to Speranza.

“This is Eva. She worked as a servant for the Andamandre family until we married.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked Speranza. “I will bring your dinner to your house. You may eat it there and rest.”

“Thank you. I would like that,” Speranza said to her. “Emos, how did you do it? How did you save the farm?”

“The Blackshirts never came up the road. Once, they looked at the place from the field, but for whatever reason, they turned back. Eva believes the farm is blessed.”