On June 13 there was a continual round of visitors and the relatives who had come to see Bottecchia had all brought something for us to eat. Some brought a piece of cheese, some a peasant bread baked under hot ashes, others a stoup of wine preserved by who knows how many sacrifices from the avid throats of our adversaries. I was not present at the meeting between Bottecchia and his parents, for at the time I was walking about in the wood, and when I returned I found my soldier seated on the trunk of a tree between a little old woman and an old man and I understood from their voices and the sweetness of their expressions that they must have been his parents. The father, a lean little old man almost eighty years old, still works 275 unloading material and pushing hand cars on the new railroad the Austrians are constructing in the vicinity of Sarmede. I kept away from them so as not to interrupt their talk, but after they had left I saw on the face of Giovannino such satisfaction, I read such great joy in his eyes, that I envied him—I who no longer have the fortune of ever being able to see my mother again.

The nights were now dark, even when it did not rain, for there was no moon, and we should have to wait awhile before we were due to receive any pigeons. Every morning I took a long walk in the wood to see if any basket had fallen during the night; I examined carefully the branches of the trees to see if a parachute had perhaps been caught in the foliage, but found nothing. Through the refugee and the other peasants who had placed their services at my disposal, I told everyone whom I could trust, that in case they found little baskets with pigeons on their fields they were to 276 gather them for they were meant for me. I designated certain vicarages as places to which they should be delivered, for the priests offered to pass them on to me as soon as they received them.

My soldier’s sister, to give me an idea of how certain the Austrians were of the success of the first blows of the offensive, told me the following anecdote. A Hungarian officer was bargaining with her for the purchase of a linen sheet which the officers were accustomed to use for making white uniforms for wear in the summertime. The amount asked for the sheet seemed too high and the officer walked away saying, “It really would be a pity to pay so high a price for my uniform when the offensive is scheduled to commence shortly. On the first day we will be in Treviso, on the second in Venice, and there I shall find enough white linen to clothe my entire company in white.” I hoped that soon this ugly creature, who was relishing in advance the 277 joys of pillage and plunder, would find in the whirlpools of the Piave a uniform to suit him!

Another frequent visitor was Rosa, a young woman whose husband was on the other side and who now made a livelihood serving as cook for some Hungarian officers. She listened to all their conversations and every now and then tried to fathom some secret which she referred at once to us. The table at which she served belonged to a group of field artillery officers and she told me that they had a long discussion in which some of them held that a supply of 5000 shots for every gun would be enough in the first battle, whereas others held that, given the enormous waste of munition in modern methods of warfare, this number would not guarantee a sufficient reserve. On the whole, from the reports received I inferred that the Austrians were short of ammunition and had placed their hope in a quick success of the 278 offensive, for otherwise they would find themselves in a very bad position because there were very few projectiles in the internal depots in Austria to replace those spent at the front. Rosa also told me of the abundant fare the enemy officers allot themselves, for they were not ashamed to give free rein to their gluttonous desires even though their soldiers were kept on truly pitiful rations. Poor Rosa also brought us whatever she could take away from the table and one day she came with a large package of cigarettes which she held out to us saying, “I hope you will not smoke them all in one day; I hope you will appreciate them because I had to pay for these cigarettes with kisses.”

I tried to show I appreciated them so as not to displease her, but in truth I preferred never to smoke again in my life rather than force such bargaining on her, but alas, she had often to resort to such methods if she wished to feed her youngsters 279 who otherwise would die of hunger. Sometimes Rosa, weeping, told us of the compromises she had had to make to appease the hunger of her youngsters.

“Necessity makes me do it,” she would say, “but you should see the disdain with which the gay Viennese women, who have followed the office............