The women who came with us, after having filled their sacks, returned and Rino, Bottecchia and myself were left alone to await a propitious moment. Our artillery molested us a little towards evening but the firing was light and intermittent and I wished that that was the greatest difficulty we had to overcome in reaching the other side. The moon rose as soon as dusk fell and we slept for several hours in a shell hole. We were awakened by the sound of picks in the trenches where the Austrians were working.
The moon was now low on the horizon and would soon disappear behind the hills; we should then be able to try our luck. What worried us most was the thought that beyond the main current of the Piave there 353 might be small enemy posts and it really would not be very pleasant to encounter an enemy post as soon as we left the stream. We took off all our clothing and left our clothes in a hole in the wheat-field. We kept on only our stockings to protect our feet somewhat from the rough stones and gravel on the river bed. Advancing cautiously we reached the brink of the river and slowly we pushed aside the leaves which closed noisily behind us after we had passed. The loose earth on the slope made a crunching sound beneath our weight although we wished to avoid making any suspicious sound. A dry twig crackled and we crouched and listened. We heard several voices coming from the path under the trees. We squatted on the ground, holding our breath, and we saw two soldiers pass.... Silence.... The noise of their iron shoes was lost in the distance. We continued our descent, we reached the first Cavallo di Frina and jumped over it, not 354 without hurting ourselves on the sharp stones which pierced our flesh so that we bled. We had to cross the most dangerous point, the one most exposed, because the vegetation was less dense. We threw ourselves on all fours and crawled along on the gravel until we reached the first entanglement. Instead of trying to pass over it, we looked for the attachments which anchored it to the ground and unfastening them we passed under. We did the same with the next. We heard no suspicious sound, there was absolute calm. An Italian searchlight which swerved at intervals annoyed us somewhat for fear its light might by chance fall on us. We silently crossed the short stretch which separated us from the first branch of the stream. When we reached the water we bathed our temples and drank a cool draught which gave us great relief. A deep joy possessed us for we believed we were free. We believed we could easily reach the other side. We 355 crossed many small courses where the water was very low and not rapid. At last we found ourselves in front of the main current and at once, from the noise of the current we realized this crossing would be far different from the others. We tried to enter the stream, but as soon as we had taken a few steps forward the impetuous water threatened to engulf us. We clasped ourselves tightly one to the other and tried to resist that we might advance, but the rushing current reached up to our necks and we should have had to struggle hard and long before reaching the other side. None of us was an expert swimmer, no one knew how to conquer the current, and after numerous attempts we returned to the bank, disappointed and disgusted that we could not cross. And now what should we do? I preferred to face a platoon of armed Austrians rather than struggle with this whirling water which I did not know, for unknown dangers have ever frightened me. 356 We dared not delay any longer and the only course left open to us was to return before dawn surprised us.
After numerous difficulties we succeeded in reaching the place where we had left our clothing; we dressed hurriedly and commenced our journey back. We felt very weary and hungry and all these sensations were rendered more acute by the disillusion and grief within us at not having got through. The distance to be traversed before we reached home again was great and after resting a short while in a house at Miane we walked by day on the main highway without worrying much about the gendarmes. We wished to reach Tarzo before night, to reach the hospitable house where we should find a bit of food. Hunger gave wings to our feet. On the way we passed several platoons of gendarmes and in accordance with their usual system they all let us pass and then called us back at once to show our papers. These papers must have 357 been truly marvelous because no one questioned them and we proceeded without difficulties. My poor feet were in a pitiful condition and the rough, heavy underwear rubbing against the bruises made by the wires and entanglements hurt terribly.
Toward evening we reach Tarzo and after sleeping quietly for a few hours we sat on a little wall in the courtyard of the dwelling which housed us. While we are talking peacefully a marshal of the gendarmes followed by an interpreter entered. The marshal came straight towards us as though warned of our presence and asked us for our papers. He was a tall, heavy man with drooping mustache. His lean, yellowish face with high cheek bones bore the expression of one who is accustomed to command; his was the fierce face of the Magyars. In his hand he held a heavy stick which he struck impatiently on the ground. He turned towards the interpreter and said in German, “What ugly faces; they have a 358 suspicious appearance, especially that young man,” he points to Bottecchia, “he looks too young and strong not to be a soldier.”
The interpreter slowly repeated the questions of the marshal. “Show your papers.” I took out my paper, granting me permission to stay in invaded territory, very slowly not to betray by any excited gesture the inward apprehension which tortured me. I did not fear for myself, I did not tremble for my fate, but I feared for Bottecchia because I saw his strength was failing him, because I saw him grow pale.
The marshal examined my paper carefully and said, “Thirty-five years old and works at Vittorio ... we shall see....” He then turned toward my soldier and began to question him in detail. His questions were sharp and penetrating like steady drops of water which dig into a stone. I, who am fortunate enough to know German and can prepare an answer before the question is translated and repeated in Italian 359 by the interpreter, followed with indescribable trepidation the questions which fell like thunder-bolts on the head of Bottecchia. He betrayed himself in a thousand ways, he flushed and then at once became pale again, his voice was unsteady, uncertain, to be suspected. I stared steadily at him, I tried to support him with my look, to impress in his eyes my firm determination to resist, my fixed desire not to cede; I felt stronger than my opponent, I felt that finally with the help of God I should conquer, with the strength of my nerves, the brutal bestiality of the Germans. Giovannino on the other hand was preparing his ruin.
“Well, my pretty young man, look into my eyes. Where were you born?”
“I was born at San Martino di Colle.”
The marshal was thoughtful, looked again at his papers and continued, “How is it you were born at San Martino di Colle when your papers say you were born at Vittorio?”
360 “That’s true,” answers Giovannino who for a moment seemed to have regained his wits at which I again had hope for him. “I was born at San Martino di Colle but I work at Vittorio and I had them draw up my papers in the place where I am stopping at present.”
“Where have you been?”
“We have been to see some friends here at Tarzo.”
“And how is it you are not working to-day?”
“Because I have been sick and for several days I have not been to work.”
The marshal mumbled in German, “Nice face for a sick man, with such high color. This young man must be one of those notorious ones.”
“What work do you do, if I am not indiscreet, and if you will permit me to question you?” He resumed his nervous whacking of the stick on the ground. “Come, now, answer. If you won’t answer when 361 we treat you kindly there are other treatments which will make you talk.”
“I am a carpenter.”
“And where are you employed at present?”
“I am working at the threshing-machine plant near Vittorio.”
“Show me your hands.”
Bottecchia showed his hands, but, alas, they were as clean and white as those of a girl. The poor boy never would listen to me, he would never understand that every detail must be in tune with the character he was impersonating, and since we look like peasants our hands must be stained and hardened like those of peasants. The first day I landed in enemy territory I began to chop wood and to stain my fingers with mud and fig skin.
“These are not the hands of a laborer. I understand. Come with us. Step inside the house for I want to see what you ha............