Memories Of Our Days. Chiara Cesetti

stay there, I told the men to start the mowing and I don’t want to leave them -

      -I’ll make you something to eat then…-

      Her words just whispered and her careful gestures not to break the intimate atmosphere of those rare moments: she took a pan from the pan hanger on the wall, the eggs from the wicker basket on the shelf and she cooked a yellow omelette. She cut two large slices from the loaf of bread which was kept in the cupboard and filled it with the omelette, she wrapped them around a white serviette and she placed them in the mess tin. The smell spread out in the kitchen blending with the smell of heated milk and the day was starting off .

      -Good morning…- Maria went into the room, she was already dressed and her hair was done, she was ready for her working day. She was a tall and thin woman, her hair was dark and straight, up in a bun sitting at the back of her head. She was well over 40s and was hiding her femininity wearing home garments which were loose and comfortable. She was as quiet as her father used to be but was not as strong-willed as he was. Her gestures and elusive looks showed her shyness which precluded her from having her own family life. She had quite a few chances to get married. A young man from the village had showed his interest for her a few times but she did not want to hear about him and everything just faded away. Anyhow it was hard to know what was really in her mind. when Giovanni was thinking about her, he was convinced that she had been secretly in love with someone who could not marry her and this secret and unacknowledged love had always stayed with her, without never fading away. She had led her youth giving up her fight for her happiness, she was convinced that she had made the right choice, she was happy to lead her sheltered life within the family.

      Giovanni was leaning against the closed widow and was looking in the distance, beyond the borders of the woods where the sun was going to rise soon. The sky was bright and greenish, with long and thin clouds which were slightly darker.

      -The weather looks good today- he said without expecting any reply from anyone.

      -Are you going to the field beyond the woods?- Maria asked.

      -Yes, I am starting the hay making-

      -It’s time now, it’s nearly the end of May…-

      -We are actually late…it has rained quite a bit this season..

      -Nobody has started yet-

      -How can people start with this kind of weather- Giovanni said walking to the door .

      Giulia followed him through the corridor holding the mess tin with his lunch. Before parting, sheltered from the others, they exchanged a mutual look of understanding. She went upstairs and heard Giovanni in the garage fastened the buggy to the horse. A few minutes after, she heard the horse trotting and the creaking of the gravel under the wheels.

      It was nearly noon when a familiar person appeared at the bottom of the long path. He was almost running, waving his arms about to get the attention and shouting very loudly- Giovanni, Giovanni….Giulia…-

      It was Rodolfo, uncle Rudi, Giulia’s brother. Beloved uncle Rudi. His nieces and nephews doted on him and it was a great joy to see him. He was a real chatterbox, and his boisterous games were great fun for them. Antonino in particular was happy when he was around because when the two of them were alone in the buggy and far from the watchful look of the women, he would gently whip the horse to get it to trot slightly faster. The buggy would jolt on the road and the child would be happy with that forbidden escape. They would stop under the big mulberry tree at the edge of the ploughed field. Standing there he would cry ‘Giddy up, giddy up”, Rudi lashed the branches of the tree with his whip. Small dark fruit showed down from the tree over their heads, unfailingly staining their clothing. Antonino knew that his uncle would make sure he was not scolded and enjoyed the freedom of it all to the full.

      That was not his usual behaviour: he shouted from a distance, he waved his hat and looked out of breath. Giulia rushed outside with her heart in her throat. He was her only brother, a few years younger than her, he was so outgoing that everything would be forgiven to him, even when he needed help on account of his superficial behaviour. He started off university in Rome, he was doing Law. He did not actually study really, but he enjoyed light-heartedly the two years that his family had granted him. Considering that he did not sit any exam, he came back and now was working in one of the Town Hall offices settling for a low income that was never enough for his needs. After his parents’ death, he lived in the paternal house in the centre of the small town; however he would always turn to Giulia for help. She could never rebuke him enough, aware and often secretly amused by those odd purchases, frivolous at times, but he could not help himself.

      -Life is just one, dear Giovanni- he would cheerfully say to his brother-in-law- You wouldn’t think you are immortal, would you?-

      Nobody could disagree with him and every time they saw him coming, they all felt amusingly curious.

      He got to the house door out of breath, waving a newspaper.

      - …Giovanni…Is Giovanni here…?- he cried.

      -Thank God, he is not her for him- Giulia thought.

      -What’s happening, can you tell me what’s happening?-she could eventually ask, breathless after all the distress she felt.

      Rudi sat on one of the chairs in the porch and placed the newspaper in front of her eyes with a radiant smile that made his face glow.

      -We are at war! We are at war starting from tonight!

      Giulia took a glimpse of the title quickly: ‘Italy declared war against Austria-Hungary. People, the die is cast: we must win!’

      -Rudi, what does it mean?-

      -It means that Italy has finally declared war against Austria and we are going to get our lands back -

      -Does it mean that you must go to war?- Giulia asked turning pale. She had to lean against her brother’s shoulder because all of a sudden everything around her lost its colour and her legs could not support her any longer.

      -Europe has been fighting for months, it was about time that we did our bit. This war will be short, you’ll see, short and victorious.

      -Uncle Rudi!- Antonino’s joyful voice made them turn to the door while the child was running towards him. Rudi stood up, took him in his arms and started to jump around, singing.

      -We’ll win, we’ll win, we are at war and we’ll win…- a cloud of white dust at the bottom of the road showed that Giovanni was coming home too in a hurry in his horse-drawn buggy.

      1 Chapter III

      1917

      The war that according to Rudi would have been brief had been going on for the last two years , it wasn’t brief, neither easy, nor victorious. It was not anymore the exciting adventure that many people had faced with enthusiasm at first, but it was a different campaign every time, painful and hard, which was fought with unknown and deadly weapons against which you did not need to sharpen your sabres. Many young men volunteered to go to war, many others had been called back to duty and women were taking care of the work in the land, even the most strenuous ones. During the summer well before dawn you could see groups of women from the nearest village, with their heads covered up with white scarves to protect their faces from the unforgiving sun rays and they worked all day in the sun, scything the wheat and arrange the bundles in long rows.

      The lunch break was a relief. When the heat in the Maremma would become unbearable, they stopped working and the break, even if it was short, was a relief. They would sit on the ground or on the sheaves, and they would eat their food which was distributed. Many of them would hide the bread in the big pockets of their aprons because in the evenings, at home, their younger children were hungry, if the other ones were slightly older and working already. Once the season ended, the fields were left so you could see groups of women and children were picking the fallen spikes of wheat off the ground with their sacks tied across their shoulders.

      The more spikes, the more wheat, the more flour, the more bread.

      Bread.

      Bread