Бесплатный фрагмент - The Icy Road

1. SARAH

The summer of ' 38 was hot in Liguria. Every living thing, starting in the early morning, sought safety in the sea, splashing in its azure foam, and the entire narrow strip of beaches winding along the foot of the high mountains was dotted with vacationers until very late in the evening. Most of the time, the best seats were occupied by rich Jewish families sitting on deck chairs under umbrellas, and as if to warn them, while they were carelessly roasting their fat thighs in the sun, veterans with medals hanging around the beach, often crippled with lost limbs, miraculously survived the First World War. If not for the Duce’s patronage, all of them might have been doomed to a miserable existence, but now Italian society idolized them and held them up as an example to the younger generation. And this generation of absolutely new, ambitious people has already declared itself. The main backbone of it was made up of young, well-toned officers, who often kept large companies. They usually wore light-colored breeches and, despite the heat, wore shirts and ties. Having recently tasted the blood of Mai-Chow and longing for an early Italian revival or «risorgimento» (their irrepressible ambitions extended to the entire Mediterranean), these guys were defiant, especially in relation to the local population.

Sarah rarely went out to the beach, preferring to stay at the villa and spend hours sketching for her husband, who often kept her busy during his long business trips so that she wouldn’t get bored. She was not a professional artist, but she had a clear talent, and inspired by the Pompeian frescoes, she could no doubt be considered a new follower of Antonio Canova.

In addition, she was burdened by the company of all this madcap male idleness and a kind of intoxicating and stupid euphoria from the upcoming easy victories. And how irritated she was with all the vulgar drunken sighs thrown at her and her friends, the non-binding courtship, usually expressed by air kisses, animal laughter, or at best a clownish kiss of the hand and the presentation of a bouquet with an intimate note. From then on, she literally hated the cafes and all the summer terraces in the village, and those obnoxious suckers in uniform who could do nothing but whip sambuca and brag about enslaving and killing others…

But sometimes, in the wee hours of agonizing solitude, leaving her husband snoring on the well-beaten feather beds, Sarah would still brush her gorgeous black hair, and cover it with a straw hat so that the shadow of the wide floors hid her sad eyes and the flush of her flushed cheeks, and fly out of the stuffy and hateful villa. Like a bird out of a cage, she flew along the rocky path towards the rays of the southern sun, drawn by something inexplicable and at the same time alarmingly alluring, and her wonderful seductive feet, dressed in heels, barely touching the ground, so sweetly and deliciously merged with the ringing of the crystal mountain echo. And if she met a flock on the way, the devout shepherds involuntarily exclaimed «Santa Maria!» and the goats hung with thorns parted of their own accord and bleated, as if asking her in surprise, «But where are you going? Where are you going, Sarah, this time?»

And Sarah was even surprised at the hopeless animal stupidity, because the answer, it would seem, was obvious to everyone. At this hour of the morning, all her trembling soul could only go to the most romantic and most beautiful place in the world — the lovers ' path that connects Manarola with Riomaggiore. Only there could this estranged woman forget herself for a while and wander for a couple of hours along the flower-decorated and still deserted boulevard, where the sweet and poisonous aroma of oleander mixes with the sea breeze. All this contrast made her dizzy, and she often stopped at the railing of the embankment with her eyes closed and listened to the sea rustling nearby, playing with the pebbles on the shore. At times like this, Sarah felt like a messenger of peace descending from Monte Pego with a palm branch waving like a fan in front of her panting chest. Sometimes she was accompanied by Cappuccino, her long-eared Cocker Spaniel, a gift from her husband Giuseppe on their fifth wedding anniversary, but today she preferred to be unaccompanied by the world champion duck-pulling dog. It wasn’t just that the dog was too fussy, barking happily at every passer-by, but that in celebrating American fashion, when the corset was just getting rid of overseas, and the skirt’s hem was flying up to an incongruous height, Sarah wanted to focus on the inner feelings of her love-seeking heart. and nothing in these sacred moments should have reminded her of her husband.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the arms of another man embracing her from behind, hot and passionate, a man she didn’t really know yet, but this man already existed in her imagination and had always loved her, and it was as if she had also loved him and waited for him all her life. And every time she ran to Lovers ' Alley early in the morning, she knew intuitively that she was about to meet him and never leave him again. Oh, how she loved him, oh, how she loved him. Just at the thought of him, a pleasant wave passed over her body, which was exhausted with the anticipation of caresses, often to the point of trembling, and the woman, imagining and feeling her beloved, bit her lips so as not to moan or faint. She even made up a name for it, Agapeto… and every time an imaginary Agapeto came up behind her in the avenue of lovers, when she was standing with her eyes closed, the name came out of her bitten lips like a song to the sound of waves and howling wind.

— O Agapeto, se solo sapeste da quanto tempo vi stavo aspettando! (Oh, Agapeto, if you only knew how long I’ve been waiting for you…)

Today it was already hot in the morning, and people with towels slung over their shoulders slowly made their way to the terraces and the beach. To avoid the familiar stares, Sarah walked over to the newsstand, which had just opened its shutters for her with an eerie, awakening creak.

«Dammene uno, per favore … (give me one, please),» she tossed the change on the counter and pointed hastily to a fresh stack of Il Popolo d’Italia (The People of Italy), hoping that people around her would think that the purpose of her early walk was to get the latest news.

The salesman, a young man she’d seen around the market somewhere before, looked at her suspiciously and grinned. He was oddly dressed for a newspaperman, and for the first time the woman noticed that he was an ordinary butcher. At the very least, he pulled the bloodstained apron slightly away from his stomach with both hands and yawned at the top of his mouth, showing his complete disregard for everything around him.

— Where is Senor Moisha?“ — What’s the matter? „she asked, trying to figure it out.

— I don’t know exactly, senora. I was urgently summoned to the mayor’s office and asked to replace him. As you can see, I’ve only just cut the throat of old Andiano’s kid, and I don’t know who’s cutting up the carcass right now. But look at the heat!

The people around the kiosk began to gather and clamor. Everyone was talking furiously about where the newspaperman had gone. There were simply implausible versions offered, from being arrested for covert homosexuality (allegedly Moisha was recruited by British intelligence in this way) to the abduction of the unfortunate Martian communists.

— Yes, what nonsense are you talking! Conchitta, who had just arrived, said indignantly. «What Martians are communists?»

The peasants who had gathered in the queue started up and turned their heads in her direction, as it happened that everyone listened to the opinion of this respected laundress. Perhaps all of Riomaggiore’s dirty laundry had passed through her hands, roughened and red from chronic arthritis, and who, if not her, knew the real truth about everyone and everything.

— The newspaperman just went crazy, just as the first mail express arrived in the village. Then he rushed to the port without even stopping to say goodbye to his sick wife! she went on, telling all this to the crowd of onlookers as calmly as if it were a familiar occurrence. «Giulio, the boatman, spent the whole night driving a drunken Mario, and was very surprised when they poured all their week’s earnings into his hands. «Go to Argentina, Giulio. Keep the change! «a wet Moisha told him. The madman swam to the boat and bit into the oar as if he would have chewed it out. Of course, Giulio couldn’t say no, and the mad fear in the newspaperman’s eyes was also transmitted to him, and even the drunk Mario, and we all know the brawler Mario, right? the crowd nodded approvingly. «I didn’t dare object to the change of course, and the three of them were off before the sun had even woken up over the bay.

Many listeners reacted with disbelief to the washerwoman’s story, and even some tried to shame her with booming laughter.

«Then who told you the whole story, Conchitta, if they took a one-way ticket to Argentina?» someone laughed.

«You idiot! the laundress was angry. — You don’t know patriot Mario!» As soon as the lights of the lanterns on the path of lovers began to disappear in the fog, the longing for his father’s land became so unbearable that he fell into the sea, and, as rescuers believe, floundered in it for some time until a shark bit off his leg.

«Santa Maria! everyone gasped.

«Poor Mario,» there were gasps and shouts.

«And knowing that his end was near,» Conchitta continued, «he managed to shout’ Il Duce ha sempre ragione ' (The chief is always right!)

«What a beautiful death!

«That bastard owes me a thousand lire!» — someone came to his senses.

Then there was silence, and everyone at the newsstand bowed their heads respectfully, and you could hear the Ligurian Sea roaring, and as if through it you could hear the last cry of the patriot Mario, barely audible and drowning in the waves.

«What are you talking about, Conchitta? — What is it? „one Italian woman suddenly asked indignantly. — If there was anything a drunken Mario shouted, it was ' Gloria, gloria alla grazia di Dio!“» The grace of God!)

— And I tell you, «Il Duce ha sempre ragione’ (The chief is always right!) the laundress pointed at her, almost swinging her laundry basket at the wrangler. «The shepherds who spent the night on the northern slope will probably confirm my words.

«But look, Conchitta — » said another doubter, „but if Mario drowned, how do you know all this?“ Did stray shark tell you all this?»

They all laughed again.

«You idiot! I shouted over Conchitt’s laughter. «Does Mario drink alone?» Have you ever seen Mario without a twirl? Martha, the flower girl, was sleeping in a boat with her skirt pulled up over her face. She slept so soundly that the Carabinieri couldn’t wake her up for an hour, and I’m afraid that now, in addition to having twins, she will have triplets, and the children will never know their own father. O Holy Virgin Mary!

— So where did the Carabinieri come from at sea?» the butcher himself broke down.

Everyone snatched the newspapers out of his hands like delicious cakes.

«You’re a fool, too, Luca,» the washerwoman said, shaking her head in annoyance. «You’re so big, and you don’t know that all the drifting boats are washed up on the beach at Manarola.» So a passing Carabinieri patrol mistook the sleeping Marta for a smuggler.

— Then where did Moisha and Giulio go?» — everyone asked her in unison, to which the narrator, who clearly expected this question, even more surprised the people with the answer. — We know where to go… They were picked up by an American submarine following penguins to Antarctica.

Sarah stepped aside to avoid all the chatter and unfolded the newspaper.

The news was disappointing. On the first page, which bore a bloody butcher’s finger print, the radiant duce himself was depicted surrounded by veterans. He was standing in plain clothes, in a haughty attitude, with his lips clenched, displeased and terrible, with his hands on his hips. Below was a manifesto about the «superior Italian race», signed by prominent teachers, well-known scientists, as well as representatives of the Catholic Church. Sarah skimmed over the fascist article calling for restrictions on Jewish rights, and then, horrified, hurried away. The romantic mood was ruined, and it was not even raised by the drunken, heart-rending yell of two men walking along the beach in each other’s arms, in which everyone recognized the boatman Giulio and the famous drunk Mario, unharmed and on two legs.

— Giovinezza, giovinezza, primavera di bellezza! (Youth, youth, spring of beauty and happiness!) they chanted the hymn of the brave with tears in their eyes, often stumbling and picking each other up. — Della vita nell’asprezza, il tuo canto squilla e va!! (In the midst of a life full of trials, your sonorous song flies!)

2. TALKING TO YOUR HUSBAND

Villa Giuseppe, or Casa di Ingegnere (engineer’s house), as the locals called it, was located on a rocky, sun-drenched hill near Riomaggiore. It stood out against the backdrop of picturesque terraces and colorful villages of Liguria with a special aloofness and even dullness, and more like an empty medieval castle. There was only one winding stone road leading up to the villa, and in the morning you could watch the ancient Isotta Fraschini, carrying fresh fish and correspondence for Giuseppe, rattling up the hill at every bend. True, there were other little-known cliff paths leading to shallow, inaccessible beaches, but Sarah did not use them for fear of being attacked by bandits — descendants of the Saracens who still hide from the Carabinieri.

Sara heard the horn of Antonio, Giuseppe’s driver, from a long distance away, and stopped, waiting for the car to approach. He was a young, companionable guy her husband had picked up in the docks a couple of years ago.

«Jump, senora!» — Get out of here! «they shouted to her as they continued up the hill, and the woman leaped through the door that was ajar for her with surprising ease.

There was a powerful roar of the engine, and the car entered the finish line in a puff of smoke. Almost immediately, a reverent headwind began to blow, and Sarah noted the comfort of driving a car. Several of the peasants in the olive grove respectfully took off their hats at the sight of the hostess, and watched the car with a long, somewhat attentive look.

«It’s going to be hot today, senora,» Antonio smiled, kissing his cross, for he was afraid of stalling and falling into the abyss every time he climbed. — I’d say it’ll probably be hotter than Aunt Costanzo’s oven.»

Sarah smiled. There was not a single person in the world who did not taste the pastries of this famous aunt, whose name has long become a household name not only in Riomaggiore, but also abroad.

«Yes,» she agreed, peeling the lace of her dress from her lap. «I’m glad you showed up, Antonio, because I’m soaking wet.»

The journey under the scorching sun really tired her out. She even took off her shoes for comfort.

— Ah You didn’t go to the Boulevard des Lovers again, senora, «the driver remarked, nodding at the newspaper in his hostess’s hand. «Oh, you’ll get it from your husband.

There was a hint of sympathy in his voice. Everyone knew Giuseppe’s despotic nature, which did not require much explanation. That’s why Sarah sighed and decided not to say anything. In addition, the driver began to desperately press the horn, slowly approaching the villa, as the gate was clearly in no hurry to open.

«You’ve hired a staff, senora,» he said, implying that Giuseppe was changing hands too often. «Well, where are the peasants fit for this job? They should have raised goats and begged in the porch of St. John the Baptist. O Holy Virgin Mary! Speak of Legok!

Finally, a soft chocolate-colored Cocker spaniel popped out of the crack and immediately ran to the door where its owner was sitting, barking happily.

«Hush, hush, Cappuccino!» Sarah laughed. «You’ll scratch the car.» Your daddy won’t forgive you for that!

But the dog didn’t listen, barked, ran around in circles, and almost hit Antonio, who got out of the car and went to the new «butler», as he ironically called the former shepherd Abele, a bad guy, lazy and parasite. They began to sort things out with each other in raised tones and swear loudly, actively gesturing.

«If you don’t open the gate again, you fool, I’ll pluck your beard out!» Antonio threatened. «You see how hot it is! Every minute counts! What will the owner say when he eats rotten fish?

«If he says anything, „the“ butler „replied, matching Antonio’s enthusiasm,“ he’ll say it to me, not to you, you son of a bitch.» You talk to your dockside whores like that. Or did your Marta give you another ride with Mario…?

Sarah and the dog walked past the cursing servants, barely able to contain their laughter. Such a funny scene distracted her from her anxious thoughts a little. Besides, she knew full well that it wouldn’t come to a fight. They will shout, let off steam and go in the evening in an embrace in one cafe to fill melancholy with cheap wine.

«You look very well, senora.» A clear, boisterous voice rang out from the steps of the villa.

«Tie up the dog!» — Stop it! «she ordered a twelve-year-old boy running toward her. «And tell Giuseppe I’m going to splash in the pool.»

She didn’t want to meet her husband or anyone else today, preferring to spend the rest of the evening in the melancholy of a bored wife. Putting the newspaper and shoes on the table, the woman quickly threw off her sweaty dress and entered the cool pool with undisguised pleasure. Her naked profile, shimmering in the sun, with her hair thrown back and loose, delighted the chef Bettino, who watched her through the narrow window of his kitchen.

— Une polpetta con formaggio e uovo…! (Meatball with cheese and egg) he raised three fingers enthusiastically to his greasy lips and kissed them with a smack.

Meanwhile, his seductive mistress swam calmly, not at all shy of anyone, turned over on her back, and for a while her beautiful breasts rose above the turquoise, like two islands of hope for those who are shipwrecked.

«Ay-ay, what’s going on, what’s going on! Bettino was saying, and then he slapped the hat on his head. Teresa, his wife, weighing at least two hundredweight, also works in the kitchen.

«You idiot! Teresa cursed. «When will Senor Giuseppe put out your eyes?» Look, the onions are burnt!

And while the sizzling pans were cooling in the water barrel, and Teresa, barking like a chain dog, was reaching for a new basket of onions, Bettino was tempted to lock his grumpy wife in the cellar, and only the owner’s directive that it was urgent to prepare a dinner for several people and a chef’s duty to his own name, and Bettino was considered the best connoisseur the whole of Liguria, they did not allow the crime to take place. They’d just brought him some rotten tuna, and he was trying to think of something to spice it up with to hide the unpleasant smell.

At that moment, the ubiquitous Giuseppo came into the kitchen and began giving orders, tapping impatiently on the parquet floor with the head of his cane.

«Teresa, get the best wine and walnut jam!» And don’t forget the cheese Antonio brought back last week, it’s wrapped in paper.

He was a small, middle-aged seigneur with a neat beard, who always appeared in public in a business double-breasted suit that strongly resembled a military jacket, and in patent leather shoes that were polished to a perfect shine. He was probably known to every shoeshine boy in Italy. His smug, smallpox-ridden face was always overly important, and when people asked him something, he didn’t answer right away and frowned in a way that put everyone else in a stupor, or at least in confusion. Giuseppe was a gas equipment engineer by profession — a very promising and innovative direction, so he was quite rich not only for these parts, but also for Rome, and many businessmen who were burned out in the crisis of that time even lent insignificant sums. True, he did not give them to everyone, but only to the politically promising. He recently returned from a business trip from East Africa, where he spent a long six months working on a secret government contract, and apparently did a great job.

Today, the successful engineer was visited by important guests, among whom was his own person from Of course, the owner of the most luxurious villa in all of Liguria did not want to lose face. Everyone understood and felt the importance of the event. Even the servants flitted around Giuseppe like annoying flies, checking out his orders, which rained down on them like manna from heaven, while he scowled, tapped his knob, and angrily repeated that he would have everyone ready for motherfuckin ' sundown.

All this time, Sara lay in the shade of a tall yew tree, lying on a hammock made of silk threads, and seemed to be asleep. A light breeze that had crept in from the mountains gently blew over her drying body, as if cradling her like a baby. Neither the clinking of dishes, nor the cursing of Fat Teresa, nor the constant grumbling at the servants of the owner of the villa did not touch the strings of her heart. But all this was the apparent serenity of a cat, ready to instantly release its claws at a suspicious rustle. In her reverie, Sarah suddenly smiled. She thought of her mysterious Agapeta again. This time, instead of hugging her from behind, he cupped her face in his hands and looked straight into her eyes, and that penetrating gaze made her feel weak in the legs and dizzy…

Finally, she heard her husband’s approaching footsteps and sat up, her eyes blazing with anger. Giuseppo did not go near her, for fear of getting caught in the heat of the moment, but, throwing back the slits of his jacket, sat down at a table at a distance, where his wife’s morning newspaper and shoes were lying.

«Honey,» he said, not looking at Sarah, but looking at his manicure, «if only for the sake of decency, get dressed and go out to the guests in your best outfit. I need a celebration, glitter, chic! I think that dress you wore for Easter will be the best option… and put on my necklace… No, I’d rather wear a tiara. Oh, shit! Both are better.

She looked at him blankly and covered a yawn with her hand.

— I know, «he continued, still looking at his manicure,» our relationship isn’t going through the best of times right now, but I’m begging you, Sarah… I’m begging you!» Do you want me to kneel in front of you? Come on, for once, put yourself in my position! Our German friends, real heroes, future gods of Greater Italy are coming to visit us! They are accompanied by the Duce’s own right-hand man, Senor Giorgino. It’s no secret to you, my dear, that it was he who saved my firm from bankruptcy, and it’s thanks to him that I have a job, and you have everything you want…

It was obvious that the man was trying to control himself. His words came out through tightly compressed lips in broken, hard sentences. Often during scenes with his wife, he went to extremes and even hit her one last time in the heat of uncontrolled passion in front of the servants. Sarah knew that it wasn’t in his best interest to show the family discord to his guests right now, and so she was being overly defiant, taking advantage of past failures.

Now, wrapped in a wide towel, she snorted contemptuously and went to the table where her husband was sitting.

«Senor Giorgino?» Isn’t that the stinking old pimp who supplies our radiant duce from the provinces with young girls? What has he left behind in these parts? Isn’t it a secret that Riomaggiore, thanks to the invasion of senor officers two years ago, didn’t have a single decent virgin left, not counting, of course, our Aunt Costanzo?

«Sarah, stop it! Giuseppo even paled and then blushed, gripping his cane with all his might. — You are not being fair to Senor Giorgino. And if this goes on, then don’t be offended by me — " he broke off and gave a fake cough, realizing that he was going too far.

«Are you saying, dear, that if this goes on, I’ll have to be sequestered in your family vault, just like your previous wife?» Sarah teased, grinning at her husband.

The engineer clutched his head.

«Poor, poor Ulrico,» he groaned. «Please, how many times have I asked you not to take her angelic name in vain?

— Don’t pretend to feel so unbearably hurt at the mention of her, Giuseppe! You don’t have to lie to me, I can see right through you. That Milanese whore, if she hadn’t capsized in a boat with two Abyssinian sailors in it, would have ruined you completely, «Sarah continued to sting.

«Sarah, please!» Giuseppe pleaded. — You’re as cruel as ever…»

— Am I being cruel?“ This world is cruel, honey! Here’s a look at what everything is moving towards! — and Sarah glared at the „Il Popolo d’Italia“ on the table. „A real disgrace to Italy! They have now officially declared themselves a high caste.

«Shame on Italy? Mind you, I didn’t say that! he managed a restrained smile and picked up the newspaper with some kind of favor.

Then the engineer turned her around, and as he did so, he allowed himself to cross one leg over the other, swaying it slightly. Sarah looked down at the highly polished toe of her shoe with distaste.

«You’ll soon be as ashamed of me, Giuseppe, as you were of your syphilis last year after a six — month trip to Africa,» she added. «Read it, read it!»

«Be quiet, Sarah, please! All around the ears! — my husband looked up from reading and added in a whisper. — Besides, it wasn’t syphilis, it was just an allergy to turtle meat, and Dr. Cohenman gave me a certificate…»

«I’m afraid Dr. Cohenman’s background checks won’t help him any time soon.

«Honey, come on! You’re exaggerating a lot. All these racial laws of our beloved Duce are a profanity. They will never touch the Jews as long as Tsarfati is in charge. Yes, of course, the article itself was written by a competent journalist and, of course, I do not deny that it smacks of anti-Semitism, but this is all done more for political reasons. We’re just going to be friends with the Fuhrer, and we should…»

But Sara didn’t listen to the rest of Giuseppo’s feeble arguments. She left him by the pool, and then, with the graceful pride of a cat, she went barefoot up the outer staircase to her room on the second floor. Nothing, nothing! She’s still going to show all these crazy warriors who are fixated on the superiority of their racial exclusivity. The woman’s broad hips swayed with each step in a kind of hypnotic dance, and Bettino the cook, peering through the window, looked as if his eyes would burst with the effort, but not a single fly had entered his mouth, and the smell of burning was back in the kitchen.

3. GUESTS IN THE VILLA

She could hear the horn of the guests ' car at the villa’s gate, the rush of footsteps that followed, the cheers, the harsh German speech that could only be understood as «Heil Hitler» and her husband’s «Sieg Heil!» and his commendable curtsies to the guests… for a while, she didn’t dare get up from her seat. the bed, although it was completely ready to go. She was wearing a gorgeous Madeleine Vione dress that accentuated her natural silhouette. The one with a sophisticated waist made of a pleasant to the touch, airy and translucent material in the color of the turquoise sea, and the most squeaky season of the 30th year — a slanting, pretentious cut of the hem, exposing quite frankly the left part of the hips so that you could be sure that the owner of this dress does not wear underwear. Sarah decided to dress her legs in rather high boots made of the finest matte leather from Testony. She liked them because they hid, as she unfairly thought, the flaw in her too-sharp knees, although perhaps none of the men she was introduced to could have suspected such a small thing, because the general charm of Sarah was literally intoxicating to everyone. Even the tiara, made in the form of a laurel wreath of white gold with glittering stones, which now crowned her hair in a ponytail, like a crown on the head of a great queen, did not make such a vivid impression as the V-shaped, very sharp, exposing even her navel, cleavage. Despite her husband’s persuasions, she did not put on the necklace, not because she wanted to annoy him, but because she wanted all the guests to look at her breasts, which were bursting with secret passions, and she easily succeeded.

Old Giorgino had a fit when the engineer’s wife finally deigned to come down to the reception hall, and the two German officers accompanying him, who had already been introduced to the woman as the twin brothers Fritz and Kurt, took him by the arms and hurriedly sat him down at the table. At the same time, it took a rather large portion of sambuca for him to manage a pathetic smile and make some inappropriate apologies. Giuseppe was horrified by this embarrassing incident, and at the same time pleased and proud. As a matter of form, he immediately ordered Dr. Cohenman to be sent for, and at the same time to bring back musicians from Manarola, since the senor officers would obviously not limit themselves to one gramophone.

«Yes, Antonio,» the owner of the villa whispered to the driver. — Be sure to stop at the port and pick up a couple of pretty Albanian girls. Tell them there’s a nice milonga coming up, drinks and food on me. Let them dilute our men’s company a little.

Antonio bowed and winked cheerfully at Sara as he left, and soon the ancient Isotta Fraschini was rolling downhill in a puff of smoke, its brakes squeaking as it turned.

At this time, while dinner was being prepared and the guests arrived a little earlier, the owner of the villa thought it necessary to entertain them with conversations about politics, but the officers made it clear that they did not speak Italian, and some of them even went laughing to the billiard room.

«I’ve heard a good harvest of mussels today,» Giorgino was just beginning to recover, wiping his wet lips on the sleeve of his cassock.

Although everyone knew that this man was only remotely related to the true church, he was referred to as «Padre.» He was a small, bald old man with a wrinkled face and a fox-like look. The two twin brothers looked after him around the edges like devoted church boys, though their bored faces showed that they didn’t mind joining their friends in the pool hall. They could already hear the balls clattering into the hole.

«Bettino’s a cretin!» The landlord suddenly shouted, taking the sly padre’s hint. — How long can I wait?»

The chef’s head poked out of the kitchen door, indicating in signs that only the owner could understand that the signature dish — tuna and spinach pasta-was ready and would be served. Giuseppe nodded back. A minute later, Teresa appeared with the trays full, and things got off to a good start.

«Senor officers, please, please, come to the table,» he called to the officers who were playing. — No, they don’t seem to understand a damn thing about me… he complained to the padre, shrugging his shoulders.

«My dear friend Giuseppe,» he purred lilacly as he accepted the treat from Sarah. — Our German friends are used to tougher teams.

And the false padre shouted something terrible in German, which made Sarah feel a little uneasy, and she even put a portion of spinach past the guest’s plate.

«It’s all right, my dear,» the lily — faced old man soothed her, devouring his food greedily. — The ancient Etruscans used to say that it was better to miss the mouth with a spoon than to hit the forehead with it. I have heard from your husband that you are interested in the history of ancient Italy, and this is very commendable. My best German friends Rudolf and Kurt» — and he nodded respectfully to them — «are very interested in the revival of Aryan sports in our neighborly countries and fully approve of our Duce’s postulate that «A healthy body is a healthy mind’. Rudolph and Kurt are natural athletes, moderate in alcohol, well-read, not seen in the company of bad women, know Italian and a little English…

There was a hint of professional pandering in the way he said it, as if «inadvertently», and if this had been a different meeting, and at a different time, Sarah would have left, but she intuitively sensed the danger from this man and had to put up with it and smile at him. Her husband, Giuseppe, supported her, and when she finally forgot herself and did not pay the Padre the proper attention of an amiable and obedient listener, he tapped her boot warningly with his cane under the table.

The smell of delicious food gradually spread through the room, and the senior officers, putting down their cues, happily reached for the table. They were not very well mannered, and some of them allowed Senor Sara to take unacceptable liberties with their bowels and belches. She looked at her husband blankly, but he just shrugged his shoulders, barely suppressing a silly laugh.

«You must not be angry with our friends, Senora Sara,» Giorgino soothed the lady of the villa. — As you can see, they are quite straightforward in matters of propriety and a little naive, like children. But behind this naivete lies the soul of a true warrior. After all, they spent most of their lives in severe military austerity, earning victory for their Fuhrer with blood and sweat.

At the mention of the Fuhrer, the guests seemed to go mad and, abruptly making a zigzag, fanatically shouted «Heil Hitler!» All this frightened Sarah even more, and she was about to plead a headache and leave the feast, but her husband, who had studied her well during all five years of marriage, did not allow her to do this, pinching my elbow painfully.

— What kind of sport do you do? Sarah asked Curt, who was sitting to the padre’s left, looking bored.

— The sport doesn’t have a name, «he said in a pronounced German accent.

Sarah could tell by the cool tempo of his voice that the man clearly didn’t like her, but she tried to ignore it.

«No name?» «What is it?» she asked. — How’s that?»

— I may have said something wrong, senora. The name may have been there, but it’s lost in the annals of history. Rudolph and I call this sports game «Ice Road"between us.

— What are the rules?»

— The rules are simple. You need to lower a large ice floe as quickly as possible along a special mountain route. The winner is the one who comes to the finish line first.

«What a fun game,» Sara smiled, «but I’m afraid you won’t find the right conditions in Italy, unless you’re in the Alps…»

«That’s where we practice, senora,» Kurt said, «and we really hope that this game will take over the entire progressive world and be introduced to the Winter Olympics.

Sarah was startled again as the German-speaking guests laughed out loud. She guessed that they were interested in the three paintings by Frederico Andreotti hanging on the wall.

This modern, unfortunately already deceased, master of the brush skillfully painted pretty women, conveying their flirtatious mood, and Giuseppe, being his passionate admirer, did not skimp and at the first opportunity bought up his works from collectors who went bankrupt during the economic crisis. He even planned to hold an exhibition in Rome on the occasion of the Duce’s birthday with wide publicity in the media.

— No, after all, Italian women are the most beautiful women! A tall officer said voluptuously in broken Italian.

He got up from the table with his back to the others and, with his arms thrown back, stared at a portrait of a jolly lady in traditional Italian clothes holding a jug of milk.

«I like our German girls better, I’m a patriot,» Kurt immediately retorted, opening his second bottle of champagne.

There was the pop of a cork being blown out, and a second later it hit one of the canvases, almost breaking through it, causing a new fit of laughter from the guests. Sarah didn’t know if Kurt had done it intentionally or accidentally, but several hands with glasses were already reaching for the shooter, and everyone was congratulating him approvingly on his well-aimed shot, and he didn’t even apologize to Giuseppe for damaging his property.

Sarah immediately disliked the boyish moustache, the glint in his eyes, and all the assumed bravado of the young god, and as she sat across from him, it was all she could do not to press her heel between the legs of this ignorant moustache under the table. His twin brother Rudolph was more tactful.

— It doesn’t matter what blood the person you love has. The important thing is that it’s yours and yours alone — " he said in good Italian, speaking to no one in particular. Sarah’s heart leapt.

Those were the only words the officer had spoken all evening, but they stuck with the lady of the villa, as if they were addressed to her and only her. During her brief conversations with the other guests, who fortunately or unfortunately did not speak much Italian, she stole furtive glances at Rudolph, and was struck by how different he was spiritually, despite his similar nature and perhaps even the same upbringing. What was worth this deep and meaningful look of blue eyes, as if specially selected for the color of her dress, and this strong-willed, slightly sloping chin, and, of course, an open intelligent forehead, characteristic of all talented commanders. How much he looked like her fabulous Agapeto! The moment these just and wise words were uttered, she tried to hide her excitement by clinking glasses with everyone and then draining her champagne glass to the dregs. Only then did she realize with horror that everyone was drinking to the Fuhrer’s health, and she was unwittingly complicit in this general madness.

The alcohol had given her a bit of swagger, and all the dirt around her had rubbed off and didn’t look so ugly anymore. She suddenly wanted to treat Rudolph to something particularly delicious and presented the guests with a saucer with a chocolate bar broken into slices.

«Help yourself, senor officers, and you, Senor Padre,» she said, smiling coquettishly. — All adult pranks in Paris start with good chocolate.

And what was her first small disappointment: when everyone reached out for a treat, Rudolph pretended to be absorbed in looking at the controversial picture.

«Oh, Paris! Kurt grinned, swallowing a slice with relish. «Those stupid frogs are pouring concrete over the marshes in a hurry and blindly hoping for the Maginot Line. I’ll bet you a whole crate of French chocolate that in a year, two at the most, with music and drumbeats, our gallant lads will march across the Champs-Elysees to Paris. The Arc de Triomphe, and fashion houses will line up endless lines of mademoiselles and madams for stockings.

One of the officers even expressed his disagreement with the braggart, but the wife of the owner of the villa was surprised not by this, but by the fact that the dispute itself was based not on the impossibility of such a phenomenon, but only on a slight difference in time, depending more on when the Fuhrer and the owner of the villa were going to The Soviets will sign a non-aggression pact.

«Chamberlain will outplay you all,» Sarah said, slapping her hands together to encourage the two men, and Giuseppe stiffened at her swagger.

«Sarah, please calm down,» he whispered in her ear. «The German lords are not to be trifled with.

But his constant tutelage, which controlled her every movement and even her thoughts, disgusted her so much that she waited for the right moment when everyone had gone to play in the billiard room, ostentatiously sat down next to Giorgino, who was left alone, and laughed loudly, joking about politics. It got to the point where the old pimp, drunk, began to nod at Sarah’s open cleavage and so got into the taste that he whispered sweet praises there.

«Italy needs women like you, perhaps more than the new colonies. And I will tell you, as the best friend of your family, „he mumbled, confused,“ that Villa Torlonia is deserted in Rome after Mussolini’s mistress fled, and you, my dear, must hurry before the radiant Duce returns his disgraced wife and offspring from the north…»

Sarah continued to laugh, despite her husband’s obvious protests that he was making secret signs for her to stop talking, and playfully slapped the drooling old man on the bald head, allowing him to hold his flabby and trembling hand on her knee.

— Did Margarita (Tsarfati) run away? Giuseppe asked, having overheard the tipsy pimp’s conversation.

«T-ss,» Giorgino whispered, putting his forefinger to his lips, «and she brought with her twelve hundred and seventy-two love letters from the Duce himself.»

— Why does she need so many letters?» Sarah exclaimed.

The old man looked at her with bleary and already poorly understanding eyes.

«T-ss. As long as she has the letters, it’s a guarantee of her safety.

At that moment, everyone heard the persistent honking of the horn at the gate and Antonio cursing at the former shepherd Abele, who again «overslept» his arrival. Everyone except the padre, who had finally fallen face-first into his plate, rushed to the window and saw the girls, full as sardines in a barrel, with bare shoulders and colorful shawls thrown over their necks, crawling out of the car that had entered the courtyard. I immediately heard the rustle of puffy salon skirts, and the air smelled of French charm.

— Prostitutes! the officers clapped their hands gleefully, giving each of these corrupt women untranslatable epithets.

In response, the uninhibited girls, smiling coquettishly, pulled up their stockings and sent hot air kisses. One of them, with a square hairstyle and oriental features, was sucking on a long cigarette holder, holding it elegantly in her white-gloved hand, and behaving at ease. Her tummy was barely visible, and Sarah saw her husband turn pale and hide behind the curtain.

«Who’s that?» Sarah asked him. «She doesn’t look like a hooker.»

«This is Albanka Zamira, the cabaret singer, who is coming to stay with us for the summer,» he said, trying not to think too much of it, but his wife’s intuition told her that he had slept with this woman.

Oddly enough, Sara liked Zamira. Besides, all the feelings she had ever felt for her husband had long since cooled, and she considered it beneath human dignity to make scandals on the basis of jealousy.

«Beautiful,» she whispered.

— You think so?» Giuseppe asked, looking around at the new guests. «Yes, she is young and beautiful. I invited her for Giorgino. And where is our friend? and the owner of the villa seemed to come to his senses and turned around to see the old man buried in his plate. «Oh, shit! Senor Kurt, please help me escort the padre to the living room. Senor Giorgino, we’re going to put you on the couch and have a doctor examine you… Sarah, please accept the musicians… I really hope the piano isn’t out of tune. Teresa, bring a pitcher of cool water!

While there was a fuss about the padre, who for some reason resisted going to rest, two slender young men got out of the car in black shirts, similar to those worn by fascists at torchlight processions, but with the collar open and wide red suspenders. Their curly, long-haired heads were decorated with artistic hats that made them look like Gypsies or Romanians. In addition, one of them was with a violin case, the other with a bandoneon.

«Musicians,» Sarah guessed. «Finally something worthwhile for today! Come to us! Get up!

The young guys didn’t seem to hear the villa owner’s enthusiastic call. They continued to look around, as if waiting for a special invitation, until Antonio pointed them in the right direction.

— Why are you standing like sheep in front of a new gate? he frowned. «They’re waiting for you.»

But they were in no hurry, and waited patiently for the more agile officers who had descended into the courtyard to pick up all the shrieking prostitutes, some of whom they had carried in their arms. Zamira walked by herself, proudly declining the proffered hand. She met Sarah’s eyes and understood.

— Welcome!» Welcome! — What’s the matter with you? «the dog-eating boy kept saying, flitting around in front of her. «Senor Giuseppe has instructed me to put you in the best seat.

When the yard was empty, the one with the bandoneon dragged out of the car an ugly, hunched old man in a badly worn tuxedo with patches on his elbows, who, after adjusting the white rose in his buttonhole, began to shake road dust, glitter and powder from his crushed trousers. On his lap, apparently due to the lack of space in the cabin, sat one of those bouncy, wagging butts. Sarah recognized him as Maestro Valencio — a talented pianist who gave concerts at private milongas and was an active campaigner for the abolition of automobile traffic in Riomangiora. He nodded gallantly at her.

The most recent of the new arrivals was a sedate, short man with a gray beard and a solid English bowler hat. It was Dr. Cohenman. He carried a large leather valise in his hands and did not let go of it even when one of Giuseppe’s servants offered to help him. Adjusting his foggy pince-nez, the doctor inquired of the servant after the guests ' health, and when he was told that the seigneurs had just ordered a third case of champagne, he went briskly up the steps to the hall. The bacchanal continued.

4. GIUSEPPE’S HOSPITALITY

What happened next in the villa of the engineer Giuseppe, who received his Nazi friends, was preserved in the memories of eyewitnesses by some vague outlines, except for rare flashes of enlightenment, well flavored with stories of the laundress Conchita. We will give only some plausible episodes of that evening, which will bring us closer to the denouement and, perhaps, will better explain the motives of our main characters. But first of all, it must be said that for the astute Sarah, this was a feast during the plague, and she was undoubtedly the rising star of this crazy, in many ways monstrous evening for its ruthlessness. Or rather, like a trapped animal in a cage, she ran from corner to corner under the gun of the hunters, barked and cursed by a pack of jackals, feeling with all her being how her heart was beating wildly in a sweet and painful languor that she had never known before, a heart that was now on the fine line between passion and fear. by death. Whether it was a feather blown from an angel’s wing or the ashes of a devil’s cigarette accidentally dropped by a flick of the index finger, any providence could tip these fateful scales in one direction or another. Perhaps death was even the best escape for Sarah, the salutary pacification of a woman awakened at the moment of nature, who longs to drown in the depths of the passions that take possession of her, and still by inertia grabs at the straw of morality, and if she lets it out of her hands, then only in the doomed fall into this alluring abyss. Yes, she suddenly realized that she longed for Rudolph, that without him, her whole life was meaningless, that this whole marriage with him was meaningless. Giuseppe had long since been vulgarized by his many infidelities, and she was afraid for the years that had been wasted before, in which her youth had been lost and her youth had died.

«Oh, Agapetto…» her lips whispered to the sound of a Cumparcito, and Rudolph, reading this passionate appeal on the lips of this beautiful woman, looked at her, no longer looking away, like a great seer, understanding every movement of her mind and flesh and knowing in advance how it might all end.

While her husband and Dr. Cohenman were preoccupied with the health of the overweight padre, the big, broad-shouldered Wehrmacht officer stepped forward and held out his strong hand, and she took it without hesitation. The two opposites connected, and an electric current passed between them, and Sarah didn’t even notice that her knees gave out, but Rudolph picked her up like a feather and pulled her to the center of the dance floor. The violin screeched, awakening even the most callous soul, and the fascist executioners turned into gallant gentlemen, and the prostitutes mired in the mire of debauchery — into sensual, noble senoritas. On the parquet floor, the native tango melody splashed and spread like warm mother’s milk.

Someone in the audience clapped loudly, encouraging the dancers, who had already split up and were standing opposite each other. The officers who were dancing assumed a macho look with a kind of brazen mockery, even Rudolph crossed his arms and cupped his chin, grinning with his eyes. The senoritas, having accepted the rules of the game imposed on them, moved defiantly to the beat, very skillfully moving their feet and bypassing the partners who evaluated their movements. It couldn’t go on like this for long, and a man’s hands roughly stopped them and threw them in front of him.

«Oh, Agapetto,» Sara managed to whisper, feeling Rudolph’s broad hand on her bare back, and, guided by him, she sped to the rhythm of the tango, barely restraining herself from overwhelming feelings.

Everything flashed before my eyes, quickly forgotten in the happiest moment from the long-awaited meeting. The bandoneonist, perched nonchalantly on the edge of the table, began to play as if for the last time, helping to beat the right beat with the heel of his right shoe, and the hunched old maestro, bent over the black-and-white keys, looked like a magician working his great spells. And like a flaring torch in the night, Zamira’s delicious voice and Carlos Gardel’s never-ending words rang through the hall.

«Si supieras que aún dentro de mi alma

Conservo aquel cariño que tuve para ti

Quien sabe si supieras

Que nunca te he olvidado»

(Oh, if you only knew that I still have in my heart the tenderness I felt for you… oh, if you only knew that I never forgot you.)

She twisted her hips expertly, twirled beautifully, and shifted her feet so that her heels barely touched the parquet floor. At the same time, the Madeleine Vione dress rose in a beautiful turquoise wave at every turn, showing the eagerly contemplating audience the slimness of this woman’s legs.

She was well aware of her partner’s support, flexing smoothly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, baring her sensuous neck for a kiss. He would lean forward to kiss her, but she would immediately pull away, tease him with her finger, and then suddenly she would throw herself into his arms, passionately wrapping her legs around his powerful torso like a hungry snake. And all the unpredictability, frightening, sharp as an assassin’s blade, did not lose all its tenderness. At certain moments, Sarah seemed to give up, and, doing a dizzying twist of her legs, submitted to the man’s caresses, but this time Rudolph roughly threw her away, as if he did not want to see her again, and she again insisted, falling on top of him, lifting one heel up, and so it was repeated indefinitely, until under the pressure of the other, she to the applause of the enthusiastic audience, they finally didn’t hug or touch lips. Then came the merry «Rio Rita», and I think that’s when the first shot rang out. Although few witnesses of those events claimed that the shot occurred a little earlier: at the very moment of the kiss. But anyway, the guests, busy with the noisy fun, did not really pay attention to all this, and only became alarmed when the second one rang out. They were shooting somewhere upstairs, in the living room where the padre had been taken to sleep a few minutes ago. The music stopped, except for the maestro’s inertia, pressing individual keys and putting his ear to the piano, precisely checking the mood. Everyone looked at each other in alarm. The women hid behind the officers. The situation began to clear up when first the bowler hat rolled down the stairs, and then the senor doctor himself. Then, almost at the same time, his valise flew, and at the lowest step caught up with its owner, hitting him painfully on the head.

— What’s the matter, Giuseppe?» Sarah screamed in alarm as her husband appeared at the top of the stairs, pale and still trying to wrest the gun from a dazed Kurt.

«Take this seigneur out into the courtyard. He needs to freshen up… " the owner of the villa panted in a difficult struggle, pushing the German into the wall and helping himself sharply with his knee.

— Es ist ein guter Grund, dir ins Gesicht zu schießen, (Oh, that’s a good reason to shoot you in the face!) the German, bent over in pain, hissed angrily. — How can you, a hereditary Aryan, defend this filthy Jew!

There were shouts in German from the hesitating officers, who tried to calm the fighting, but no one was in a hurry to rush to the door. Giuseppo to the rescue. Meanwhile, although the forces of the combatants were almost equal, the Italian engineer, who did not have the army’s stamina, was beginning to give up noticeably, and it is not known what might have happened if Kurt had managed to get hold of the weapon. Dr. Cohenman was still sitting on the floor, terrified, sighing and groaning, fiddling with his broken pince-nez as if it was the broken glass that had upset him.

«Senors, gentlemen officers, what are you…» he whispered, sighing and groaning, finding no sympathy from the latter. «Yes, sir, typical delirium tremens. A very neglected case.

At that moment, Rudolph caught Sara’s pleading gaze as she clasped her hands in front of her chest, and boldly rushed up to join the combatants. Neither his concern for his own brother’s fate nor his basic instinct for safety prompted him to take such a decisive action when he was on the stairs in two or three jumps. He was driven, and he admitted it later, by only one desire-to please this woman. He was willing to give up everything and everything for her, and that both surprised and alarmed him. When the third deafening shot caught him halfway up the stairs and forced him to duck instinctively, he thought only of Sarah, fearing a stray bullet aimed at the hall. It was then that Sarah screamed and fell to the floor, and Rudolph became for a moment the most miserable person in the world, experiencing indescribable bitter devastation and pain. And only when someone from the audience shouted“ Water! It’s a faint! „he breathed a sigh of relief and rushed into the midst of the battle and helped Giuseppe twist the weapon out of his brother’s hands.

When Sarah woke up in her room, Dr. Cohenman was holding her hand and trying to find her pulse. With his pince-nez cracked and his face crushed from a recent fall down the stairs, he looked comical. The windows were wide open, and from the courtyard I could hear the officers ' raised-pitched expletives and the grumbling of my husband, who didn’t know a damn thing about German and was trying to persuade them to get out of here as soon as possible. But the guests were stubborn. Then his patience apparently ran out, and he yelled, stamping his feet angrily.

— Tutti quanti. Forza, via di qua! (Everybody get out, get out!)

This hysterical, broken tone might have offended anyone for whom it was intended, and there was a high probability of unnecessary jostling, but the numerous servants who ran to the rescue morally supported their master and literally covered him with their bodies. Especially in this patriotic impulse, fat Teresa showed herself.

— La festa è finite! (The party’s over!) she explained on her fingers to the restless Germans that they were no longer welcome here.

«Mi ascolti,» Giuseppe kept saying, looking out from behind her broad back. — Ripeto per quelli che non lo capiscano … (Listen to me, I repeat for those who do not understand…).

— Komm her, stinkiger Jud! (Come here, you filthy Jew!) Kurt was still hissing angrily, apparently barely restrained by his comrades-in-arms. — All your hangers-on should be strung up on the first palm tree. No, it’s better, on a cypress tree, ugh, damn it, on a walnut, ah, what difference does it make… " he was confused in his thoughts, his tongue was slurred.

«Better on the macaroni tree,«someone said behind him.

«Seniors, officers, do not forget that you are visiting,» the engineer insisted on respect for Italy. «Antonio, get everyone out of here!» Otherwise, we’ll have to call the police, and I don’t want a diplomatic row. Senor Padre is staying with us tonight.

At that moment, Kurt made a deft movement with his shoulders and, breaking out of the embrace, threw his fists at the owner of the villa. The case could have taken a bad turn, but, fortunately, a dog lover boy got in the way of the drunk officer, who put his foot forward. The brawler tripped over it and fell to the laughter of his comrades, who again took him by the elbows and dragged him into the car.

«What a cheeky boy! Uh-uh.. Kurt wagged a finger at the young servant, looking around all the time.

«A cunning partisan is growing up, keep your eyes peeled, Kurt,» the Germans teased, laughing, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder. — Today’s tripwire, tomorrow’s bombing.

Finally, I heard the sound of running engines and cursing at the owner of the villa, mixed with silly giggles of prostitutes. The latter reminded of themselves in every possible way, shamelessly hanging on the arms of the officers and inappropriately lifting their skirts. The Germans obviously didn’t want to say goodbye on such a defeatist note, and to save them face, the hot girls were literally shoved into their cars.