He opened his eyes
-I am thirsty-
-Wait- he answered. He snapped his fingers and said loudly
-Waitress- he said- A glass of champagne for the gentleman, please..-
A Red Cross nurse came near. Rudi started to regain awareness of the place where he had woken up. He saw the face of the girl getting closer to his and heard the words of a young woman
-How are you feeling? How can I help you?-
Before he could reply, the man beside him answered on his behalf
-The gentleman urgently needs to have a stiff drink. He asked for some best quality champagne. Quick before he gets up and walks off without paying the bill -
-Lucky you, you are always in a joking mood- the young woman answered smiling
-I am thirsty – repeated Rudi. The Red Cross nurse walked away to fetch a glass of water.
When he managed to take a good look around he saw he was in a long and narrow room, a big corridor where there were roughly arranged some beds, three or four stretchers and various mattresses on the floor. On each of them there was a wounded person. Some people were sleeping, some were moaning in an frightening half-sleep made of fear and grief, some were coughing real badly, some were awake and were looking around with their eyes open wide but they could not really see anything of what was around them.
-Welcome among the living-
The voice of the young man was not playful anymore. He went really close to Rudi who could now see him and was staring at him in silence, unwilling to believe that the nightmares he had earlier on were over.
-My name is Fosco Frizmajer- he said stretching his big and sturdy hand.
He was a tall and skinny young man, with a uniform in tatters which would look all over the place, and despite his thinness, it would dangle everywhere, it had always been too short. His bony hands were tapered with long fingers and rounded fingernails which were carefully cut. The wrists that were coming out of his shirt sleeves were bony but sturdy, as well as his shoulders which were leaning over a bit, were still strong looking though. His hair was long, blond and straight, it would fall all over his forehead which was too high and framed his face which was brightened by his lively and attentive eyes which life had not tamed yet, despite the roughness of the years of war. He was walking leaning against a crutch and the effort to get the support off one leg would make his shoulders even more bent over.
Rudi looked at him without greeting him back.
Frizmajer said laughing, while waving his hand quickly in front of his eyes
- Are you with us? Shall I come back later?-
Rudi smiled at last.
Fosco had been wounded to one knee during a battle against the Austro- Hungarians- A battle almost among relatives- he said, considering that his grandfather was born in Vienna and had moved to Milan when he was very young. He was a war correspondent for a newspaper based on a city and what would anger him was that he got a bullet even though he had never fired a bullet.
-Bloody Yugoslavians, they don’t even know how to shoot, otherwise they would have killed somebody who was more dangerous than me. This way, they got rid of a pen, not a bayonet!-
In the big room it was impossible to have a rest during the day and at night. New wounded people kept on coming from the battlefield. The young Red Cross nurses worked non-stop along with the two doctors who took turns to perform operations with makeshift means. Most of the soldiers who where taken into hospital were very young boys, mutilated by bombs or in the grip of terror that they could not controlled.
Someone would shout -Mommy- mommy- till he had some voice left. Then the shouting was replaced by a sigh, a death rattle. His cry for help was supposed to go far but instead it was collected by those young women who stroke their faces and would gently keep their hands in theirs, saying words that their mothers would have said. To reach the point that the death rattle would stop and the convulsive grip of their fingers would loosen up in the last hope to have been touched by the tender hand of their mum.
That was the other side to the barricade, here the war could be just suspended or could end for good.
A few days went by and Rudi started to feel better. The pain in his shoulder was not so bad and he started to get up and walk, even if he was quite weak still. Fosco was recovering, but his knee was not okay. If he tried to bend it, he would get shooting pains that would make him stop. The pain was so bad that he furrowed his forehead and squinted his eyes till they became slanted, hissing with rage
-Bloody Yugoslavians- lighting up a cigarette.
He smoked often, standing, leaning against his crutch. Holding the cigarette between his fingers, he would look laid-back again, pushing away the bitterness and the worry into a hidden corner of his look which was not completely invisible. He always had some cigarettes which he would offer to those who asked to take two drags.
Sitting on the same bed, Fosco and Rudi had the time to get to know each other. Rudi told him about himself, his town, his nieces and nephews showing how much you miss all that is important to you and that you take for granted. Fosco listened with the curiosity of a person who finds out about the peaceful life in the suburbs and was asking about Giulia and Giovanni, Ada and Maria as if he knew them. Then he told him about his life as a journalist, about his family who was so different, about his travels following his father who was an ambassador. Rudi listened to what his friend had to say with the curiosity of someone who opens a window onto a completely different view. The world around them was not there anymore at least for the time they were having their conversations. The war, the suffering, the terror that they could see in their friends’ eyes were pushed away by the stories they were telling which would bring them back in time, when all of this was not there. They spoke about women, how they had met them, about those ones they felt they had loved at least for a little while and about those they had made love to. Now more than ever the body of a woman, her smooth and warm skin would have fulfilled their senses. They would have recovered right after making love to her. Then, at the first moment of silence in between their thoughts and their words, reality stroke again and the smell of those bodies, the groans which were all around them would come back to life and were dragging them down forcefully to send them back to real life.
1 Chapter VII
Rudi goes back home
Two weeks after, Rudi came out of hospital with a month’s leave. Fosco was discharged from hospital and tried to convince him to go to his house in Milan. The suggestion was tempting but he just wanted to go back to the peacefulness of his home, he felt as if going back he could get rid of the anxieties that were pressing down on his chest and be able to breathe again with a light heart as he used to. They agreed that before the end of the leave he would have spent a few days in Milan.
Fosco’s knee was still paining him. Before leaving, he gave all his cigarettes to the boys there and leaning on his crutch, still limping, said goodbye to the younger Red Cross nurses kissing them one by one on the cheeks. Making the most of the fact that they were so close and that they were letting themselves loose, he held them tight and rested his lips on theirs, making them shocked and amused.
-This will help you remember me. Once the war is over, please come and see me in Milan- Bending his head slightly he let go of their hands, held in a grip that was more friendly than a simple farewell – See you soon-he whispered staring at them straight in the eyes
On the doorstep, he turned back lifting his crutch up high and said to everyone - Memento audere semper!- Many of them did not understand, those who were in a position to do it, said goodbye politely and Rudi laughed at that wish which sounded out of place.
A few days after, he was discharged from hospital too. He kept his leave in his pocket and over his good shoulder he had his haversack with the few things he owned. He got as far as Verona on a military truck S.P.A. 8000 carrying ammunition