Seeking Alice by Camilla Trinchieri

Author:Camilla Trinchieri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: State University of New York Press
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

ROME, ITALY—DECEMBER 15, 1942

I’ve been waiting more than half an hour at the macelleria when an orderly pushes past me to the front of the line. The butcher hands the orderly a neatly tied package. “The best for the colonel,” he says.

“While we stand in line for hours and get the dregs,” I protest loudly, my American accent be damned. I turn to the other women in line for support. I get silence as the orderly cradles his package as if it were some championship football and shoulders his way through to the door. The guard, who is always stationed at the butcher shop to make sure the ever-shifting laws for food distribution are followed, shouts, “Make way, make way, or I’ll fine every last one of you.”

When it’s my turn, the butcher fills my order quickly and mutters he’s only doing his duty. The guard, bulging with self-importance, watches me as I make my way out of the shop. A woman behind me whispers, “Brava, ci voleva,” and for a moment I manage to feel proud of myself until I see that the guard, pad in hand, is following me.

“So feeding our valiant army isn’t fair, is that what you think?” It’s a cold day and his words come out in small puffs of hot air. On his right hand, the long nail of his little finger curves over the fleshy tip, a tool to pick his ears with. “A starving military cannot protect us from the vile enemy, do you not agree?” He drums his pen against his palm and eyes my package of spleen and soup bones. It isn’t much of a bribe. I look behind him at the women who have gathered at the window of the shop to watch. He follows my eyes, and straightens up to his full height. He’s barely taller than I am. “Move on. I don’t want to hear another complaint from you.” Mussolini’s laws on giving and taking bribes are severe.

Even though I would like nothing better, I’m not so foolish as to wave a thanks to those women witnesses, but I want to celebrate. Claire is safe with Mrs. Pigeon, and so, instead of going home, I take the bus to Tor di Nona. I want to buy cans of tomatoes, some Parmesan if Ersilia has any. Tonight I’ll cook a super meal for all of us, invite Mrs. Pigeon, Gina, maybe even Signora Calabresi, the war widow.

Ersilia’s spot, underneath the Madonna, is empty. Other women approach me, offering me their wares. “Where’s Ersilia,” I ask each of them. They shrug their indifference and worry fingers start to clutch my stomach. “She’s all right, isn’t she? She hasn’t been arrested?”

“Who knows?” a woman with a missing front tooth says. “It’s been a few days. What is it you need? I got three hundred grams of lard. Pure white gold. My name’s Ida and my stuff is better than hers. Cheaper too.”

I shake my head and start walking back up

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