The Swallows of Monte Cassino by Helena Janeczek

Author:Helena Janeczek
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2021-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Divided by an Abbey

The following morning when they got to the gates of the cemetery, it was already past 9:30. Usually it was Andy who dragged Edoardo out of bed, and he was getting less polite about it: opening the shutters, flushing the toilet, playing music at high volume on the computer, laying hands on him and hissing “wake up!” in his ear. But that day, had grandmother Dorka’s call not come through (“what time is it, babcia?” “Eight-thirty, Edek”) both of them would still be sleeping. They washed and dressed sloppily, ate breakfast without opening their mouths except to pour in litres of coffee and homemade cake, cereal, bread, butter, jam and fruit juice. Their first words were uttered by Andy in the car when they were already taking the switchbacks. “What did your grandmother want?”

“She said they might come down one of these days because some of their friends, people who live in England, veterans, are coming here.”

“You mean veterans from the Second Corps, guys who fought with General Anders?” the question came out in English.

“Of course. Yes. Why, are you too out of it to speak Italian?”

For a while Anand drove in silence, staring straight ahead, and had the road not demanded his attention, you’d have thought he was offended, which seemed strange.

“Hey partner, I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

“Don’t worry about it. But tomorrow, I’m setting the alarm.”

“You sleep badly? The mussels giving you problems? Something else?”

“No, no. Except for the fact that you snore like…a walrus!”

“A walrus? This is not good news you’re giving me. You mean always, or just last night?”

“No idea; I think I fell asleep before you the other nights and didn’t hear anything.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, partner.”

And so the moment passed, and Andy, who was about to tell Edoardo about the book he’d begun to read at night, didn’t; and even he had no idea why he didn’t mention it later when they were sitting on their folding chairs doing nothing (tardy though they had been), because for most of that morning the cemetery was empty. They talked about other things, beginning with the fact they hadn’t even had time to buy the newspapers and a bottle of water; they shared the same old memories which, in that place, on those chairs sitting next to each other, made them seem like two old guys on a bench in the park, memories both celebrated in their way and others less so, and recalling them made them feel grown-up, united.

“You know, walruses,” said Anand although there was no connection, “have you noticed that many Poles wear, you know, walrus moustaches? You see, here,” he said, pointing at the tiny faces on the flier kept in readiness on his lap.

“And so?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying.”

Edoardo stared at those faces he’d looked at so many times before, and told Andy that okay, even Lech Wałęsa had a moustache like that, “and if you don’t know who he is, he’s the head of Solidarność and he got the

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