Birmingham Rose by Annie Murray

Author:Annie Murray [Murray, Annie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Saga, Fiction
ISBN: 9780330534666
Google: BRcDo0lirc4C
Amazon: 1860426980
Publisher: Pan Books
Published: 1995-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

By the time she returned to Il Rifugio in April – this time for a whole precious weekend – the force of the eruption had abated. While it was going at full strength, the sky had stayed grey and soupy for days, and soft grey ash fell to a depth of at least half an inch for miles around. Walking through the streets of Naples, Rose saw that even the graffiti of the multitude of political parties, and the large black letters proclaiming ‘DUCE! DUCE’ (now often crossed out with blacker paint), were dusted over by a layer of ash which clung to the crevices in the walls.

Naples, now convalescing from its days and nights of fear and prayer, had been spared the full destruction of the volcano. Many of the population were convinced this was due to the beneficence of their patron San Gennaro, who had watched over them for fourteen centuries since his martyrdom in Pozzuoli, just along the coast. His protection had, however, been of no help whatever to the inhabitants of the towns and villages strung along the fringe of coast between Vesuvius and the sea, many of which had been engulfed once more by the lava.

Francesco opened the door to her, and she saw at once the strain and exhaustion plain in every line of his face.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You look terrible.’

‘It has been a terrible time.’

Rose searched around with her eyes. ‘Where’s Margherita?’

Francesco pulled one of his hands through his unruly curls. ‘She’s gone to visit her father. He had found a place to stay. He was away from home when the eruption started. Her mother and sister – both gone.’ He made a wiping motion with his right hand, his face full of pain and bewilderment. ‘The house was destroyed.’

‘You’re saying that . . . ?’

‘Now she has only her father and one sister. She has two older brothers who are in the army.’

In English, Rose said, ‘My God. How terrible.’

She wanted to comfort Francesco somehow, but felt shy of him. After all she barely knew him. If Margherita herself had been there it might have come more naturally.

They were still standing in the gloom of the hall, Rose holding her two parcels of rations. From the big room, where Magdalena and Assunta were keeping the children occupied, came the sound of singing.

Francesco seemed to rouse himself. ‘There is something else I need to tell you. Another person has come to live here. A friend of ours called Paulo Falcone. We were at the university together. He is a bit older because he was a medical student. He arrived two days ago from Rome – God knows how, across the lines. He says he has been with a group in the resistance, but he will not talk to me any more about it. Perhaps if Margherita were here . . .’ His expression seemed to sink further into tiredness and pain. ‘I am telling you to warn you that he is not easy to be with at the moment.

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