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  Tarantella:

  A Love Story

  Inspired by a true story

  By Siomonn Pulla

  High Vibration Publications

  www.highvibepubs.com

  Tarantella: A Love Story

  Siomonn Pulla

  Copyright 2010 Siomonn Pulla

  Second Edition Copyright 2014

  Discover other titles by Siomonn Pulla at www.siomonnpulla.com

  ISBN-978-0-9868782-2-0

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to the memory of Nonno Arturo and Nona Carmella. And to Zio Severino.

  Chapter One

  The Procession of La Madonna

  I never intended to fall in love with Marco’s fiancé. That first time I saw her I knew I could never leave that tiny village alone.

  It was August 17, 1944 and the procession of the Virgin Mary was on its way up to the top of the village. To the medieval Cathedral of Santa Maria., that still stood solid after centuries of earthquakes. The villagers were returning La Madonna to her resting place in the Cathedral for another year.

  I still wonder if, in her seven sorrows, La Madonna ever really suffered a broken heart.

  I guess it depends on whether you believe a broken heart is caused by the ill effects of the evil eye, and the naught enchantments of witches; or whether it’s just the price you pay for loving somebody so much it hurts.

  I’m still unsure.

  Carmella was part of the procession of La Madonna that hot August afternoon. She was leading the four men, who were obviously straining under the weight of the statue up the narrow cobblestone path to the Cathedral.

  The look in her dark eyes, and the way her long brown hair outlined her face as she walked across the piazza was magical, as if she'd just walked out of a fairy tale.

  "My Carmella, isn't she beautiful?" Marco noticed how I was watching his Fiancée’s lithe body move up the cobblestone street. "Didn't I tell you Pietro that she was the most beautiful woman in all of Limosano?"

  “You’re a lucky man Marco.” I was secretly envious. “It must be nice to have all this waiting back home for you.”

  "I'm sure you have many beautiful women back in your country,” Marco teased. “Once you go home they’ll be clamoring to be your bride."

  "I don't think I ever want to go home now that I've seen how beautiful Italian women are."

  "They are beautiful my friend, but also very dangerous." Marco slapped my back. "Now let’s go find my brothers. They'll be surprised to see me home alive. I'm sure everybody thought I was killed by those Nazi bastards."

  I followed Marco down the cobblestones and up the street towards the procession. Many people along the street recognized him immediately, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back, welcoming him home to the village.

  Some even passed us cold beers and shots of grappa. By the time we’d walked a couple of blocks, I was already half drunk.

  "There they are!" Marco pointed to two young men, standing in the piazza. "My brothers, Primo and Severino."

  Primo was a tall elegantly dressed young man. A white shirt tucked perfectly into his pressed pants, and his cap placed perfectly on his head.

  Severino, on the other hand looked like he had just come from the fields. His well-worn overalls were stained with oil and his work boots covered in mud.

  Before we could make our way through the crowd, the two brothers were standing beside us, giving Marco big hugs and shaking my hand vigorously.

  "We thought you were dead Marco,” Primo exclaimed. “When the Canadians came through here a few months ago they told us they had found your captain in a shallow grave with a bullet in his head.”

  "I wasn't the only lucky one." Marco put his arm around me. "Pietro here managed to get away from the Germans."

  "Are you Italian?"

  "No, Canadian," I replied. "Private Peter McMillian, Princess Patricia Light Infantry."

  "Have you been home yet,” Severino asked. ”Mama's going to be so happy to see you. Pops has been depressed ever since we heard the news."

  "Mama has been praying to the Virgin Mary every night and going to mass three times a day.” Primo adjusted the strap on his mandolin. “I think father D'Angello is ready to send a commendation into the Vatican for saint-hood."

  "Shouldn't you be marching north with your division Private?" Severino offered us some cigarettes. “Or at least hanging out with them in Campobasso?”

  "Marco wouldn’t let me go.” I took a cigarette and Severino produced some matches. “He wanted to bring me home and introduce me to some beautiful Italian women."

  "Well you came to the right place," added Primo. "Too bad Carmella doesn't have a sister."

  "Pietro is going to stay with us for awhile.” Marco puffed his cigarette contentedly. “Maybe you can set him up with one of the Gincola sisters. Is Marguerite still single?"

  "She is, but ever since Arturo Rossi came back from the war, he's been eyeing her up. We all think he's going to ask her to marry him any day now."

  "When he finds the guts to. That guy has no coglione." Severino took a long haul off of his cigarette and butted it out. "I think she'd be better off with a decent guy, like Primo here. Someone who could sing her love songs and bring her flowers."

  "Does Carmella know you're back?" Primo changed the subject. "I bet she's really excited to see you after all this time."

  "You two are the first ones we've talked to since we rolled in from Campobasso." Marco looked tired all of a sudden. "It's been a long journey, but it’s very nice to be home. I'm looking forward to a big bowl of mama's ravioli."

  The procession was now making its way back down from the Cathedral, La Madonna safely deposited in the sacred chamber of the inner chapel.

  Carmella spotted Primo and Severino talking to us in the piazza and made her way over, a big smile on her face.

  "Dio mio!" She threw herself onto Marco and wrapped her hands around him. "I think I've just seen a ghost!"

  "It’s really me." Marco kissed Carmella on both cheeks. "You look more beautiful than I ever imagined."

  "And you’re as handsome as I remember! Who is your friend here?" Carmella offered her hand to me. "He looks like a stunned rabbit."

  "Pietro is Canadese, he's a good man.” Marco introduced me to Carmella. “He's going to live with me for awhile until I find him a good Italian wife."

  "Piacere." I took Carmella's hand and kissed it softly. "I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you in person."

  "Has Marco been bragging about me again?"

  Carmella was even more beautiful up close. Her deep olive skin smelled faintly like sun soaked rose and fennel.

  “We were all so happy to see the Canadian troops come into the village a few months ago."

  "Especially after those rough German soldiers took all our food and executed poor Tonino Amoroso right here in the Piazza." Primo adjusted his hat. "They found him hiding in a barn and decided to make an example out of him. The commandant spat in his face just before shooting him in the head."

  “Boom!” Severino pointed his finger to his forehead. “Just like that.”

  "No need to worry. Now that you have two of the best soldiers back in the village,” Marco bragged confidently. “We'll protect you from the ghosts of all those dead German soldiers."

  Marco took Carmella's hand.

  "It is so nice to see you again. I dreamed of you every night."

  "You're still such a charmer I see." Carmella pulled her hand away from Marco. "You should go home and see your mama. Ever since we heard the horrible news she's been tied to her rosary. She'll think her prayers have been answered."

  "I
know my prayer's have been answered." Marco tried to take Carmella's hand again, but she wouldn't let him. "C'mon, don't be shy. I won't bite."

  "Come by the house tomorrow for coffee. I want to hear all about your journey." Carmella blew Marco a kiss as she walked away from the piazza and down the cobblestones. "And bring Pietro. Ciao ciao!"

  Marco sat down on one of the chairs that had been lined up in the piazza for the festival. It was a hot day and the sun was still high in the sky. There was a slight breeze, but not enough to offer much relief.

  "Maybe we should get some gelato." I was feeling hungry all of a sudden, a faint trace of Carmella's scent lingered in the air. "This sun is starting to get to me."

  "Gelato?" Severino let out a big hearty laugh. "My friend, this isn't Rome. You'll be lucky to get coffee in the morning. The food rations are pretty strict around here still. But my ma always has some good prosciutto and fresh bread and olives back home."

  "Lets go home," said Primo. "We want to hear all about your journey."

  "Yea, I've still got a couple bottles of last year's montepulciano and a fresh pack of cigarettes," added Severino. "We want all the details."

  Chapter Two

  The Caproni Campini N.1

  Marco Delgobo was working in the hanger on the new prototype Caproni Campini N.1 when the Nazi's captured him.

  Early that month, after King Victor Emmanuel and Prime Minster Badoglio signed the Armistizio di Cassibile with the Allied Forces, the German forces began forcing the surrender of Italian troops on the mainland. Marco had been warned by his Captain to keep a loaded gun by his side, just in case he needed it.

  "You never know Marco," Captain Marzzoni told him the morning the Germans killed him. "I have a bad feeling about this whole Armistizio. What are we supposed to do? Fight the Germans! Ma! Give me a break. We hardly have enough ammo to supply three men."

  When the German soldiers arrived later that morning, they killed all of Marco's unit execution style.

  First the skinny German sergeant made the men dig a shallow trench. When they were finished digging, they were lined up and shot by a firing squad. Their bullet ridden bodies falling neatly into the shallow graves they had just dug.

  "Finish it off." The Sergeant threw a shovel at Marco. "Snell!"

  Marco had been spared the firing squad because he was the only one who knew how to fix the new prototype Caproni Campini N.2 fighter jet. The new design perfected the afterburner technology and air-cooled engine that had been designed a decade earlier. It was still temperamental though and needed the skilled and patient touch of a mechanic who knew his way around the design.

  The Nazi Sergeant was under strict orders to deliver the airplane and the mechanic to Milan for safe transport into Austria.

  After he finished burying his friends, the German soldiers put Marco into shackles and threw him into the back of the covered transport vehicle.

  It didn't take them long to trailer the plane and get their convoy back out onto the road. It was a small, fast moving convoy and Marco was impressed by their well-oiled efficiency. Compared to the Italian military, these guys weren't fooling around.

  It's no wonder they've become such a menace. They're so disciplined and well equipped, Marco thought to himself. We don't have a chance in hell of beating these guys. If I'm lucky I'll be able to convince the commandant that this airplane is so temperamental that they're going to need me to keep it running.

  After a couple of hours bouncing around in the back of the truck, Marco found the nerve to ask one the German soldiers where they were heading.

  "Milan," replied the soldier. "We are under special orders from the Wafen-SS to deliver this plane to Austria. The Allied forces are reported to be moving north from Rome and up the Adriatic and the Schutzstaffel want this plane kept secret. You must be some kind of wunderkid to still be alive. We were under strict orders to shoot-to-kill."

  "I guess I've been blessed by the Virgin Mary," said Marco. "My Ma has probably been praying to her again."

  "Hopefully she'll protect us until we get to Milan," added another soldier. "This road is strewn with land mines."

  The convoy continued to bounce down the rough road. Every five hours it would stop and the soldiers would pile out of the back of the transport to relieve themselves at the side of the road.

  After the second stop, Marco noticed that it was getting lighter outside and every time they slowed down he could make out a bit of bird song.

  If I ever get to make the trip to Campobasso again, it's going to feel pretty quick.

  Marco had never been this far north before. The secret base where his unit was stationed north of Agnone in Castellana had been the farthest he'd ever been from Limosano.

  At least I get to see some of Italy before I die. Even if it is from the back of a German transport.

  After almost 20 hours of driving, the truck finally reached its destination. The soldiers were relieved to have arrived at the base safely after the long trip north. The drive had been uneventful, but there was always the chance that a convoy could be bombed, or hit land mines along the way. Ever since the armistice, former Italian soldiers had decided to conduct a guerilla war against the German forces. Mostly it was ineffectual, but the odd well-placed land mine or bullet occasionally found its mark.

  The German forces were using the industrial infrastructure of Milan to help with their war effort. There were munitions factories, as well as a large airport base. Milan also provided an important and secure inland access point for the trains going north over the Alps into Germany or west into France.

  Marco was quickly processed as a prisoner of war. The German soldiers were even efficient with their paper work.

  "Make sure this one doesn't get lost in the ranks," ordered the commanding officer. "The Schutzstaffel will want to talk to him."

  Marco was placed in a crowded cell along with other Italian soldiers. He was given a small ration of bread and water and a dirty wool blanket to keep him warm. There was a toilet in the corner of the cell that looked like it had never been cleaned.

  "I hope you don't have to piss amico," said one of the soldiers in the cell. "You're bound to get some kind of disease by just getting too close to that thing."

  "Don't worry, you get used to the smell after awhile," added another soldier. "It’s almost like perfume."

  Marco chewed his bread slowly. The water was refreshing. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until the soldier gave him the small metal cup of water.

  "Enjoy the meal soldier. Once we get on the train tomorrow it’s lights out for all of us," said the soldier sitting in front of Marco. Marco noticed that he had the insignia of a Captain on his uniform. "They're shipping us to Dachau to be burned in the ovens with all the Jews they rounded up from Roma and Venezia."

  "I hope you've said your prayers private," said the Sergeant Major sitting beside the Captain, "cause we're all heading to Dante's inferno."

  Chapter Three

  The Zampogna

 

  "Our Village is such a mess. The fields are full of twisted metal and land mines.” Severino poured himself another glass of homemade wine. “There's hardly enough food to go around. The game warden's are out patrolling the woods. And the fish stocks are low in the Biferno. “

  “We need to figure out someway to make it through the next couple of years,” Primo observed. “Or we’ll all end up having to move to the city, sweeping streets and washing dishes.”

  " I don't think the cities are any better. In fact, they're probably worse," added Severino. "More people equals more squalor, more disease and more competition for already scarce resources."

  "From what we've seen, Limosano is a paradise." Marco stretched back in his chair. I hadn't seen him this content since the big meal at Don Alexandro’s villa after our escape from the train station in Milan over a year ago. "Many parts of Rome were still smoldering when we left a few weeks ago. Sure the American soldier
s were there with their supplies of food and cigarettes, but the skies were thick with smoke, the people were miserable, and the streets were filthy. At least here we have fresh air, fresh vegetables, and the most beautiful women in all of Italy. What more do we need to sustain us?"

  "C'mon Marco, you can't live on beauty and fresh air alone," said Severino . "Ever since the war started, the fresh vegetables have been pretty scarce. Nobody seems to have the energy to farm the fields like we used to, and it’s dangerous. You could trigger a land mine and lose your leg, or worse, your life if you're not careful."

  "There's gotta be some easier way to work those fields and make them more productive. People have been living a good life here for centuries. If we had a tractor, it sure would make things a lot easier. Tractors can pull plows, haul loads and livestock, and you can even hook up threshers and combines." Primo let out a big sigh. "But who can afford a tractor, let alone all those accessories? We can barely afford a pack of cigarettes."

  "I bet we could find one really cheap. I've got a few contacts in Campobasso. " Severino placed his empty glass on the table and lit a cigarette. "We might have to fix it up though."

  "Why don't we just build one?" I suggested. "It can't be that hard, can it?"

  "Listen to this crazy Canadese, he thinks he can build anything." Severino gave me a hearty slap on the back. "What did they teach you in that army of yours anyways?"

  "Pietro may be on to something." Even though Marco was a few years older then me, he didn't have to be the one who always came up with the plan of action. "He has lots of good ideas, a few of them actually saved our lives."

  "If we can't afford a used tractor, how could we ever afford to build one? The parts alone would cost a fortune. It’s a ridiculous idea."

  Primo was the most practical of the three brothers. This was a trait that I would come to appreciate more and more during that year in Limosano.

  "But what if we got the parts for free?" I knew my plan would work. It was so easy, so perfect. “How could we lose then?”