Trap Door

Canicatti, Sicily | July 10th, 1943 | 9:27A.M

An annoyingly beautiful orchestra of chirping stirred Rosalie from her deep sleep, pulling her from her dreams. She stretched out her arms until all of the kinks between her joints either popped or cracked. Then bent her neck from side to side, achieving the same relieving effect. She wiped away the sand from the corners of her eyes with her knuckles, then rolled herself out of a make-shift straw bed.

Beside her on the floor, Corrado stirred and snored on top of a pile of old blankets. This made her smile because he was somehow still unconsciously clutching the packaged violin to his chest, while thick strands of drool seeped from the corners of his parted lips.

She thought about waking him, but considering that her dreams were unpleasantly cut short due to the vibrant songs of sparrows. She decided to let him sleep.

She delicately stepped over her brother, and exited the small bedroom. Standing in the hallway, she looked around and gazed at the harrowing damage in the proper light.

The roof was gone, save for a charred skeleton of a few remaining support beams. The north side wall was completely caved in, and the remaining walls were slowly crumbling from the amount of bullet holes. There was blood spread throughout the home’s ruins, but fortunately there were no bodies.

It wasn’t an ideal location to stay in, but their encounter with private Hale proved that everyone needed to get some sleep. Shortly after setting out from the pond, they came across a small cluster of bombed out houses, and settled into the one that was most intact. Garret and private Hale helped make everyone a mattress by gathering what blankets they could find, and stacking piles of scattered hay into suitable mattresses. Once everyone had a place to sleep, they did just that.

She crouched down to Corrado, and angled his watch so she could see the time. It was almost eight-thirty. She had slept for six hours, and finally felt revived. She stalked through the remains of the house, checking for the rest of her group, but found no one in their beds. She continued through the ransacked dining room, and tried to find a way to appreciate, and remember the family that lived here. She tried to imagine the conversations, and laughs that would echo off the walls. She tried to taste and smell the food that was cooked in the kitchen. She thought about the stories that would be told in bedrooms at night, and she tried to admire the paintings and decorations that were hung from the walls.

Tears swelled in her eyes as the hard truth of her reality refused to allow her imagination to have such mercy. Instead of laughter, she heard birds and the crumbling of a shattered foundation. Instead of arancini, or red prawns, all she could smell was burnt wood, charred clay, and wall plaster.

Finding the door that led out into the back courtyard, she twisted the blackened knob and pushed it open.

Fresh air embraced her, like an old friend she had not seen in years. She closed her eyes and breathed in as much air as she could through her nostrils, then slowly let it out through her mouth. She repeated this technique one more time, then allowed the skin-tingling sensation to invigorate her soul. A dreary image was quick to taint her moment of euphoria.

Father Burgio, the young private, and Sgt. McLaughlin, were all huddled around a small fire in the center of the overgrown stone courtyard. Something was burning, but something also smelled very good. Her stomach rumbled at the prospect of food, but she could not eat without her brother.

“How do you like your eggs?” Garret asked, interrupting her internal dilemma.

Unsure how to respond, she just stood there, awkwardly, breathing in the air through her nose.

“Come, Rosalie. Join us. There’s a lot that needs to be discussed that requires your input.”

“Corrado should be here for that. Let me go and wake him.”

“Let him sleep, Rosie,” Burgio said, “let him savor every second he’s allowed. As we continue to move forward, good dreams will be hard to come by.”

For Corrado’s sake, she agreed with the logic.

She joined the three men at the head of the fire pit, sat down on her backside, and wrapped the inside of her elbows around her knees - clasping her hands together in front of her.

“Sergeant McLaughlin and Private Hale were filling me in with the details of the invasion of Sicily,” Burgio said, “They call it, Operation Husky.”

Rosalie looked at the young private, and figured he couldn’t have been much older than she was. Then she peered at Garret, who equally appeared as young. They were just kids, everyone save for Burgio. And they were a crucial part of the invasion of Sicily. The shock of someone so young doing something so immense, amazed her beyond comprehension.

“But before we return to that conversation, private,” Burgio said, turning back to face Rosalie, “I want to talk about your brother.”

Rosalie’s face quivered. Her eyebrows scrunched. And her lips twitched.

“Why?” She asked.

“I am worried about him, Rosalie, you as well. You have both been through an overwhelming amount of trauma in such little time. You have both witnessed unimaginable acts of violence, and are clearly the centerpieces for something much darker than we can comprehend right now. You have been processing your experiences extraordinarily well for someone of your age. Corrado, however, seems to be struggling.

“Corrado saved my life. If it weren’t for him I would have been killed or captured by Ulrich, which I’m sure is a far worse fate.”

“Yes. But you also told me that he killed two of Ulrich’s men to do so,” Burgio said.

“Three. He killed one of those twins. I saw the body slump after Corrado fired at them.”

“Exactly my point, Rosalie.”

“He did it to save me. I am sure each of you can understand that.”

“I do not question his resolve, Rosalie. I only worry about his state-of-mind. The way he carries that violin around as if it's an external organ. It’s dangerous,” Burgio said.

“His mind is solid. He just misses mom and dad. And it’s not an external organ, Father. It’s hope. It's holding on to the idea that we will actually see our parents again one day. It’s Mr. Bova and the Milici brothers. It is Sicily, and the rest of Italy,” Rosalie said as she took a plate of fried eggs from Garret, “And father entrusted us to keep it safe. That’s what Corrado’s doing, Father. He’s keeping it safe. And although I do not know why, we cannot under any circumstances allow Ulrich to get it.”

Burgio was preparing to challenge her, but the young private interrupted him.

“Who the hell is Ulrich? Private Hale asked.

“A Nazi hunter,” Corrado answered, startling the group.

He was standing in the threshold of the opened door with the wrapped package tightly nestled between his stomach and right forearm. Yawning at the high sun.

“Come and sit with us,” Garret said while standing to his feet to make the tenseness of the moment appear more inviting.

Corrado could not resist the smell, so he stepped forward and found a comfortable position between Garret and his sister. Garret faded back, fixed another small ceramic plate with piping hot fried eggs, then handed it to Corrado.

To the group’s surprise, Corrado placed the package down in front of his criss-crossed legs, then used his fingers as utensils to enjoy the hot breakfast.

Father Burgio stroked his beard, then motioned to private Hale to continue his debriefing.

“Well,” private Hale began, “Our mission was to jump into Gela and take the gulf so the land force could follow without any resistance. But once we entered into Sicilian Air space, we were met with incredible flak fire, and fierce winds. A lot of planes went down, and many men died. Garret and I were on the same plane. Many others were not so lucky. I’m not sure what exactly knocked me out, but I fell unconscious in the air. When I awoke, I was hanging upside down from a chestnut tree with a thick branch protruding from my thigh and flak debris wedged in my neck . Luckily, a local farmer heard me struggling, and cut me free. He then helped me walk back to his home where he and his wife removed the wood from my leg and disinfected the festering wound in my neck. After I was patched up, and healing, they fed me and gave me water. They informed me of my location, and it was then I realized that the wind and flak fire barrage pushed me off course by miles. Roughly forty miles north west of where I was supposed to be. ”

“What happened to him?” Corrado asked, while wiping away the corners of his lips with the backside of his hand.

Private Halter shuttered silently as he worked up the words to answer Corrado’s question.

“After they patched me up, they hid me in a secret room beneath the floorboards. The space was tight and dry, and I needed to hunch over to fit standing up. There was a makeshift mattress in the corner, but the room was filled with provisions and was the perfect place for me to nod off. Which I did shortly after I stuck myself with my final morphine syrette to ease the pain in my leg. I can’t remember how long I slept for, but I knew it was morning because of the hot sunlight heating the wood panels above me. There was also the scent of frying pork. I was about to knock on the floorboards, to indicate that I was ready to come out, when loud voices began arguing from somewhere in the house. I tried to make out what was being said, but my Sicilian isn’t that great. I was able to identify the voices of the couple who took me in, but there were others. At least three others, and they were pissed off. As the conversation elevated, I got the sense that whoever these men happened to be, were clearly looking for something, or someone. I quietly began to loosen up my stiff body, making sure to remain as quiet as possible, and gather my things. It was then that I made the awful realization that all of my gear, and weapons, were up in the main part of the house. One of the voices, which was high-pitched and high-strung, spat out the word American, with a thick Italian accent, then barked a series of commands while continuing to emphasize the word, American. I knew that they had found my gear, and were obviously interrogating the couple about my whereabouts.”

“Did you hear any German voices?” Rosalie asked.

“No. These men were Italian. Probably the Italian army, or some band of fascist freedom fighters.”

“Mussolini loyalists,” Rosalie said.

“What happened next?” Corrado asked.

“I needed to get my rifle. But I was unsure of the firepower that these men came with, so I couldn’t just barge up through the trap door. Unfortunately, there was only one way in and out of the room I was in.”

“The trap door?” Corrado asked.

“Yeah. That fucking trap door,” Hale said glancing at Garret with heavy eyes.

Garret had a feeling about what was going to happen next in the story, and thought about trying to stop it from being told, but Hale started talking before he could make a decision.

“Two loud thumps crashed directly above my head, landing directly on the trap door. As I looked up in silence, the brown eyes of the man who saved me met mine through the old cracks in the wood. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her and knew that his wife had fallen beside him. The look he gave me told me to stay put. But they were also asking me to help.”

Private Hale paused his story and turned his eyes away from the group so they could see them tear up. Garret reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, pulling two of them out immediately. He began patting his other pockets but couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for. Corrado’s hand shot up into the air, offering Garret a solution to his problem.

Garret reached out and took the lighter from Corrado. Nodding while they made the exchange. Garret then handed the cigarettes and lighter to Hale who took the offering with haste. He placed one cigarette above his ear, and the other between his lips. He flicked open the lighter and used his thumb to ignite a flame. He inhaled as deep as he ever had in his life, and kept the smoke entombed inside of his lungs for as long as he could before blowing it out.

“His wife suddenly started screaming frantically, and I quickly found out why. She was lifted to her feet and asked a single question. Without offering a response, a sharp thud banged against the kitchen table. Her screams increased in agony and were quickly followed by three single round gunshots, which ripped through the floorboards, cratering into the dirt five feet beside me. Her screams stopped after the shots.”

Hale took another four drags on the cigarette before continuing the story.

“Blood seeped through the floorboards, and dripped down into the brown dirt, turning it oil black. The deep voice spoke again, and seemed to repeat his earlier inquiries about the American. But he was unsuccessful.”

Finished with his cigarette, he mushed the butt end into the stone ground, and began lighting the second one.

“There was a scuffle above, and I watched as the farmer was lifted from the floor. The deep voice spoke once again. Except this time he was calm, and spoke in the tone of directing an order. The command was responded to by the mechanical cocking of a machine gun, and an eruption of automatic fire. The kitchen above me fell into chaos, and I dropped to my knees and prayed I didn’t get hit by any stray shots. The barrage finally stopped after at least fifteen rounds. The deep voice spoke again, giving more commands, then I heard the sound of retreating footfalls. The voices continued to chatter, but their tones became muffled and faint. I finally had my chance to get out of that fucking room.”

Corrado noticed Private Hale’s hands trembling as he took his final drags on the second cigarette, so he dove his own hands into his pockets and removed the pack of smokes he swiped from the church’s war room. He removed two, and tossed one to the private. Hale used Corrado’s lighter to ignite it, then threw it back to Corrado who used it to light up his own. He offered the rest of the group a cigarette, but they all turned him down, especially Rosie who rolled her eyes as the memory of what happened last time she smoked one.

“What happened next, son? How did you escape the basement?” Burgio asked.

Hale took a moment to enjoy the nicotine before answering slowly. Painfully.

“When I went to push open the trap door. Two torches came barreling through the open windows. The interior of the house lit up instantly, and the flames spread faster than I could lift myself free. There was no way out. I was going to die.”

“And yet you didn’t,” Garret said, “You survived. Just like we always do.”

“They were good people,” Hale said. “They didn’t deserve that.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tim.” Garret said.

“Yeah,” Corrado interjected, “I mean, they would have just killed you too. So how did you get out.?”

“The foundation began crumbling around me which broke the integrity of the trap door, and the hinges. I lifted myself out just before a fiery chunk of one of the trusses crashed into the safe room. I almost wish I stayed in that damn hole because it was better than what I saw when I got out. The bodies were ravaged by bullets, and the wife’s severed ring finger, with her gold ring still attached to it, rolled back and forth between them. I tried to get the bodies out, but the flames were too fast. My gear and rifle were still on the table in the kitchen where I had left them, but my uniform was gone. When I finally got outside, I searched the grounds for any sign of the soldiers. But the only thing I found was a smoldering black pile of fabric just beyond the main door.”

“What was it?” Corrado asked.

“My uniform.”

“Well that explains your oversize wardrobe,” Garret said.

“Did you know their names?” Rosalie asked.

Private Hale shifted his eyes back and forth from the girls, Garrets, the priests, the dirt, then finally back to Rosalie and shook his head.

The group fell silent, as everyone absorbed their new reality. Private Hale’s thoughts grew too loud so he broke the awkwardness with a grunt.

“They were damn good people who died because they offered me help. Their deaths are on me. On us,” he continued while looking at Garret, “It’s what we have to do next that will either honor their sacrifice, or not.”

“And what is it that you have to do?” Father Burgio asked.

Before responding, Hale gathered the plates of eaten eggs, stood to his feet, then swapped the plates for his rifle which was resting on the waist-high stone wall encircling the courtyard.

“Win the war.”

Garret sprouted to his feet, and challenged his friend.

“Easier said than done, Tim. Our air drops were completely fucked. This island is crawling with German and Italian soldiers, and our boys are scattered across the entire fucking coast. You're the first American face I’ve seen in over twenty-four hours. We’re not off to a good start. And there are layers to this war, Tim. Layers our government doesn’t even know about. These kids have something. Something Hitler wants more than anything. Something he sent a death squad of SS soldiers to look for.”

Hale looked to the twins, gripping his rifle tighter with his sweaty palms. Then shifted his attention back to Garret.

“Then we stick to the regiment’s contingency plan until we regroup with the battalion.”

“What contingency plan?” Rosalie asked.

“To ambush small enemy patrols. Disrupt communication and supply runs. Sabotage vehicles. Cause as much chaos as humanly possible, is the direct order from our commanding officer,” Hale said.

“These kids need our help, Tim,” Garret said.

“We help them by helping us. The sooner we regroup, the sooner we drive back the German forces and take Sicily, the sooner these people become liberated.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Rosalie said, “We are being hunted by the worst people imaginable. Our only goal is to stay alive long enough to get to Mount Etna without losing the violin.”

Corrado and Father Burgio both shared curious glances as it was the first time anyone had mentioned Mount Etna.

“What are you talking about Rosie?” Corrado said.

“I would like to be enlightened as well,” Burgio followed.

“From the letter mom and dad sent us. It’s been bothering me ever since Father Burgio read it at the church. To Etna and back, I love you. They never said that. They always used to say, To the moon and back, we love you forever. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and when I woke up this morning, I still had no idea. But I know one thing.

“What?” Corrado asked, gripping the package tighter.

“Mom and dad clearly want us to take the violin to Mount Etna.”

“To the volcano?” Corrado asked under a blanket of confusion.

“That’s not the most solid reasoning, Rosalie. Your parents could have meant nothing by it. Maybe they were referencing a favorite moment from your past,” Burgio said.

“No,” Corrado spat, “We’ve never been to Mount Etna. It’s the one place in all of Sicily I’ve always wanted to visit, but father would never take me.”

“Then maybe he was trying to reconcile his failures with a final sentiment of atonement. Look, all I am saying is that you’re making an extremely dangerous interpretation of something that could be nothing,” Burgio said.

Hale cut Rosalie off with an annoyed tone of haste.

“What the hell is so important about this violin? What’s its secret?”

“I think it’s time we finally find that out,” Rosalie said.

She looked to her brother, and told him what needed to be done.

“Open it.”

They both stood, and Corrado handed over the package to Rosalie. He then hustled back into the house, and returned a few moments later with a large, tolled satchel. He motioned Rosalie to meet him at the courtyard wall, then began emptying the contents of his work tool-bag. Rosalie carefully removed the violin from its many layers of wrappings and rested it down next to Corrado’s tools.

Since he had already broken through the glue seal along the violin’s bout, he picked up where he left off with a flat, smooth knife and began sawing back and forth.

Private Hale pulled Garret aside and pleaded with him in confidence.

“We can’t get involved with them, Mickey. We need to get the hell out of this town and find our platoon. We’re not the only troopers lost out here. How the hell did you even link up with these people anyway? Why are you so invested in their cause?”

“They saved my life. I fell into a pond just a few hours before we ran into your ugly ass. Corrado jumped in and pulled me out.”

“You fell into a pond?” Tim asked, “Care to dive into the details?”

Garret digested the joke. Then laughed under his breath, offering Tim a solid punch to the bicep.

“They have something, Tim. Something important. Something that Hitler wants. Something that could potentially alter the course of the war.”

The rear panel of the violin suddenly popped free, capturing everyone’s attention. As Corrado delicately began removing it, a decapitated rooster popped out of the wood line behind the house. Followed by a single gunshot. And a long scream.