Bottecchia descended and I saw him disappear in the night. The moon had risen and everything was stained with its pale, yellowish light. I hid in a shadowy spot and awaited the return of my soldier. The few minutes he stayed away seemed interminable. Finally with great joy I saw him and when he got back to me he reported that he had found nothing to hinder us from carrying out our project. We continued along the rocky road and approached the village. Two small houses in front of us clearly indicated the poverty of the inhabitants. We chose the poorer one and knocked at the low, narrow door. No answer. We knocked again, and then knocked at a shutter and a closed window. Finally some noise! Someone had been awakened and sleepy voices reached us in the silence of the night. Immediately after the frightened voice of a woman asked us in the Venetian dialect, “Who are you and what do you want?”
“We are Italians and we ask you mercifully for a drop of water.”
Someone arose and shortly after we heard the slow heavy footsteps of an old man coming down the wooden stairs.
“Who are you Christians traveling at so late an hour?”
“We are prisoners who have escaped from a camp near Gemona. For pity’s sake give us a draught of water to drink. Tell us, too, what village is this? Are there any soldiers? Are there gendarmes?”
“This village is Sarone, but you can feel safe because all the soldiers left for the front several days ago and even the gendarmes who were here guarding the village have followed the brigade.”
At last we breathed.
“Thank heavens they have gone,” continued the old man in a tired voice, “for if things had kept on this way, we would not have had a single blade of grass left. They have taken everything away from us. Imagine, they have begun to dig up even the new potatoes which are no bigger than a pigeon’s egg. Everything, every vegetable which comes within their reach is devoured at once. Imagine, they even cook the tendrils of the vines in their soup.... But you do not look as if you had suffered much, you especially,” he said turning towards me, “you must have been a cook in some concentration camp.”
I did not answer but greedily drank the water from the cup he had offered me, and no liquor, no beverage has ever tasted better to me than that draught of water did.
“Tell me, my good man, why have the soldiers left for the front?”