“We haven’t got any identification papers,” he said casually to Tony.
“Neither have a great many Italian peasants,” Tony replied, “especially if they come from the farms. Either they haven’t been given such papers at all, haven’t been checked up on, or they forget to carry them. They’re like that, you know—not like the Germans at all, who must always have everything so well systematized. The Italian farmer knows that he is Guiseppi Amato, and all his friends know it. Why, he asks, should he bother to carry around a paper saying that’s who he is?”
Dick laughed lightly. “And he’s right, too,” he agreed. “Mussolini really couldn’t get very far with his system and rigid discipline and such, cataloguing everybody and everything.”
“Of course, the Germans are very contemptuous of the Italians,” Tony said, “which is a compliment to the Italians. They don’t realize that half of the Italians’ apparent carelessness is really a subtle form of opposition. They just forget their identification papers, that’s all. And they tell that to the German sentry or officer with the most innocent face, with a sort of helpless shrug of the shoulders. It exasperates the German, of course, but what can he do about it? If only an occasional Italian acted that way, the Germans could shoot him or throw him in a concentration camp as punishment and as an example to the others. But when half the people do it—well!”
“Then if we’re asked for papers, we’ve just forgotten them, or lost them some time ago,” Dick concluded.
“Or we don’t even seem to know what they’re talking about,” Tony said. “We’re dumb. We’re as stupid as the Germans think we are. In that, we’re safe.”
“But it’s a good idea to avoid any more contact with the Germans than we are forced into,” Dick said.
“I think so, too, Dick,” Tony said. “So I think we ought not to go into Maletta on the main road. They’re likely to have sentries posted on the main roads into town, just to check on people coming and going. We can cross the main road, go through the fields, and cut around to one of the little side streets.”
“Good,” Dick agreed. “The land is leveling out below us a bit. Looks like a farm.”
“Yes, see the lights over there,” Tony pointed out. “Farmhouse on our right. If we keep straight ahead across the field now we ought to strike the main road. We can cross it, then circle around to the left toward town, under the shadow of the hill.”