“Good!” she said, “so we shall have something decent for Pasqua, black too; are we not both widows? She lost her husband, I mine, but she saved her money. Well, what’s to be done about it? We are alive, that’s always something.”
Zia Maddalena was stout of heart; she had nothing but smiles for us.
“I hope they can have one of the barracks,” I said as we walked back to camp.
Patsy of course knew all about it.
“When the houses are finished,” he explained, “Belknap will turn them over to the local authorities. He’s been pestered for them already, especially by Messinesi who claim to be American citizens. The allotment of the houses
MESSINA. AMERICAN COTTAGES, VILLAGGIO REGINA ELENA. [Page 305.]
won’t be an easy job for anybody; the municipality must tackle it. There’s a good fighting chance for our friends. The aunt of Caterina is the grandmother of Gasperone. She is officially connected with the camp, a person of influence!”
We were picking our way through almost impassable streets, climbing mountains of debris. At one place we found ourselves on a level with the second story of what had been a handsome bedroom. The front of the palace had fallen into the heap of ruins on which we were standing. Two white beds stood side by side. On the wall hung a costly mirror without even a crack. Near the door were two trunks and a valise with the labels of several fashionable continental hotels.