A Bell for Adano by John Hersey

Tomasino?” Tomasino saluted.
    The Lieutenant said: “Can he speak English?”
    Major Joppolo had had enough. He said: “Listen, Captain, this town is hungry. It needs fish. If it doesn’t get something to supplement its diet, people are going to die here of starvation. Are you going to let these men go out fishing, or aren’t you?”
    Lieutenant Livingston was surprised by the Major’s vehemence. “They might hit loose mines and be blown up,” he said defensively.
    “I don’t care. This is a war. Some people’ve got to get killed so others can live. Are you going to let these men go out fishing, or aren’t you?”
    Lieutenant Livingston said uncertainly: “I don’t think I ought to.”
    Major Joppolo said: “Captain, unless you give permission for these men to go out, I’m going to send a separate letter naming each person who dies of hunger in this town to your commanding officer, and in each letter I’m going to say it’s your fault.”
    “Maybe we could work something out,” the Lieutenant said.
    “You’re damn right we could,” Major Joppolo said. “By day after tomorrow I want you to have six charts ready showing exactly where these boats can go and not run into our minefields. They don’t have to show where the mines are, all they need show is an area where the boats can go. I’ll see that these men stick to that area. Have it ready day after tomorrow.”
    And before he could catch himself, Lieutenant Livingston of Kent and Yale had said to Major Joppolo of the Bowery and Tammany Hall: “Yes, sir.”
    Major Joppolo left with Tomasino before the Lieutenant could catch his wits.
    Outside, Tomasino said: “I hate him. What did he say?”
    “A lot of foolishness, except for one thing,” the Major said. “If you go out fishing, Tomasino, you may get hurt. Your boat might hit an American mine.”
    “What do I care?” said Tomasino. “I am going fishing. Mister Major, if you could know how unhappy the fishermen of Adano have been. All we want in the world is to go fishing. We will go even if we have to pay graft to the men of authority. Now you say we don’t have to do that. Thank you, Mister Major.”
    “No,” the Major said, and he decided to try something. “No, Tomasino, I thank you for taking charge of the fishermen, and I kiss your hand.”
    Tomasino looked at this man of authority, and he said: “You are different.” And the old fisherman turned and ran out on the mole to the Tina, and he shouted as he ran, as if telling his boat: “We are going fishing! We are going fishingl We are going fishingl”
     

 
     
    Chapter 9
     
     
     
    THE TELEPHONE rang.
    “Hello,” Major Joppolo said.
    “Joppolo, Amgot.”
    “Joppolo, this is Sartorius, up at Vicinamare.”
    “Oh, hello, Colonel.”
    “About that bell.”
    “Yeah, any luck?”
    “I’ll say. I found the records on it in about fifteen minutes. By the grace of God the Fascists kept their records about things like this by towns, so all I had to do was look in their files under Adano. But boy, those Eyeties sure did a lot of paper work. They had to report to the province every time they took a leak, practically.”
    Major Joppolo said: “So what about the bell?’
    “Well, I found three entries. “
    “Can we get the bell back? That’s what I want to know.”
    Colonel Richard N. Sartorius was a methodical man. “The first entry,” he said, “is dated June fifteenth. It says the bell arrived from Adano by mule cart. It says the bell was very crudely crated, and had to be crated all over again. That took three days.”
    “Where’s the bell now? Did you find it?”
    “The second entry is dated June twenty-second. It says the bell was put aboard the motor ship Alcuri for Milan via Genoa. It was addressed to the Fecoratta Artillery Foundry, Forty-three Via Edda Mussolini, Milan.”
    “Oh, hell, they shipped it off.”
    “Not only that, but the third entry says the Fecoratta Artillery Foundry at Forty-three Via Edda