Fire in the Hills by Donna Jo Napoli Page B

out to the soldier. “Would you like something to eat?”
    The soldier looked dubious. “German officers’ food? How did you get it?”
    â€œFriends of my sisters—they gave it to us. You’re welcome to as much as you want.”
    The soldier stuck a whole pastry in his mouth. He wiped the sugar from his lips with the back of his hand. “Everything looks in order here.” He got on his scooter and drove away.
    And so it went, day after day, always with a new woman on the bench beside Volpe Rossa—a woman who spoke the local dialect and returned home the next morning. It took five full days to deliver the rifles to Florence. But they did it. With the help of good people.

18
    V OLPE ROSSA AND LUPO STOOD near the front of the noisy crowd outside Fascist headquarters, which was directly across the piazza from the hotel the Nazis had taken over for their headquarters. An empty net shopping bag hung from Volpe Rossa’s wrist. A larger sack was slung over Lupo’s shoulder.
    They were with the middle-aged, matronly woman who had taken them in the night before, when they’d finally arrived in Florence. She introduced herself as Giovanni’s mother—that’s all. Lupo was accustomed to that by now. Many of the resistance women he’d met identified themselves as someone’s mother, wife, sister. Giovanni’s mother. Probably something awful had happened to Giovanni.
    Giovanni’s mother made a tsking noise and pointed with her chin. Lupo and Volpe Rossa looked. A woman of maybe twenty-five crossed the piazza in a fancy dress. Her legs were shiny. She hurried into the Nazi headquarters.
    â€œSilk stockings,” said Volpe Rossa. Her lip curled in disgust.
    â€œWhat’s so bad about stockings?” asked Lupo.
    â€œShe’s not hungry, that’s what. Where do you think she gets them? What do you think she’s going to do in that Nazi hotel?”
    â€œShe’s the enemy,” mumbled Giovanni’s mother. Then she let out a tired sigh. “This system makes no sense. We wait hours to get coupons from the Fascists, only so we can change lines and wait hours to buy milk, fuel, supplies.”
    â€œIf we’re lucky,” said the young woman in front of them. She was pregnant. Two small children clung to her skirts. “The last two times I came, when I got up to the front, the official announced there were no more coupons. They’d run out. Can you imagine?” She held up her shopping basket. “I went home with this basket empty. That’s why I came early today. I was here before the sun.”
    â€œThe whole system stinks,” said Giovanni’s mother.
    Lupo and Volpe Rossa exchanged glances. That was dangerous talk. You never knew who might overhear. Volpe Rossa put her hand on Giovanni’s mother’s arm.
    Giovanni’s mother brushed it off in quick annoyance. “Don’t you have anyone you can leave the children with, so at least they don’t have to spend all this time waiting?”
    The pregnant woman shook her head. “My husband’s at home—out of work, like everyone else. But he’s sick in bed. My brother is off somewhere in Germany, slaving for those Nazis. My other brother’s in prison in Russia—if he’s still alive. And . . . well, why should I tell you? You know how it is. We all know. Everyone’s miserable.” She reached into her basket and came out with a handful of boiled chestnuts. The children immediately set to peeling and eating them.
    The crowd suddenly hushed. A Nazi officer had come up. He worked his way through the people, asking to see documents. Everyone fumbled with purses and dug around in bags.
    Lupo’s mouth twitched involuntarily. He had phony documents. So did Volpe Rossa. So far he’d avoided having to show them. Were they up to snuff? He’d seen people dragged away because their documents weren’t in