* * *
At seven o’clock the following morning, we were lined up in the camp in squads of twenty each, around a hundred recruits in total, under the command of five instructors answerable to the captain of the training school. We began with warm-up exercises, the very same as we had done at the Gallarate club: bend to touch the toes, arm and leg stretching, short sprints, half-turns of chest and shoulders, press-ups, and so on, all executed at top speed, to the very limit of physical endurance. Half of the pupils were out of training, and in fact we all dropped one after the other, like skittles. Half an hour to get your breath back, then start all over again. In the afternoon, they gave out harnesses for us to put on, and then they suspended us from high bars held up by a structure similar to a swing: they invited us to swing about a bit, then without warning they sprang the catches supporting us and we found ourselves abruptly tossed to the ground: rolls and bumps at our own discretion. At this point, we embarked on lessons on the impact of landing, that is, they taught us somersault techniques. We had to learn how to carry out circular pirouettes while rolling on arms, shoulders, back and legs: how to transform ourselves into perfect wheels, with a suppleness which would enable us to adapt our rolling movement to any terrain or direction of impact. Of course they also taught us the angel drop with backward flip of the arms, and other acrobatic turns. As regards training for the jump itself, every day they taught us something new: diving jump into a tarpaulin, jump with weapons and rucksack, and finally the blind jump, that is, blindfolded, letting go of the swing while it was swaying. Obviously, sprains, dislocated joints and broken bones were the order of the day. And the instructors’ refrain was always the same: ‘Anyone who can’t stand it can pack up this very moment!’
In the evening, we would be full of aches and pains, as well as worn out by sheer fatigue. Only a few had the energy to ask for an evening pass: the bulk of us lay on the camp beds chatting. As confidence among us grew, I grasped that others among the trainees felt the same way as me: we were taking part in that gut-bursting tour de force only to escape from something worse, but no one wanted to admit it explicitly. There were also some fanatical followers of the regime who came out with high-minded banalities about fatherland, sacrifice and defence of the race, but the majority ignored them. A large number of the lads had signed up for the course principally to prove to themselves that they had the necessary courage and physical strength, or else to escape from the shell of what they themselves considered a mediocre existence, bereft of all vitality. The commanders at the barracks at Monza had found out that we had skipped off to Tradate, but no one could ask for us to be sent back. In fact, it was as if we were in the Foreign Legion.
The forty days’ training passed at incredible speed. We awaited the day of the jump with anxiety and trepidation, but unexpectedly the captain informed us that there were no aircraft available at the Venegono airfield. Some of the boys burst out crying in despair. There were only a few more days, then we were to be sent who knows where, perhaps to the front, perhaps to take part in a search-and-destroy mission near Cirié, in Piedmont. That very evening, Marco and I made up our minds it was time to get moving immediately. Taking advantage of an evening off, we ran to the station and got on the last train bound for the lake and along its shoreline. I had forged two other false passes. When we got to Laveno, we said goodbye. We had no precise programme for our escape. For the moment, Marco decided to go back to his family at Besozzo, then he would see. I got off at Porto Valtravaglia.
I found the whole family at home, and explained my situation to them. I was once again a deserter, but this time the stakes were higher. My father had a friend who lived at Caldé, a colleague with whom he had organised the escape of many wanted people. He already had an understanding with him: the railwayman would put me up in the attic of an old, semi-abandoned house which belonged to him. Half ruined and almost completely overgrown, it was situated in the woods in the depths of the valley. The attic could be reached only by a ladder; once I was inside, I was to pull it up and conceal it. No one, not even my mother, knew about that hiding place. In the attic, I found a straw bed and a cupboard with some provisions obtained by the railwayman. My father and his friend did not even say goodbye; a few waves and they were off. That night, I did not sleep a wink. Sounds and noises from the woods and surrounding fields filled my ears. There were no windows, only a skylight camouflaged by creepers, but I looked out through a hole in the tiles and in the distance I could see the lake. It was a moonlit night, and the noise of barking dogs was redoubled by the echo from the valleys.
Alba, the sister of the railwayman friend, was supposed to come within three days with fresh supplies, but no one turned up. On the evening of the fourth day, I heard the sound of the engine of a truck. I looked out of the usual peep-hole: it was a National Republican Guard patrol. They stopped right under the ruin. They were chatting, but I could not make out what they were saying. On the other side of the roof, beside the skylight, I had a rope in readiness as an alternative possible escape route, but I did not move. I was afraid to make any noise. I lay there, almost without breathing. Suddenly, the four or five of them climbed back into their truck and went away. I will never know why they were up there. Had someone been spying on me? Were they looking for someone else?
Alba, the Italian for Dawn, lived up to her name: she turned up exactly as dawn was breaking, three days late. She had with her a bag filled with foodstuffs. At long last! I had not so much as a jug of water left, but I did not dare go down. I was literally in a state of panic. The woman climbed up the ladders I let down to her. She apologised for the delay, but her brother had had to flee at short notice. The Blackshirts were after him, and so she too had had to stay in hiding.
I spent more than a month up there, without ever going out. From my vantage point, I was able to spy all around. I learned to decipher the greater part of the noises and rustles of the woodland; I came to recognise the song of the various birds, the subtle calls of each animal, the porcupines, ferrets, mice, otters, beech marten and foxes. They were my guard: it was they who gave the alarm or fell instantly silent if someone seemed to be drawing close to our territory. In my turn, I had become part of the fauna of the locality; they knew who I was, and above all knew I was inoffensive. I often threw them handfuls of crumbs, the remains of my meals. Some birds even came up to my peep-hole. Every so often I climbed up to look out through the skylight. It was possible to make out some peasant houses in the valley on the far side of the woods. Who knows if under those roofs there were other fugitives hidden in the same conditions as me.
I believe it was a Tuesday, there was a really bright sun, and all over the valley, as far as the eye could see, the flowers were in bloom. I heard blasts in the distance, and bells began to ring out one after the other from all the bell-towers in the neighbourhood. The wind was in my favour, and even the sound of bells on the far side of the lake carried over to me. I crawled through the skylight, and climbed out onto the roof from where I could see the piazza in Caldé. There was a band playing their hearts out, and young men, women and children were running about all over the place. They were yelling, but I could not make out a word. I did hear the festive shouts of people making their way up to the ruined house. I immediately recognised Alba, her friends, the railwayman and other inhabitants of the valley. ‘It’s all over!’ they kept on repeating in a loud voice, ‘The war is over!’