The stench of waste and blood was so overpowering I had to sink my teeth into my own flesh to keep from screaming. Through the corpses above me and over the railings, I could hear men shouting orders.
Nothing could be stolen from the Villa Matarese; anyone found doing so would join the bodies inside. For there were to be many bodies left inside, charred flesh and bones to be found at a later time.
The wagons began to move, smoothly at first, then we reached the fields, and the horses were whipped unmercifully. The wagons raced through the grass and over the rocks at immense speeds, as if every second was a second our living guards wished to leave behind in hell. There was death below me, death above me, and I prayed to Almighty God to take me also. But I could not cry out, for although I wanted to die, I was afraid of the pain of dying. The unseen hand held me by the throat. But mercy was granted me. I fell into unconsciousness, how long I do not know, but I think it was a very long time.
I awakened, the wagons had come to a stop and I peered through the bodies and the slats in the side. There was moonlight and we were far up in the wooded hills, but not in the mountains. Nothing was familiar to me. We were far, far away from Villa Matarese, but where I could not tell you then and cannot tell you now.
The last of the nightmare began. Our bodies were pulled ojff the wagons and thrown into a common grave, each corpse held by two men so that they could hurl it into the deepest part. I fell in pain, my teeth sinking into my fingers to keep my mind from crossing into madness. I opened my eyes and the vomit came again at what I saw. All around me dead faces, limp arms, gaping mouths. Stabbed, bleeding carcasses that only hours ago had been human beings.
The grave was enormous, wide and deep-and strangely, it seemed to me in my silent hysteria, shaped in the form of a circle.
Beyond the edge I would hear the voices of our gravediggers. Some were weeping, while others cried out to Christ for mercy. Several were demanding that the blessed sacraments be given to the dead, that for the sake of all their souls, a priest be brought to the place of death and intercede with God. But other men said no, they were not the killers, merely those chosen to put the slain to rest. God would understand.
"Bastal" they said. It could not be done. It was the price they paid for the good of generations yet to be born. The hills were theirs; the fields and streams and forests belonged to theml There was no turning back now.
They had made their pact with the padrone, and he had made it clear to the elders: Only the government's knowledge of a cospirazione could take the lands away from them. The padrone was the most learned of men, he knew the courts and the laws, his ignorant tenants did not. They were to do exactly as he had instructed the elders or the high courts would take the lands from them.
There could be no priests from Porto Vecchio or Sainte Lucie or anywhere else. No chance taken that word would go out of the hills. Those who had other thoughts could join the dead, their secret way never to leave the hills. The lands were theirsl It was enough. The men fell silent, picked up their shovels, and began throwing dirt over the bodies. I thought then that surely I would die, my mouth and nostills smothered under the earth. Yet I think all of u's trapped with death find ways to elude Its touch, ways we could never dream of before we are caught. It happened for me.
As each layer of earth filled the circular grave and was trampled upon, I moved my hand in the darkness, clawing the dirt above me so that I could breathe. At the very end I had nothing but the smallest passage of air but it was enough; there was space around my head, enough for God's air to invade. The unseen hand had guided mine and I lived.
It wa!r hours later, I believe, when I began to burrow my way to the surface, a... blind... unknowing animal seeking life. When my hand reached through