I expect,’ her mother said, pointing to a large bubbling pot of steaming liquid. Livia peered inside; pieces of something spongy and rubbery were floating around in the water. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Cow’s lung,’ her mother said defensively. ‘And before you say anything, it’s the only meat I’ve managed to get hold of in weeks.’
‘Ugh… they had it in the university canteen last week – I remember now, I couldn’t eat it.’
‘Well, there’s nothing else.’ Her mother sounded impatient and angry.
‘But Mamma, it looks and smells disgusting.’
‘I know, but we were lucky to get it. There was a queue outside the shop – women were fighting for it.’ She peered into the pot and sniffed. ‘I still have a couple of onions left. I’ll try to make it a bit more palatable.’
Livia retreated from the kitchen and was heading down the corridor towards her bedroom, when her mother called after her. ‘Livia! There’s a letter for you, it’s on the hall table.’
The letter – stained and battered – lay on the polished walnut surface. She grabbed it and rushed up to the roof terrace. She sat down, leaning against the hot metal side of the water tank. The sun hung low over the Duomo, casting pink light all over the city. A faint breeze blew over the rooftops, while flocks of starlings swirled above her head swooping and diving in unison. She tore open the envelope.
June 1942
My darling Livia,
I have not been able to write for some time. I cannot tell you how awful it is here. I know I should be brave and write of my manly achievements – fighting for a cause I believe in, standing shoulder to shoulder with my comrades-in-arms. But the truth is, none of us believe in the cause and my comrades are already exhausted. The food is terrible – but perhaps for you also? My mother’s letter reached me a few weeks ago and she told me that everything is rationed now in Florence. People are so hungry, she said, they are eating rats and the lungs of cats. Is that really true? I cannot bear to think of you all starving.
We are in Russia – I cannot say where. The plan – if there is one – is to capture a coal-mining basin nearby. We move off tomorrow and I pray we survive. I’m working as a radio operator, so am not in the front line, thank God. But I fear we will all have to fight in the end; I just pray I never have to kill someone, as I really don’t think I could, although it’s unlikely as our guns don’t work properly. Even the hand grenades are faulty!
My darling, I must go now. I kiss you. I kiss your tiny beautiful wrist.
I love you
Cosimo xxxx
One evening before he had left, long ago in the cold, icy winter, Livia remembered that Cosimo had taken her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist. The skin was so soft, he said, like a bird’s wing. Now, Livia imagined his lips kissing her, his arms around her waist. She kissed his letter and slipped it into her dress pocket. The letter had been sent weeks before. Whatever battle he had gone into the following day had long since finished. Had he killed someone by now? Had he even survived?
Reluctantly, she left the terrace and was assailed by the putrid odour of cow lung as she descended the staircase to the apartment. She had still not told her family about Cosimo, and a letter from a young man serving at the front was bound to cause interest. She prepared herself for the inevitable interrogation from her mother, but as she opened the door onto the corridor, she heard raised voices. Her mother and father were arguing in the sitting room.
‘Why do you always have to put yourself at risk?’ Luisa sounded frightened and angry.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied Giacomo soothingly.
‘It’s always the same! You don’t care a fig for me, or Livia,’ she shouted. ‘We are incidental to your existence! All that matters is the cause!’
‘I’ve simply joined a political party, for heaven’s sake.’
‘The Partito d’Azione is not just a political party and you know it. They are a rabble of left-wingers.’ Her mother spat the words out as if they disgusted her.
‘No, Luisa, you are quite wrong,’ Giacomo said calmly. ‘Firstly, they are not a rabble, in