Fire in the Hills by Donna Jo Napoli Read Free Book Online Page A

connected by vines, which formed a natural fence between the fields. The other workers had gone back to the farmhouse a while ago to clean up before dinner. But Roberto had formed the habit of lagging behind. No one seemed to mind, so long as he showed up for the meal.
    Maybe he’d lagged a bit too long today, though. He hurried now, straight to the well. Two copper pitchers were waiting on the ground beside it. He filled them, like usual, then carried one in each hand. He hardly felt the dig of the thin metal handles anymore, his hands had already grown hard from cutting maize stalks all day.
    He wore old trousers, a shirt without a collar, and a jacket without sleeves. Rina had pulled them from a trunk for him. They fit okay.
    Planes went by overhead. Roberto could tell from the sound that there were several of them. He didn’t look up.
    When he got to the house, the thick smell of minestra greeted him, cabbage rich. He’d come to love Rina’s minestra. He put the pitchers on the sideboard and washed his hands and face in the basin with the water the boys had already used for the same purpose. Then he helped set the table. The boys didn’t help in that kind of work. But Roberto liked doing it. Their teasing didn’t bother him. And he knew it made Rina feel better about having him around—about having one more mouth to feed.
    Rina put two hot loaves of bread on the table, and the boys appeared as if by magic. Four of them. The two who had found Roberto that night in the bushes: Ivano, the one with the gun, and Angelo. Plus Manfreddo, who was older, and Emilio, who was a lot younger. They were brothers—Rina’s children.
    Roberto picked up a long loaf and held it upright to his chest. Its warmth felt wonderful through his jacket. He cut it into wedges, drawing the knife toward his chest. He’d learned that way of cutting bread from the oldest brother. It felt honest to hug the bread like that—respectful acknowledgment of how essential it was. He wished he could give a loaf like this to every fourteen-year-old girl in Naples. His eyes burned for an instant.
    The boys dropped pieces of bread into their bowls of minestra and ate greedily, talking about the grape harvest that would start in the morning. Roberto listened only enough to get an idea of what his next job would be. They had harvested about half the grapes before he got there, using some for eating and the rest for wine. But the other half were still on the vine. The blush of maturity had passed. The grapes were partly dry. It didn’t make any sense to Roberto. But, then, not much made sense to him. He was a city boy. Venice didn’t have fields to work. Or not on the main islands, anyway. His only experience with field labor before now was that afternoon he’d spent cutting and rolling wheat with the two little boys in Sicily. He ate the cheese and nuts and grapes that followed the soup without hearing anything really.
    After dinner everyone went outside to relieve themselves in the outhouse. Though the farmhouse had electricity, it had no running water and no bathroom. Then the boys went inside to gather around the radio, while Rina washed the dishes in the water Roberto had brought from the well. Roberto went to the barn. He couldn’t bear listening to war news on the radio. He didn’t care about battles anywhere.
    Venice was occupied by the Nazis. His Venice. His parents. So long as that was true, he couldn’t go home. Rina said it was too dangerous.
    After all that Roberto had been through, it was almost laughable how he obeyed the warnings of this mild woman. But he did. It felt good to be treated like a child by her.
    And obeying her gave him the excuse he needed. He didn’t want to leave this farm. He wished he was home with his family, oh, Lord, how he wished that. But he couldn’t travel there; he couldn’t bear the thought of meeting up with German soldiers again. Soon enough the