Love During Wartime (CLOSED)

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige slowly strode along the old stone bridge, the cobbles slightly uneven under his feet giving him cause to tread rather lightly. One hand rested just as lightly upon the cool iron railing while the other brushed delicately across the back of the woman beside him as they walked. To an outsider, it would appear that they were merely an elderly couple out for a walk, possibly denizens of the great city strolling a familiar route and on their way to an afternoon tea down by the cathedral. He certainly looked the part, to his credit. An old grey fedora rested atop a head of still full and thick salt and pepper hair, the tiny red feather tucked into the hat band shining brighter than a ruby in the midday sun. A pair of rimless glasses framed a face which was slightly long and angular, weathered by time and toil as much as the stones beneath their feet. The nose was long and semi-straight, with the gentlest crook in it which suggested it had been broken more than once in the past. His lips, though thin, were pulled up at the edges, the tiniest quirk of a smile installed permanently upon his gaunt face.

Where his face showed signs of his age, the rest of him showed signs of a different age entirely. His face may have betrayed his years, but the light, grey smoking jacket and clean white oxford he wore beneath seemed to belong in another time. They spoke of dim parlors and candlelit cafes, of rousing cheers given in guildhalls and whispered conferences in the cathedral. His charcoal slacks and polished black wingtips further added to the image, and if not for the tired yet distinctly happy face, he could have stepped straight out of a bygone age, perhaps a time during the last great war… Zurich had been a much different place then, and as they stopped briefly, he let out a heavy, slightly weary sigh, leaning on his companion a little more, his fingers giving her shoulder a gentle yet assuring squeeze. His deep blue eyes were the color of frost, like an icy river frozen over at the height of winter’s chill. They turned then towards the river over which they were passing, his lips cracking open and issuing a soft sigh. Turning then towards her, the smile growing wider, warmer and more affectionate, he spoke…

“Do you remember, cherie? So long ago, it seems sometimes, yet at others, as if it were only yesterday…” His voice was calm and soft, unhurried, as though he knew he need not speak much above a whisper for her to hear him and they had all the time in the world for this single gentle exchange. His hand slid down from her shoulder and his long, slender fingers wrapped gently about her waist as he tugged her to his side and turned them both to look out across the lazily flowing river beneath them. “This is the bridge… This very spot, perhaps, where I waited that night… It was a different place then, to be sure, but no less beautiful…” Turning to face her, he looked deep into her eyes before continuing, “And neither were you. Indeed you still grow more lovely by the day…”

The words flowed through the air, which smelled faintly of salt and warmth and industry, down to the river and out towards the cafes which lined the waterfront on both sides, and even back towards the Grossmunster cathedral behind them ,which stood tall and stately as ever, its twin spires reaching towards the faint clouds above, so high above the town. The reflected twin could be easily seen in the shifting waters below, its grey stone façade and glass topped spires collecting and reflecting the light, respectively. “Though it was not so warm that night… It was clear and bright, and these lamps were still burning oil then…” He gestured softly towards the old wrought iron lamp post nearby which still showed traces of where the old oil lamps had hung from the long hooked end. “Do you remember, cherie?”

 

[cati]

“Do you remember, cherie? So long ago, it seems sometimes, yet at others, as if it were only yesterday…”

"Of course I remember dear... how could I possibly forget...yes, it seems a lifetime ago...we were two very different people then, so young... so brave and foolish...only fools are so brave," she reminded him.

The elderly women returned her husband's gaze and smiled.

"It surprises me still that we managed to live through it all."

” He gestured softly towards the old wrought iron lamp post nearby which still showed traces of where the oil lamps had hung from the long hooked end.
“Do you remember, cherie?” His voice full of emotion.

Isabella felt his fingers gently brush a few strands of silvery hair from her eyes as she gazed tenderly into the face of the man she loved and had come to know so well. The beam from the lamp light overhead cast a soft luminescence across the elderly woman's delicate features revealing the wisdom of her seventy two years..a noble face that reflected a life well lived.
The slow moving water of the Rhine swirled silently underneath the ancient stone arch that connected the two sides of the river. There the elderly couple stood in an intimate embrace, speaking tenderly... whispering to each other about love and patriotism and a War that had tried to consume them both.
Anyone passing by would have had difficulty discerning one word from the next, they spoke so quietly about the circumstances that had brought them to this very place so many years earlier. A promise made by two young people, vowing to meet exactly one year to the day of the armistice... without knowing the personal cost to themselves and the foolishness of making such a agreement.

....................................................................

Isabella Maria Valenti was born in a small town just outside, Milano Italy, on a very warm July morning in 1920. Her father, being the town's only physician attended to the delivery of his first born child, while at the same time attempting to silence the loud, dramatic outbursts of his wife who lay writhing on their matrimonial bed. One minute screaming that she was surely going die...the next minute praying to the Madonna of Caravaggio, to be relieved of her labour pains. In return Mrs. V. promised to attend mass every day of the week and three times on Sunday.
On the other side of the upstairs bedroom door a dozen female voices could be heard whispering amongst themselves as they fervently clutched old and worn rosaries. They too offered prayers to their favourite Saint asking that all would go well with the baby's birth. They need'nt have bothered, for the delivery itself proved short and uneventful, except for the arrival of a wailing, healthy, eight pound "bambina" that Dr. Valenti soon presented to all the sisters, cousins and aunts waiting to see the newest member of the family.

"Her name is Isabella Maria, after my mother... as is tradition" he proudly announced.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige Cartier grew up in the small seaport of Saint Malo, to a working class family of fishermen who’d lived by the seaside for generations. When he was born, being the first of several to his father Jacques and his young wife Marie, there was talk of passing down the familiar name, making him a Jacques as well. Their cottage was situated along the outer western edge of the Basin de la Rance, and given that and the family name of Cartier, it had become tradition for at least one male of every generation to take the name Jacques, after the famous explorer Jacques Cartier who happened to have been born in their tiny town many long years before.

The tradition was not uncommon, and given the nature of the town, there were at least three or four Jacques Cartier’s turning out with each new generation. Gaige’s first sibling, a sister named Anais lucked out by fact of being born a girl, but his next, a healthy baby boy born two short years after his sister and four after he, became Jacques. The three grew happily together, prancing about in the sea, taking a few lessons from the local school master and eventually learning a bit of the family trade. Gaige was not satisfied as a fisherman, though, and as soon as he was able signed up with the service. Being born in 1918, he grew up hearing tales of soldiers and great feats of heroism from the returned veterans of the great war, and vowed that some day he would be famous throughout France.

--------------------​

Gaige strode idly across the bridge, hands thrust tightly into the pockets of his long wool coat. The Evening was warmer than expected, but he kept the coat on because he didn’t want to risk setting it down somewhere and leaving it behind. Zurich was a beautiful place, but it certainly had its rougher, darker sides as well… His left fist clutched tightly at the telegraph he’d received earlier at his hotel, fingers sliding across the rough edges, feeling out the texture of the cheap paper.

The message had been short, as always, and seemingly inane. It had mentioned his aunt Ines and her cottage by the sea, inviting him for a visit. The message was obviously coded, and he was presently on his way to a meeting with, he hoped, some information. It was sometimes difficult to discern what exactly motivated his superiors, but he had his orders and followed them as best he could.

Strolling briskly down from the bridge to the riverside walkway, Gaige smirked, watching a pair of ill hidden lovers caressing in the shadows of the gas lamps hanging overhead. He couldn’t overhear their conversation, whispered softly as it was, but he caught the gentlest hint of a sigh and a hissed intake of breath which dragged the smirk a little higher. Pulling his cap down lower over his forehead and averting his eyes, Gaige made his way along the riverwalk, his destination finally visible yet still several blocks distant.

He walked along silently, fingertips still idly caressing the telegram in his pocket, eyes focusing on the waterside businesses still hanging lanterns at that time of night. When he’d left the hotel it had been just before midnight, and given the amount of time spent wending his way through the dark city streets and across the river, it was most likely half past at that point. When he reached the hall he was aiming for it would surely be, if not later, and his contact would certainly not wait all night. The smell of the river drifted up to meet him as he walked, the wind sweeping up off the water, swirling about overhead and then rushing off over the rooftops. Gaige was privately a little glad for that, for he hadn’t eaten anything yet that evening and passing by the warm, inviting alehouses and pubs along the way sharpened his hunger pangs until they’d been little daggers digging into his abdomen.

When the public house finally came near enough to make out he breathed a sigh of relief, shaking out his limbs as he strode up to the front door. The dancing flame of the gaslight overhead was barely visible through the frosted glass of the globe, but Gaige stood and watched it dance briefly through squinted eyes before entering. The hall wasn’t large, and it wasn’t as busy as he’d expected, but it was cheery and inviting, with a few open arm chairs by the fireplace, one of which he immediately moved to and sank into with a sigh. Glancing down at the way his polished black shoes reflected the light overhead, he leaned an elbow upon the arm of the chair and rested his face in his hand. Soon enough his contact would arrive, and the meeting could begin. Until then, he had a little time to relax… Unbuttoning the black wool coat, he shrugged it off and laid it across his dark slacks, taking a moment to adjust the lay of his shirt. Pursing his lips into a thin, tightlipped smile, he settled in to wait and began letting his eyes rove about the room.

 

[cati]

Sitting at a small table in the farthest corner of the tavern Isabella looked up from her newspaper to see who had come through the tavern doors. Already having waited for one hour, she was growing more uneasy as the minutes of the wall clock ticked by. The man was tall, dark haired and wore a heavy overcoat that concealed the shape of a manly physique. He seemed neither fat nor thin. A small badge of a reddish colour was pinned to his overcoat lapel.

Isabella had been given an old black and white photograph of her contact, a smudged Kodak print that had been taken a few years earlier by an unknown "paparazzo." She removed the photo from the side pocket of her coarse wool jacket and peered closely at the face again.

"You never know who is watching you these days my friend"

A handsome face that smiled innocently into the camera. She wondered who the woman was in the picture with him...a old girlfriend...lover perhaps.

"This must be him, there can be no mistake"

He sat down with his back towards her and that was a good thing. He looks like he might be waiting for someone also.

Isabella continued to watch the stranger for a few minutes more, although her view of him was largely obstructed by a gaudy brass floor lamp placed haphazardly near the corner of the bar. Preparing herself for personal contact, she inhaled deeply taking in deep gulps of stale air that reaked of spilled beer, tobacco smoke and something else...."

"but what was it?...I know that smell... ahh yes, that was it... cheap hair pomade."

To the regular clientele her personage seemed every bit that of a young country bumpkin come to town for a few pints of watery ale. The young woman's thick chestnut tresses had been carefully tucked under a smart Moreno wool cap worn low over her brow to hide her pretty almond shaped eyes. Brown wool jodpurs bearing stains from the cow pastures were off-set by "too large" men's leather boots, also purposely muddied in order to complete her disquise.

Taking her glass of ale in hand, she carefully made her way through the noisy crowd of drinkers hovering near the bar, but not once did she take her eyes off the man in the chair. Now within hearing range and certainly close enough to touch him, Isabella bent down and tapped him on the shoulder. Speaking French with just a slight Italian accent she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Pardon Monsieur, but I could not help but notice your coat...

it's very nice... did you buy it at Delacroix? It's cashmere, if I'm not mistaken."

Particular emphasis being put on the word "cashmere"

 

[cati]

Friends

"You know what really gets me Franca?"

"No, what "

"How that bastard they call "Il Duce" has been able to seize control of the Government again"

"Your kidding" replied her friend, not really listening to a word that was being said to her, so engrossed was she in flipping through the pages of "Gioia" magazine and judging the latest trends in Women's Fall fashions. Isabella knew that Franca just pretended to be listening to her and more often than not these days, the other girl seemed completely tuned out.

"Yes it's right here, in the headline..listen to this, "Mussolini re-establishes Fascist Government". How is it possible that they would let that fascist freak out on the streets again, he's ruining the country. Tell me why can't someone put a bullet to his head and that whore of his ...what's her name?

"Clara something..." Franca mumbled between bites and chews of her sandwich. "Petucci...I think."

"Yes, that's the one. A firing squad would be too good for them."

"You can thank the Nazis for his release"

Just at that moment, the stocky figure of their friend and fellow student Stefano Paluzzi came towards them through the courtyard. Rather unceremoniously he plopped his large frame down on the grass in front of the girls and began talking.

"Hey listen you two... are you going to that meeting tonight ?"

"What meeting" asked Franca, immediately brightening at the young man's arrival.

Stefano looked at Isabella, "Well?"

"What meeting" Franca repeated.

"A speaker from the CNL... you know ... the "Comitato di Liberazione Nazionale". Representatives are coming to the University to speak tonight and they will probably try and recruit new members...don't you keep up with what's happening around here... anything, but those stupid fashion magazines...how will you ever know what's going on in the world?"

Sometimes talking to Franca was like talking to a brick wall.

The other girl merely shrugged her shoulders, "Well at least I know how to dress," she retorted, biting off a generous piece of her prosciutto panini.

"...and for your information I know alot more about politics than you think."

The young people were third year students at the "Universita degli Studi di Milano", based in "la Ca Granda" or "the big house" as it was commonly referred to.

Isabella loved learning languages and had selected Linguistics as her main field of study with hopes to graduate the following year. With a little bit of luck and knowing people in high places, she would find work as a translator. Of course, both parents were disappointed in their eldest daughter's decision, assuming Isabella would follow in her father's footsteps and choose something related to the field of Medicine.

Franca and Stefano on the otherhand were Art Majors, who spent most of their weekends browsing through the various private and public galleries in the area, the galleries still allowed to remain open that is.

The two girls had been best friends since childhood. Franca's family had moved to Bergamo from Trieste after her father had been killed in a automobile accident two years earlier.
The town gossips whispered that it was a car bombing by Facsists that had killed Franca's poor father, not a simple car accident. Others insisted that Mr. Bernardone had been a hit man for the Milanese Mafia, but either way, Franca was left without a father. The girl's maternal grandparents lived around the corner from Dr. Valenti's practice on Via Piave and so that was how Franca came to live in their neighborhood. It was simply fate that brought the two girls together to become the best of friends.

But they were nothing at all alike, those two. Blond haired, blue eyed Franca was tall for her age and big boned, while Isabella was much shorter and prone to being underweight... had beautiful, big brown brown eyes and thick chestnut colored hair that her mother insisted on braiding every morning before she went to school. Yes, different as night and day.... one quiet and thoughtful... the other boisterous and prone to dramatics. Always friends to the end they said.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige watched the woman saunter over out of the corner of his eye, the slack expression of unconcern and weariness still sitting plainly upon his face, like a mask placed there and firmly rooted to the spot. It was one of the subtle tricks he had picked up over the years, though not anything he had officially been instructed in. It simply made more sense though, to him, to take everything in while seeming to be aware of nothing. It had paid off in the past and would surely again in the future.

He watched the warm glow of the lanterns overhead as they cast her features in a new light. Flickering yellow light danced across her face, though much of it was hidden in shadow due to the overlarge cap she wore. It looked as though she’d bundle up her hair underneath it, surely to disguise herself or at least make her appearance seem vague and less memorable. Could she be his contact? His eye lids lowered the tiniest bit in concentration, though he did nothing so bold as move his head or even let his eyes flutter in her direction. Still, he studied her as she drew closer, watching the fall of her heavy boots upon the dull wood floor, the hang of her clothes which only partially concealed the lithe form beneath. It wasn’t obvious when standing or sitting, but when she moved, there was a definite reveal of the body beneath, though not enough to be seen in a casual glance or much more even for a trained eye.

He was still unsure even as she drew up beside him and tapped his shoulder. Perhaps she was setting him up for a fall, thinking him an easy mark because of the tired slump of his shoulders and the affected disinterest he had in the other occupants of the hall. When she spoke though, the careful pronunciation which overcame the gentle accent, his doubts were assuaged away. He slowly reached for his pocket, feeling for the rough grain of the paper once more, idly twisting a corner between two fingers as he replied, his eyes never leaving the spot far off in the distance he’d focused upon.

“You are not mistaken, it is cashmere, though in truth it is actually from a small town in Alsace…” He returned the emphasis on cashmere, his voice dipping from its gentle whisper to almost inaudibility as he reached the end. “I have a cousin there who tends sheep…” He finished, the timbre of his voice rising slightly as he chanced a look towards the face of who he know knew to be his contact. Until then he had seen only that part of her she wished revealed, the disguise set in place to fool wandering eyes and curious inquisitors, but when his own brushed across the smooth, rich skin of her face, drinking in the soft curve of her lips and the deep, seemingly endless wells of her eyes, Gaige realized why she had kept them hidden. Those eyes were remarkable, any man who looked into them even by chance could easily lose himself within their depths, and such an encounter would not be easily forgotten.

Collecting himself, for he knew his jaw had dipped slightly at the sight of her striking and lovely features, Gaige cleared his throat and slowly rose from his seat, his hand clenching tighter about the paper message than ever. “The Rhine is very lovely when viewed at night, would you perchance consent to walk with me a while?” He could just as easily have found them both places by the fire, or at a table in the corner, for the hall was nowhere near even half full due to the time of year, but he felt compelled towards action, some sort of action, lest he simply sit and stare into those eyes once more… Besides, the likelihood of them being overheard while walking along the river was slim to none, and surely the night air would do them both good. He would also be less tempted to focus on her, his contact, and more on the information they would exchange…

 

[cati]

“You are not mistaken, it is cashmere, though in truth it is actually from a small town in Alsace…”

He returned the emphasis on cashmere, his voice dipping from its gentle whisper to almost inaudibility as he reached the end.

“I have a cousin there who tends sheep…”

" Really Monsieur?... a sheepherding cousin, that is difficult to believe" she smiled, sitting down into a worn, but apparently quite comfortable arm chair near the fireplace.

"...and what pray tell is your cousin's connection to cashmere ...besides herding the animals that sacrifice their hides for such things ?"

No answer was forthcoming, he refused to look at her directly, choosing instead to focus his attention on a cheap painting hanging on the far wall.

Nevertheless, he was scrutinizing her, appraising her. His dark eyes, though averted took in every inch of her body. And the way, the deliberate way his hand had just brushed against her face was very difficult to ignore.

Isabella was beginning to feel very uncomfortable in the closeness of the tavern's crowded anti-room. The coarse fabric of her ill-fitting trousers beginning to chafe in the most intimate of places. Cold beads of perspiration formed tiny rivulets of wetness along her temples revealing her true state of mind. She felt vulnerable, unsure of what to do or say next. In fact, nothing about this meeting was going according to plan.

Reaching into the pocket of her pants, she removed a soiled linen handkerchief that she used to wipe the cold sweat from her brow, accidentally knocking the wool cap from her head in the process. A thick, luxurious crown of chestnut hair came tumbling free from it's confines settling about her shoulders. Isabella glanced over at her companion, as she combed through the tangled mass with her fingers. He was staring at her, a strange, almost glazed look to his eyes.

"Have you never seen a woman before Monsieur...? I think you are being very rude to look at me this way."

He cleared his throat as he rose to his feet and spoke quickly and quietly. “The Rhine is very lovely when viewed at night, would you perchance consent to walk with me a while?”

"The night is dark and cold... the river barely visible and it is already well past mid-nite...but if you insist..." her voice trailing off just a little.

Isabella wasn't sure exactly what he had in mind, but appreciated the offer of a taking a stroll in the cool night air. Then any information they might exchange would surely go unnoticed under the moonless sky.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige listened to the young woman’s acquiescence with the same passive expression, his only outward reaction a slight upward twitch at one side of his mouth as he rose and offered her his arm. As they walked slowly through the seemingly empty hall and opened the door to the warm night air, Gaige took a deep breath of the spray wafting up from the river. Despite the time of year the air was still rather cool, a bit of a relief after the heat he’d experienced down south the month before. The tasks he’d been set kept him traveling on a near-constant basis, often all over the continent, and he relished the opportunity to be even this close to home…

“I take it from your accent you are not from around here…” His own voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. “It is… no matter. None of us remain close to home for long in this line of work. I only mention it because…” he trailed off as the approached the path which led along the river.

There were few others out that night, some drunks wandering along the streets, some stumbling home and others to wherever they would fall for the night. The weather was warm enough none would freeze so the police allowed them more freedom than usual, simply letting them rest where they fell in favor of running them all in and depositing them in drunk tanks. Gaige admired the system and reflected on how it reminded him of home. Back in his home town they’d adopted a similar system, though that was more due to a lack of police than anything…

As they drew closer to the bridge, Gaige picked up where he left off, “Because your accent sounds Italian, and I believed I knew all of our contacts there. Are you new?” He shortened his stride, ambling more slowly as they passed the bridge in favor of a trip along the riverside. He hadn’t glanced at his companion since leaving the public hall, not wishing to risk giving too much of himself with another look in those eyes…

"Forgive me if I seem inquisitive, I merely wished to pass the time casually until we reach somewhere more... private, than a bridge where we may be overheard." Sliding his hand from his pocket, he placed it gingerly atop hers, hoping to reassure her that they were not simply out for a stroll on a cool, dark night.

 

[cati]

Isabella followed her man outside, surprised that the evening was still so warm. As they walked along the cobblestone street towards the river, they passed several drunken men trying desperately to stay on their feet as they made their way home. One man smelling badly of liquor brushed up against her mumbling something about taking her to bed with him. Isabella let fly a few colorful words back at him in Italian.

“I take it from your accent you are not from around here…” His own voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. “It is… no matter. None of us remain close to home for long in this line of work. I only mention it because…” he trailed off as the approached the path which led along the river.

"No, you are quite right, Monsieur, I am not from this area", why do you ask ?

“Because your accent sounds Italian, and I believed I knew all of our contacts there. Are you new?”

She laughed then, "Yes I am Italian, is my French really so bad?...I thought I spoke your language rather well. To answer your second question, no, I am not new to this work, not here nor in Italy. Who knows we might have passed each other many times on our "deliveries" and haven't known it."

Isabella followed quietly along side her contact, trying to keep up with the man's much longer gait. She was a little concerned about which direction they might be heading and what was going on in his mind at that moment.

"... and for that matter, I am not used to being asked about my nationality... it has never been questioned before", she replied rather curtly.

He still refused to look at her directly.

"Forgive me if I seem inquisitive, I merely wished to pass the time casually until we reach somewhere more... private... than a bridge where we may be overheard."

"May I ask where we are going? I'm not sure that this is the right way to go, do.. go about doing these things."
"We are to exchange some information...that is all... I don't understand the need for more privacy Monsieur.

Sliding his hand from his pocket, he placed it gingerly atop hers, hoping to reassure her that they were not simply out for a stroll on a cool, dark night.

Isabella's heart fairly jumped out of her chest at that moment. How dare he put his hand on hers. What did he think he was doing? Yes, the hand was warm and comforting and she was sure (or was she) that he meant well...still, they had work to do, not idle away this time on some imagined romantic whatever it was they called it (she couldn't remember the word in French) rendezvous

Isabella turned to him, her dark eyes furious.. "Monsieur, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? I don't even know your name, or you mine... but that's not the point..."

"... just what the bloody hell is going on here! she insisted.

Smoothly pulling out a German semi-automatic pistol from the waist band of her pants, Isablla pushed the barrel of the gun roughly into the man's side.

"Who the hell are you... you better start talking fast Mr., she hissed, "or I'm going to put big hole into skinny ass in about one minutes."

Isabella sometimes forgot her grammar during stressful moments.


__________________

 

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige smiled softly to himself as the young woman glared at him, her temper rising more and more obviously as they moved along the riverside path. When she whirled on him he let his hand fall from hers, moving it slowly to hook his thumb on the edge of his pocket again. Opening his mouth to speak again, he was cut off as she let fly a fast streaming inquiry.

Straightening slightly at the feel of the gun pressing against his side, Gaige cocked his head to one side and studied her. The soft glow of the moonlight had cast her profile into stark relief, tingeing her features with silver. As another rapid river of french burst forth he noticed her accent pick up, and he struggled slightly as he tried to pick her final sentence apart. He felt a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, and he slowly raised one hand, palm out, before himself towards her.

“Easy… I did not mean anything…” He spoke softly and slowly, taking his time so as not to antagonize her further. “My name…” He hesitated, his mouth hanging open as he risked a deeper look at her. The moon light cast her profile into even sharper relief now, and a gentle wind had struck up off the river, blowing the tips of her hair in tiny wisps around the cap under which most was still bunched. The overlarge, concealing clothing seemed, in that moment, to define and enhance her already striking features, rather than hide them, and Gaige felt another flutter within his chest. Going out on a whim, he decided to take a risk.

“Gaige. My name, is Gaige. Now, if you like, we can exchange information here, and you may be on your way… Never to see me again, if you so choose… Or we may move on… Towards something more comfortable… The choice is yours.” Taking a deep breath, then letting it out in a long, slow sigh, he turned slightly, pressing the gun against his stomach and raising his other hand between them.

“You have me at a disadvantage. You have a gun pointed at me, and you know my name, yet I don’t know yours and stand before you unarmed… If you would please lower the gun so that we might speak…” Gaige took a hesitant step back from the gun, keeping his hands raised, a soft smile playing across his face. Whoever she was, she was certainly more interesting and spirited than anyone else he’d worked with, by a thousand-fold. As he turned to glance out across the water once more, the salty spray of the Rhine kissed his skin again, filling the air around them with a distinct tang that reminded him always of home.

“The river, she is always beautiful by night. An elegant lady who moves swiftly and gracefully beneath the silvery glow of the moon, much like you, madam.” Gaige turned to look at the young woman once more and gave her a calm, hopeful smile. He wasn't sure if she would believe him, removing the gun from his side, or if she'd merely decide she'd had enough and shoot him, but either way he knew it would do neither of them any good to get worked up or excited. He'd seen too many situations crumble over missteps and conversations gone wrong, and he really did not want to end up the same way, especially not before they'd had a chance to exchange information...

 

[cati]

“Easy… I did not mean anything…” He spoke softly and slowly,

"Really?...I find that very hard to believe," she replied with a smirk.

“Gaige. My name, is Gaige. Now, if you like, we can exchange information here, and you may be on your way… never to see me again, if you so choose…

"You assume much, Monsieur... Gaige. I doubt that we will ever see each other again after tonite."

“You have me at a disadvantage. You have a gun pointed at me, and you know my name, yet I don’t know yours and stand before you unarmed… If you would please lower the gun so that we might speak…”

"How do I know that you are unarmed... "

Isabella moved back just a little but kept the barrel of gun pointed directly at him. If the gun accidentally went off, she knew the shot would be fatal. She quickly frisked him with expert hands, first around the chest and then the inside of his well muscled thighs. The man carried no side arm, or metal blade, but the girl had felt something else there, a more lethal weapon that could cut through her very core if given the chance.

Gaige took a hesitant step back from the gun, keeping his hands raised, a soft smile playing across his face.

"You can lower your hands now but only if you remove that stupid smile from your face...there is nothing to smile at here...."

“The river, she is always beautiful by night. An elegant lady who moves swiftly and gracefully beneath the silvery glow of the moon, much like you, madam.”

"...and don't waste your time on flattery Monsieur, I am not an idiot."

He continued to smile at her, quite unafraid of the woman or the weapon she was holding, in fact, he seemed rather amused by the whole situation.

"You think I won't shoot you ?... don't be too sure about that... I have shot many men during the war."

At any rate, Isabella lowered the pistol and slipped it into her trouser pocket, rather disappointed at not being able to use it. No doubt she had made her point...that she was a force to be reckoned with.

"...and before we take another step I wish to know exactly where you are taking me."

As they walked together in silence, Isabella couldn't help but reflect on what had just happened. These were dangerous times afterall and a woman couldn't take any chances in German occupied France, especially the partisans. Still, she knew she could have easily shot him, especially since he was being so "difficult." Indeed, his behaviour was most disconcerting. In spite of all that, she thought it best to take his arm and pretend that they were a nice normal couple out for an evening stroll and not two strangers failing to communicate.

It felt good to hold onto someone, even for a little while and so she let her body relax against the stranger's arm, her cheek accidentally rubbing against the soft fabric of his overcoat.

"Since you so badly wish to know "...my name is "Isabella Valenti, of the Mateotti Brigade... La Resistenza Partigiani "








__________________

 

[cati]

sorry

 

[Zom_Dom]

He smiled, openly and warmly this time, as she lowered the bulky german pistol, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he began to relax. It wasn’t until he took a long, deep breath of the cool night air that he realized how on edge he had been. Reflexes were honed over time to direct oneself in situations like that, and he was glad it had not come to a ‘fight or flight’ situation. He did not relish the idea of having to end the life of such a beautiful young woman, more so because he would then have to report the incident to his superiors and that would entail who knew how much more trouble…

He offered her his arm once more, and she took it, tentatively, at which point they began walking along the barely perceptible river walk once more. Gaige opened his mouth to speak, and was caught slightly off guard by the way she seemed to slide into him. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, though it could have been mistaken for one, given the way she clung gingerly to his arm, more a simple relaxation of her body, now that the tense situation had passed. He wondered idly what would give a girl such as she to acting that way, drawing her gun first and asking questions later. No doubt she was a product of the times they lived in, as was he, but the idea was still somewhat disconcerting.

"Since you so badly wish to know... My name is Isabella Valenti, of the Mateotti Brigade... La Resistenza Partigiani."

The name did not surprise him unduly, though her station did rouse a little suspicion. He had worked with Partisans before, on one occasion, and knew little about them aside from the standard boiler plate handed down by his superiors. Conversationally, as though the they were simply two people out on an evening stroll along the Rhine, he asked, “And what is a member of the Resistenzia Partigiani,” his northern accent making a muddle of the smoothly flowing Italian name, “doing in this sleepy little corner of Zurich? Surely you did not sign up in order to escape your bustling homeland…” The question trailed off, more of a comment than speculation.

Gaige looked up at the clear night sky overhead, watching the gentle winking of the stars as they shone like pinpricks of light shining through a cloth of deep, rich velvet. A sudden breeze bustled across them from out on the river, blowing a stray strand of long silken hair across his vision. He turned and glanced briefly into his contact’s eyes, searching for a deeper answer than any falsity she might give him. The same haunting feeling came upon him again as he looked at her, and he saw many things burning within those brightly shimmering orbs. There was fear and anger, danger, but also hope and love…

“There is a small sheltered area ahead, beneath the next bridge where we may stop. No one uses it, it is simply a place where the grass has grown long and the path ends, curling up towards the bridge. None ever visit it, at least not from what I have seen these past few days…” Pulling his free hand from his pocket, he pointed ahead towards a swathe of shadow beneath a distant bridge. “There we may speak unhindered and unobserved, or, you may attempt to shoot me again, if you still believe me to be a threat.” Turning his gaze on her again, he gave a wry smile. It was a show of confidence and camaraderie, which he hoped would put her at ease. Part of him knew that as soon as the vital information was exchanged, they would turn and part, go their separate ways and never see each other again. He would slip through shadows, back across the river to his room, and be from the town by morning while she would return to whatever office or station she had held before. His lips quirked up at the edges of his mouth as his eyes trailed along her silhouette, finely etched with silver by the moonlight as they walked, and he whispered softly to himself, “Isabella…”

 

[Zom_Dom]

The Boat

Gaige walked along the pier with Pierre and Jean, one hand clutching a large burlap sack which dragged along the ground, dripping sea water and leaving a trail of it along the dry, creaking boards. Salt spray flew through the air, and the crashing of waves threatened to drown out the chatter of the three young friends, at times causing them to shout when a particularly large wave broke over the rocks below them.

It was a cold, dreary, grey day and the weather was rather frigid, forcing the boys to dress in their warm winter clothes despite the earliness of the season. Fall was barely upon them, but up on the northern coast seasons seemed to change in the blink of an eye, summer giving way to fall for a few days at most before winter’s chill grip took the land. The sea did much to alleviate the worst of this, as none of the boys had ever seen much snow, but the waters were barely above freezing even during the height of summer. During fall, it was said that one would freeze to death before they drowned, the seas ran so cold…

The boys outer clothing was soaked, and soon enough would be crusted white as the salt water dried and left deposits, but none felt the chill as deeply as they might have, they were simply too excited. A new ship had entered port that morning, they had all seen it. It was big, much much bigger than any of the small wooden fishing vessels they’d seen clustered about the docks every other day, and this monstrosity was made of metal… The three had been scouring the area around the pier, searching the rocks for cockels and mussels which sometimes rooted to them. Each had a stubby homemade knife for prying them loose, and Gaige carried the bag which held their modest take. They would split it three ways, each bringing home something to their families, something to add to the cook-pot that night. The real draw for the three was not the food, excellent as fresh sea food stew was, or the sight of the giant new ship; it was the camaraderie of small boys that kept them returning to the rocks at least twice a week.

They chattered and argued as they made their way up the rough cobbles that sufficed for streets in the industrial part of town, on their way to the homes just the other side of the wooden storehouses and single factory. None could agree about the number of people required to operate a ship that size, and all refused to be swayed, insisting their number was correct. As they reached the crossroads where they would part ways, Gaige insisted to his mates, “Mark my words, one day I will have a ship like that, and you two can by my first and second mates, and then we’ll know how many it takes to crew…” At that the three began squabbling about who would be captain, and first and second mate, and several minutes passed before they finally broke for the day, Gaige carrying his bundle up the twisting lane towards the small house with the puffing chimney in which his mother waited, patiently stirring a large cook pot while she awaited his return.

 

[cati]

an Italian Spitfire

“And what is a member of the Resistenzia Partigiani,” his northern accent making a muddle of the smoothly flowing Italian name, “doing in this sleepy little corner of Zurich? Surely you did not sign up in order to escape your bustling homeland…” The question trailed off, more of a comment than speculation.

" ... and that is very a strange question you ask...I am an Italian patriot and a defender of my country, Monsieur, " You should know why I am here...not to just pass the time in idle conversation" His question didn't make any sense to her. If he was her contact he should know her reason for being there...still, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Alright then, I will tell you a little of my story."

"My friends and I were students at the University in Milano. There was an air raid, but we thought nothing of it then... since the sirens go off every day and nothing happens, so we all went about our usual business. The only difference was that this air attack was real... the planes came and bombed our beloved city. The school and the old hospital were destroyed....many people were killed for nothing..it's always for nothing. The next day after the bombing, I made the decision to go to the volunteer office to sign up with the Partisan organization... I had been thinking about it for some time."

Isabella shrugged, "What else was there for me to do...my schooling was finished...at least until the war is over, then maybe they will rebuild the University and Hospital ...who knows, but I could not stay in Milan and do nothing. The Partisans, they welcomed me, especially when I told them I could speak and write both French and German. I would be valuable to them..."

She turned to him, "You don't seem to take any of this very seriously, Monsieur...why is that? ...and what you call "my bustling home land, her face growing suddenly dark, "my homeland Italy, lies partially in ruins. The beautiful statues, ancient architecture, so much of it is gone. Meh...but who really cares anymore...that's the pity of it all...and what makes me sick...the ignorance of these foreign bastards. Hah! and that fat ass Mussolini and his big plan to restore Italy to it's former glory... instead he reduces the Italian people to pitiful nobodies and nothings."

"Have I answered your question... Gaige?

“There is a small sheltered area ahead, beneath the next bridge where we may stop. No one uses it, it is simply a place where the grass has grown long and the path ends, curling up towards the bridge. None ever visit it, at least not from what I have seen these past few days…”

"I see... and you have been carefully watching this place," she smirked, looking in the general direction to where he was pointing.

“There we may speak unhindered and unobserved, or, you may attempt to shoot me again, if you still believe me to be a threat.”

Isabella laughed suddenly, "Oh! I will do more than that my friend... if you try to fuck with me.

 

[Zom_Dom]

Gaige felt the urge to laugh, but quelled it as he turned and gave Isabella his full attention once more. Her laughter was short and curt and harsh, somehow odd coming from such a woman. He expected something more like the tinkling of a bell, a light musical noise that recalled warm afternoons and sunshine. Instead, there was bitterness and pain and heartache, though it made sense in the context of her story… He mused on that for a moment, drawing a slow, thoughtful hand across his cheek as he sometimes did when concentrating. It was a nonsense gesture, a reflex which he quickly averted, letting his hand fall again to his side before turning to glance at the upcoming bridge once more.

“You may relax, cherie, there is no threat to you here. I meant it only in jest…” He finished with a soft sigh, his wry sense of humor coming to the surface once more. “Though it has been said the Partisans do not have a sense of humor, it having been stolen along with the rest of their country… I had not believed before, but I see now the truth of it…” He trailed off, not wishing to anger her further, and they lapsed into silence. Loose gravel crunched beneath their feet, and somewhere far off in the distance a bell was tolling the hour while the Rhine lapped at the shore as it passed. The silence followed them, though, like a third companion, one set immeasurably between them despite their closeness.

As the two drew up to the bridge, it became plain to see why Gaige had chosen it. Several creaky wooden crates were scattered about beneath it, along with an old battered card table that looked as though it might fall apart if the wind glanced across it. Beneath it, though, sat a glass lantern, still a common item in the smaller towns and villages of the area. Many were too far from the larger hubs, and therefore from the electric grid, while others were simply in places where it was not worth the trouble. In those towns and villages, oil lamps were still the best means of beating back the darkness, especially during the long winter nights.

Gaige broke from the young woman, plucking her arm from his gently and ushering her towards one of the more stable looking crates, producing from his trouser pocket a small box of matches. Striking it against one of the dry stones that lined the underside of the bridge, the match flared to life with a bright sodium-yellow glare as it filled the air around them with the harsh tang of sulfur. It took but a moment then to set the lamp burning, and extinguish the foul smelling match, Gaige tossing it to the rocks at their feet and crushing it beneath his heel. After clearing his throat, he set the lamp down upon the rickety card table and drew up a crate beside hers. “Now,” he said, barely above a whisper, “we should be safe here, for a while anyway.” He gave her a confident smile and a knowing look that said ‘Should be…’ before reaching back and pulling a small folded envelope from the back pocket of his trousers. It was firmly creased where it had been folded, having been sat upon several times, and still quite warm from contact with his body, but otherwise there was nothing distinguishing about it. The paper was a soft, matte white and it did not bulge unduly as one might have expected.

“In there lie the latest movements, as best we can guess, of their northern regiments, those closest to your borders anyway. I was also asked to—“ Gaige broke off, frowning angrily and taking in a short, sharp breath, turning and peering out at the dark neighborhood, still visible in the soft glow of the late evening’s lights… He swore softly under his breath, sure that he’d heard something. Leaning close, his lips practically brushing Isabella’s ear, he whispered, “If we are found, we are two young lovers on a rendezvous… Yes?” He pulled back and stared intently into her eyes, his mouth a firm line and his own eyes hard as steel as he took her hand, squeezing it for confirmation. He wasn’t sure if there was anything out there to be nervous about, or if he’d actually heard anything at all, but he did not want to take chances.

Gaige waited silently, not daring to even breath for the moment, still clutching her hand… He couldn’t help noticing how soft it was. She’d claimed to be a student, before, and clearly her hands had not been marred by calluses and scars that came from years of physical labor; they were warm and comforting and surprisingly gentle, given that the same hand that held his at the moment had been used to point a gun at him a short while before. When he could take it no longer, he drew another breath, inhaling her subtle, inviting scent. This time the river did not impinge, the salt spray did not overpower everything like it did outside the little nook. Giving her a questioning glance, he nodded towards the bridge above them, trying to ask silently if she’d heard anything.

 

[cati]

You may relax, cherie, there is no threat to you here. I meant it only in jest…” He finished with a soft sigh, his wry sense of humor coming to the surface once more. “Though it has been said the Partisans do not have a sense of humor, it having been stolen along with the rest of their country… I had not believed before, but I see now the truth of it…”

" For your information Monsieur, we Partisans have not lost our sense of humour, ...we are human afterall, and as I said to you before, these are serious times, maybe our laughter is reserved for when we are among our true friends, adding, "...still I think that...."

She glanced over at Gaige, expecting a response. The grave look of concern etched on his handsome features told her that he was thinking of something else entirely. He pressed a finger to his lips signaling for her to remain quiet.

Isabella, stopped in mid-sentence to listen. "What is it... ? she asked, slowly feeling for her pistol trying not to move or make a sound. They could hear many footsteps on the bridge, soldiers perhaps? Hopefully they would have other things on their minds and not the desire to search under bridges at that time of night. This feeling of being caught like two rats in a trap held no appeal for her, nor the possibility of being arrested and perhaps tortured. She tried to relax but couldn't, her heart beating so loudly it threatened to burst from her chest. It was virtually impossible to keep her flight or fight reflex in check ... she was so used to taking action. Granted, she and Gaige could try and shoot their way out, but that was too stupid to try and it would be impossible to out-run them...that is if there were many of them. Needless to say, this wasn't exactly the end Isabella had imagined for herself.

"If we are found, we are two young lovers on a rendezvous... Yes? Gaige whispered. She understood and nodded the affirmative.

The only thing she could think of was how foolish it had been not to have stayed at the tavern then none of this would be happening. The exchange of information would be over and done with, and they would have gone their separate ways an hour ago.

Gaige was holding her hand rather too tightly, obviously not wanting to let go of her. Nudging him out of his stupour she whispered, " I think they've gone now " His body was so close to hers, so warm and protective. Turning abruptly towards him she kissed him fully on the mouth, murmuring "thankyou".
If they were going to be caught at some point, then let "them" think that the pair were indeed lovers, and so Isabella decided they would need all the practice they could get.

"As you were saying...?"