(Gianni D'Amico) Some of us, the most obedient, returned home. Franco and I, instead, went back along the street that led to the villa inhabited by an S.S. colonel, always guarded by at least two sentinels ready to warn him when the American enemy was arriving, but that day there was no trace of him, his wife and his two German shepherds.

Exhausted we sat on the wall that

And there, while we were commenting the end of the German soldier, as soon as I leaned against the gate, I heard it squeak and opened behind my shoulders. Curious of the fact that it wasn’t locked, we entered the driveway edged with white roses that led to the white house. This is how the young boys of the suburb called it. We walked curiously and distrustful along the driveway up to the flight of steps that led to the entrance door.

Who wouldn’t have pushed that small door made of oak to look around the residence of a Nazi officer? This door, unlike the heavy iron gate, opened easily as if someone had pulled it from the inside. Fear and amazement struck us. We looked at each other bewildered.

“May I come in? Is there anyone there?” we asked, waiting for a who’s there? What do you want? Silence reigned, so we felt authorized to step in without hesitation. Everything for us was new. We were in a living room with luxury furniture, many sofas and comfortable armchairs, carpets and antique paintings with mystical subjects, one next to the other, adorning the wide wall.

We just stayed there to admire them, remembering the many other pictures we had seen in the old churches of the city. From an old chest we saw dozens of alcohol bottles. Above a large table, lower than the sofa, there were half empty glasses, some half empty bottles, cigarettes of different brands and some ash trays that contained cigars and cigarettes stubs with the filter covered with lipstick. On the other cabinets and on the floor there were piles of books with yellow covers, that illustrated pictures of crimes with titles that we didn’t understand.  
 
 

Translated by Chiara Nunnari from John Milton Institute