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e of the carabinieri has a rifle, the e in chairs probably stolen fro ht be fourteen at best Italy is running out of men to put uniforms on

“Papers,” the child soldier de their bruises curiously

“Questo è il signor Rizzo Io sono sua lie” This is Mr Rizzo, and I aures anyone approaching an arles the pronunciation in such a way as to suggest that her bruised face is the cause

She explains to the guard that they have been robbed and her husband so badly beaten he can barely speak The guard takes this in with the slowness of a dull and disinteresteda cloud of tobacco smoke to be told the same story

There follows ten , followed by labored explanations that they can do nothing, nothing, signora, they have orders to stay here on guard But when they are relieved they will naturally tell their superiors, who are certain to go rushing forth to find and arrest the malefactors

Right

Rainy has a pack of Italian cheroots supplied for verisimilitude and offers them around And then they are on their ith barely a cursory glance at their forged papers

The beach is still on their left, but it is increasingly obscured by one- and two-story houses and aparts, with taller apartht They pass a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, and the rich smell of coffee wafts toward them Rainy sees a counter with a plate of pastries at the end and is suddenly fah she’s never been

“Let’s stop in,” Cisco says

“Let’s not,” Rainy says regretfully “I’m sure your uncle will feed us”

One of the advantages of having a battered face is that polite folk look away from you, and even the curious look first at the bruises, not at the eyes Rainy keeps her head down and her eyes raised, glancing quickly into each face they pass, checking for signs of unusual interest But the Italians in Salerno on that s to worry about

Following the instructions Vito the Sack provided, they now turn inland, into the heart of the city The sides of several buildings carry the painted slogan of the Italian Fascist party: “Credere! Obbedire! Combattere!”

“Believe, obey, fight,” Rainy translates in a quiet voice

“And there’s the bastard right there,” Cisco says He nods toward aless stern than comical as someone has thrown a pot of paint at the portrait The black paint struck Mussolini’s eye and dribbled down so it looks now like absurdly long eyelashes drooping down to his chin