Chapter 3: Pt. 1, Ch. 3: Their Captors Asked Them There for Songs

Part 1

Chapter 3: Their Captors Asked Them There for Songs

Rocco clutched the gold pocket watch in his fist so tightly he was sure it would break. Rosa would never leave their father’s watch behind. If she had dropped it in the alley, she must have wanted to go home. She must have fought her captor. 

But if Rosa had wanted to escape her captor back in the alleyway, she would have abandoned the notion as soon as she reached the caves. Even if she had spent a whole week lying in the dark by the stream refusing to go on, once she was well again she would have been more eager to see what lay beyond the waterfalls than to backtrack to the city that had long ago lost its allure. It was in both of the twins’ nature to be curious, but hers was a wild, reckless curiosity, far more fleeting than Rocco’s prolonged obsessions. She would have been undeterred by any fear for her life, earthly or otherwise. 

The lack of stars and the strange birds were enough to make Rocco want to turn back. His racing pulse and pounding heart echoed what his mind already knew. He ought not to take one more step through the dark forest that was overtaking their path, but his hesitance, his inaction, was exactly what had led to his sister’s disappearance in the first place. Nothing would prevent him from bringing her home. 

Rosa was enamored with the city when they first left Ellis Island. She loved the tall buildings, the smells, the crowds of people all speaking different languages. She loved practicing her English with anyone who would listen to her, which almost everyone did. She fantasized about moving their parents to New York and starting a new life. Everything about America was romantic to her, even the journey across the Atlantic, which in reality was cramped and dirty with a suffocating air. She would drag Rocco all over the city, through street markets, across the tops of buildings, over iron-wrought fences onto the estates of the rich, laughing whenever Rocco protested that they would get into trouble. 

The war went on, the novelty wore off, and she began spending days, sometimes weeks at a time in bed, refusing to eat or bathe. She refused to speak, even to Rocco. Their aunt and uncle grew impatient with her, but before long she came back to life with a whole new plan for their life in America. She and Rocco were going to find work, save all their money, and move into one of those estates. No, she was going to learn to sing and work in one of the nightclubs. No, they were going to travel across the country, all the way to California. Or to Texas. Or all the way down to Mexico…

Davcina held out her arm to stop Rocco as the trees thinned. Honora and Terrell had lagged behind when their path took a steep incline, but they caught up quickly. 

“Quiet,” Davcina whispered in English, though not one of them had spoken. “Do you hear that?”

Rocco set his eyes on the trees ahead, their trunks just far enough apart to see beyond, their branches swaying in a breeze that was not there. Through the rustling leaves escaped the clamor of voices and laughter from the summit above, but all Rocco could see in the dark was a lone stone tower. 

Wordlessly, the four of them crept up the mountain, their ascent aided by the black rocks that formed crude steps. The path was faintly lit not by the fire birds, who had resumed their dance above the shade of the trees, but from the flickering light of a great fire at the top of the mountain. On closer inspection, the tower and fire were enclosed by low stone walls. By now Davcina had slowed her pace to a crawl. When the trees became fewer and far between, she gestured for Rocco and the others to take cover. The voices grew louder, most of them the excited shouts and good-natured bickering of young men, but through it all, a girl’s laughter could be heard. Rosa’s laughter. Rocco would have run heedlessly through a gap in the stone walls if Davcina had not grabbed him just in time. 

“There are more of them than us,” she whispered, then added an explanation to the others in English. “Stay put until I can find out how many of them there are,” she said before inching farther uphill. 

Rocco crept forward in spite of her warnings, but Terrell held him back before he could get far. One of the men’s voices carried over the others, and Rocco was able to make out some words. Italian words. Were all of the men Italian? Or did some of them speak it well enough to make Rosa comfortable? But after listening for a time, it was clear that not only did they speak Italian, they spoke the exact same dialect of the mountain town Rocco and Rosa had grown up in. No, not just of their town. Of their family. Not just Italian, but the Yiddish words they had all picked up from his mother and uncle, even the nonsensical phrases and sounds that only carried meaning in their household. How much had Rosa shared with these men in such a short time? 

“Honora, wait,” Terrell whispered, but she paid him no mind, already out of his reach, ducking low to avoid hitting branches as she followed Davcina towards the fire’s light. Rocco moved to follow her, but still Terrell held him back.  

They did not have to wait long before Honora reappeared, dragged along by Davcina.

“Who are they?” asked Rocco, interrupting their whispered argument. “I heard them talking about teaching her a dance. She must be free to leave.”

“You understood them?” asked Davcina sharply. 

“Yes, they’re speaking Italian,” said Rocco. “If she’s not closely watched, I can speak to her.”

“You hear Italian.” She looked at Honora and asked in English, “They sounded Irish to you?”

Honora nodded, but spoke too quickly for Rocco to understand. Her eyes were wide with fear. 

“They don’t sound Irish to me,” put in Terrell. “They’re American, but with a bit of a southern drawl, you know? A bit rough around the edges.” 

“And by Rocco’s ear, they’re all speaking Italian,” said Davcina. 

“What’s that mean?” asked Terrell. 

“It means getting Rosa out of here is going to be more difficult than I anticipated.” Davcina pulled Honora back towards the path they had left behind, and Rocco and Terrell followed. “Even if we go storming in there intent on rescuing her, more likely than not we’ll only end up sitting down at the fire to share a drink with them while they decide what best to do with us.” 

“Why would we do that?” asked Terrell. “How is it these men sound different to Honora and Rocco than they do to me?”

“Because they’re not men.” She turned to face the three of them when they reached the path. “They’re not speaking any language at all. They probably don’t even know what language Rosa speaks. They’re communicating in a way that any being would be able to understand. And if they’re capable of that, Lord knows what else they can do.”

“Can Rosa leave?” asked Rocco, though he knew the answer. 

“Not without our help,” said Davcina. “She doesn’t appear to have any desire to leave. I doubt she feels any danger to her person at all.”

“So she came willingly,” said Terrell once she repeated in English. 

“Yes and no,” said Davcina. “Any one of us would go with them too if we met with them on this path. It wouldn’t even occur to us that they hadn’t been a member of our party since we left the parade. The Japanese have stories about one of their kind that could break into a house and act like he owned the place, and be believed, even by the owners themselves. Any one of us could be one of them right now, and we would be none the wiser.” 

“So, we ought to get out of here, is what you’re saying,” said Terrell. “After we get Rosa,” he added before Rocco could open his mouth to protest. “So, we cause a distraction, and one of us goes in there and gets her, right?”

“I counted nineteen of them,” said Davcina. “Even if we could lure a few of them away, they would undoubtedly leave one or more to guard Rosa.”

“Still leaves less men for us to deal with than there are now.”

“Smoke from pine branches might weaken their power over us,” said Davcina, looking around at the trees. “Or maybe oak. But I doubt any trees in this forest are made of more than cinder and basalt.” 

The pines and firs had as little life as the oak or dogwoods had. They would have to go back through the alley and walk ten blocks to Central Park before they would be anywhere near a real tree. 

“We could still start a fire,” said Terrell. “If we start enough, far enough apart, we might be able to draw all nineteen of them away to put out the blaze.” He ran his hand along one of the tree branches that hung just above his head. “I can’t say whether any of these trees will catch.” 

“There were tapestries hanging in the camp, and their houses have thatched roofs, if I’m not mistaken.” Davcina knelt down and opened her bag. “They have campfires of their own, which means they must have a stack of firewood somewhere.” She took out a bottle of half-drunk liquor. “And alcohol will catch, if nothing else will.” She took out several unlit torches, flint, and matches. “If we can get a big enough blaze going, the coals on the ground might catch too.” 

A blaze that could quickly get out of control. Even without real trees, there could be any number of flammable items in the men’s camp, even explosives. 

“We can’t risk the girl getting hurt,” said Terrell, glancing at Rocco as if he knew what he was thinking. 

“We don’t need to worry about that,” said Davcina, her eyes still on the work in front of her. “We’re only causing a distraction. She shouldn’t find herself anywhere near danger.” She repeated the same in Italian for Rocco’s benefit as she sat on the ground, holding a torch between her knees while she struck a match. Nothing happened. Brow furrowed, she made several more fruitless attempts before sighing and tossing the book of matches to Terrell. “Here, see if you have better luck.”

Terrell’s attempts were just as disappointing. On the ground, Davcina was working with flint and steel, with no more to show for it. 

“Maybe it’s more than the trees that ain’t right,” Terrell offered.

Davcina dropped the flint and steel and held her head in her hands, staring down at the ground of coal and ash. “And yet,” she looked back up at Terrell, “they have a fire. How?”

“They could’ve caught one,” said Honora.

Rocco had nearly forgotten she was there, he had grown so used to tuning her out. Any word out of her mouth was a complaint, and half the time she spoke too quickly for him to understand anyway. He had never wanted to bring her along in the first place, but Davcina insisted that she would only wind up attacking somebody else if they had let her go, so they were stuck with her, at least until they rescued Rosa.  

“The birds,” said Honora, pointing up at the flames in the sky. “The fire birds. Do you think they’re made of real fire?”

Davcina’s eyes widened. “They must have found a way to tame them.”

“Too bad they left you,” said Terrell to Honora, looking up at the sky. “We could’ve caught them easy enough when they were following you like ducklings.” 

“When were they following you?” Davcina asked Honora sharply.

“When I left the path,” said Honora uncertainly. “I think. I was distracted. It could’ve been sooner. I didn’t take any notice.”

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“Not ’til I mentioned them,” said Terrell. “Maybe they were brought there by whatever was distracting you.”

“Which was?” asked Davcina, eyes narrowed, but Honora made no reply. 

“Whatever it was,” said Terrell, “it brought her to tears. You know of anything that might do that?”

“Tears,” said Davcina thoughtfully. “That’s a start. We would have more to go on if Honora cares to tell us what distracted her.” 

Honora looked away, muttering something unintelligible. 

“A song?” Davcina raised one eyebrow. “We’ll have to discuss that later.” She stood up, walking in a slow circle around them, looking up at the sky. “For now, two birds.” And she began to sing. 

Her voice lost the bored, listless tone it had maintained since they had begun their search for Rosa. The song she sang was not one Rocco recognized. It was not in English or Italian, or any other language he had heard before. Even so, he felt every note in his bones. First it was soft, slow, just above a whisper. The rise and fall made his hair stand on end, and the sudden change in tempo sent shivers down his spine. 

Her steps were not ambling at all, but timed with her music. Surely she would have been dancing in earnest if she sang in a place she knew, with people who knew the words as she did. Even here, in this strange place, with these people she had only just met, she struggled to keep her feet still, intertwined with the music as the steps must have been in her memory. 

Anguish crept into her voice just as a knot formed in Rocco’s throat and tears stung his eyes, and he could easily have been at synagogue on Tisha B’Av. 

A circle of flames orbited above the trees, a dozen or more blackbirds settled on the branches, watching them with shining eyes. Honora flinched and stifled a cry as the flames rained around them, first drop by drop, then in a torrent of fire that ended in a flock of crows. He felt a nudge behind him and found Davcina with a bird in the palm of her hand. Though she kept up her song, he knew what she meant him to do. He picked up an unlit torch wrapped in damp cloth, and held it out in offering. Shabbat had to be over by now anyway. The bird hopped from her hand onto the length of wood. 

The torch ignited. It was as if a bird had never been there. So shocked was Davcina that her voice faltered, but she kept singing as Terrell held out his own torch. Now as armed as they could hope to be, they made a plan to rescue a girl who did not even know she needed rescuing, and maybe would not want it if she did. 

After the armistice was signed in November, Rocco and Rosa both assumed they would be on a boat back home within the month. Winter passed them by, American soldiers began returning to the city, and their aunt still seemed in no hurry to put them on a ship home. Rosa had begun to propose that everyone back in Trieze was dead. Rocco always argued against it, but he knew it was possible. Even if the Austrians had only managed to take the Isonzo River once, their mountain village stood dangerously close to its banks. His fears left him when his aunt handed him a letter from his mother at the end of March, only to return in even greater numbers by the time he read through to the end. His father had come home from the war, but he was bedridden with the flu. His mother cautioned him not to tell Rosa. 

When the next letter came with the news of his father’s death, he kept the grief to himself. Rosa was already refusing to leave her bed as it was. He would tell her when she was in better spirits. 

But before that day arrived, another letter brought news that his mother was ill. 

“Someone has to know what happened to Mama and Papa,” Rosa said as they finished the Havdalah prayers alone in their room one night in late June. “Someone has to know what happened to our village. And even if it is burned to the ground, I’m not staying one more day here. I hate America.”

“What would be the point of going back if everyone were dead?” asked Rocco. He had been wondering as much since he learned of his mother’s illness, and he longed to know what Rosa’s thoughts were. He was still unable to bring himself to tell her of their father’s death. Not before he knew whether their mother would be alright. 

“We don’t have to go back to Italy,” said Rosa. “We’ll go to live with Uncle Josef in Haifa. We should have gone there to begin with.”

“There was war there too, Rosa. It was too dangerous,” Rocco repeated what their mother had told them dozens of times. He had begged to go live with their uncle instead of their aunt as ardently as Rosa had. They had hardly known their father’s sister before she got married in a Catholic Church and moved to America, whereas their uncle had lived with them for nearly a decade.  

“The war is over.” Rosa nearly knocked over their candle and wine as she stood abruptly. “I’m writing to Uncle Josef.”

“Where are you going?” demanded Rocco as she opened their bedroom window. “You can write a letter here.”

“We need to get on a ship home. I’m going to find us one.”

“Wait until morning, Rosa.”

“Are you coming with me or not?” 

“I’ll go wherever you want in the morning.”

“I’ll already be back by then.”

Without even waiting for a reply, she was gone. Rocco would have followed her right away, but he had been so sure she would wait for him. He would have told her their uncle had been writing them for nearly a month with plans to bring them all to Haifa as soon as their mother was well enough to travel. He would have told her about their father. 

But by the time he put their cup and spice box away and made his way out the window, there was no sign of her. He searched the city streets for hours to no avail. For the rest of the summer, he searched for her from sunrise until sunset. Come nightfall he would lie awake waiting for her to come back through the window with a plan to take them home, but she never did. She had disappeared. 

Had he disappeared too? Guilt weighed on him as he thought of his uncle’s last letter to them going unanswered. 

No, Rocco would get Rosa back, and they would be ready when their uncle sent for them, he told himself as he waited just outside the stone walls of the strange men’s encampment, waiting for Davcina to act. 

The fortress was little more than a ruin. The stone wall Rocco hid behind may once have been twenty feet tall, but now he had to crouch low to keep out of sight. In some sections the wall was burnt away entirely. Through the gaps in the stone walls ran a river full of light. Strewn across the ground on either side of the river were carpets of an array of colors and patterns, and tapestries draped on the far side of the camp where the walls were still high enough to display some of them fully. Inside the fortress, the remnants of what was once a tower were surrounded by little stone houses that had been kept in comparatively better condition.   

Towering high above the burnt walls and everything inside of them was a tree with willow branches, its leaves brushing lightly over a pool of water around its base. The bark was a dark brown, almost black, the leaves wine red.

On the other side of the river was a huge bonfire surrounded by a group of young men, most of them seated, every one of them laughing, singing, drinking, or smoking a pipe. And there was Rosa. 

His sister could at least have the decency to look like she was in danger, instead of dancing around the campfire without a care in the world. Did she even know her brother had been looking for her? That he had lain awake until sunrise every night for two months waiting to hear the sound of her climbing through the open window? That he would have set the forest on fire to get her back if only the trees would catch?

Rocco had doubts about their plan from the start. The rationale made sense. The stone houses that lay farthest from the river had to be at least fifty meters from where the men sat, close enough to catch their attention once the flames went up, but far enough that Rosa’s disappearance might go unnoticed if all the men were occupied with putting out the blaze. Davcina was to check the houses for inhabitants before putting a torch to each roof. She would then retreat back over the wall and around the camp to retrieve Rosa, who hopefully, against her nature, would not have run along with the men to put the fire out. Terrell was charged with lighting the rugs and tapestries on fire if not all the men rushed to the stone houses as soon as they were set ablaze.

Rocco had wanted to be the one to run into the stone enclosure to smuggle Rosa out, but Davcina dismissed him out of hand. He had nearly protested that he was naturally the best person for the job, but he knew in his heart his sister would be more likely to run off with another stranger than she would be to agree to go home with him. So instead he would stay safe behind the stone wall with Honora while Davcina rescued his sister. 

 Rocco prayed quietly that all the chaos they caused would be enough to draw away all of Rosa’s captors, and more so that Rosa would not do anything reckless that unraveled their whole plan. Davcina assured him that she would do whatever the strange men had told her to, and more likely than not, they would tell her to stay put. 

They were all in position. Rocco knelt next to Honora under the cover of the thick branches of a weeping tree. The strange, yet increasingly familiar men sat in the firelight, oblivious to what was about to unfold. Rosa was happier than Rocco had seen her all spring. Did she want to come home? Did she even remember him? 

So busy was he watching Rosa that he did not even notice the first house catch fire until one of the men raised his voice in alarm. Already two of the houses were engulfed in flames. Men pushed each other forward as one of them called orders, though it soon became apparent they were woefully unprepared. Several of them disappeared into one of the nearer houses and returned with whatever they could find to transport water. Soon they were scrambling back and forth between the river and the fire with pots, ceramic bowls, pottery, anything that would hold water. 

Two more of the nearest houses had caught fire, tightly packed as they were. Even with all of the men working together, it would be a long time before the flames were out. Rosa would have plenty of time to get away. Rocco looked back to where she had been sitting to see if she had gone, but there were still two men guarding her. 

Terrell must have noticed as well. One of the tapestries hanging near the river ignited, and within seconds the two remaining men were running towards it. Rosa was alone. It was working. By the time the men put out all of the fires, Rosa would be gone. 

Screams sounded from the far side of the camp. 

Rocco tore his gaze from where his sister still sat calmly and looked back at the stone houses. Flaming debris was falling – no, flying from one of the roofs. Men were knocked from their feet, the pottery they held breaking where it hit the ground. All around the burning houses men were screaming in agony, their clothes and hair aflame as more debris came crashing down around them. Some caught a hold of their senses and ran back towards the river, but the way was blocked as nearly an entire roof fell in front of them. 

The sound of breaking glass brought Rocco’s attention back to the nearest house, the one the men had taken the pottery from. Flames had shot up in the open doorway and singed the thatched roof. The men who had run to put out the tapestry were nowhere to be found. 

The seats around the bonfire were empty. 

“Rosa.” Without thinking Rocco made to run into the camp, but was yanked back to the ground. Spitting out ash, he lifted his head to see Honora was pinning him down, her knee digging into his back, her hands holding down both of his arms as he struggled.

“The girl’s getting your sister,” she yelled over the screams of the burning men. 

He cried out as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head up, giving him a full view of the bodies writhing in agony as they tried to escape the blaze. Some already lay unconscious. Out of the flames and carnage, Davcina ran straight towards them, a limp body wrapped in a coat slumped across her back. 

 

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