Nino’s Silent Night – A short story

‘I love you, sweetheart.’ Nino ruffled Carla’s dark curls.

They both knew the next phrase, a part of their ritual: “Be a good girl, look after Mama” … but no longer. Two pairs of blue eyes met, begging each other not to cry.

‘Signora Pagano’s here and I’ll come back soon.’ Nino had stayed too long and their neighbour hovered nervously by the door. ‘Bye my darling.’ He kissed Carla and turned, as Berti bounded behind him. A mass of pale fur, the dog was Carla’s adopted friend; Nino hoped that Signora Pagano would cope with them both.

The elderly lady squeezed his hand. ‘Be careful and see you soon.’ She restrained Berti as Nino hurried outside.

The December air was cold but Nino felt hot, beginning to panic. The curfew began at five and he had to leave Rome before then.

‘Papa!’

Nino turned to see Carla in the doorway, holding up his violin case. Not this time. He shook his head and blew her a kiss.

Familiar faces watched and their expressions were dulled with sympathy. ‘They won’t report me,’ he murmured but took the next turning, picking up his pace. He mapped the route in his head, enough twists and turns to avoid being followed: a small street to his right and the next to his left.

Strangers passed him, racing against the cold and curfew. A few travelled his way but only for a road or two … and yet he felt that someone was following.

Nino thought quickly and turned towards the Opera House. The stage door was unmanned, so the doorman must be inside: good. He took the steps to the basement and nestled in the stairwell, where he was invisible from the road. His pursuer would probably pass by but, otherwise, Nino could slip inside. This basement door was never locked.

Footsteps and a muffled sound came closer, then stopped. Nino reached for the door handle but Berti bounded down and enthusiastically licked his hands. Carla followed.

‘I’ve brought your violin.’

‘Why?’

‘Playing it makes you smile.’

He had tried all day to be strong but Carla’s words shattered his resolve.  Tears flowed down his cheeks and Berti tried to lick them away.

Carla hugged them both.

‘Papa, you’ve got us,’ she murmured.

Nino edged away, shaking his head. ‘Sweetheart, I have to go.’

‘No, Papa, we have to go.’

Berti licked Nino’s hand, in agreement.

‘But it’s dangerous.’

‘So’s staying in Rome.’

Nino tried to think. Carla could stay with him and the partisans for a day or two and then return to Rome. ‘Alright, but someone may have told the authorities I’m in Rome. If there’s any sign of danger, run away and go home. Alright?’

Carla’s head moved, although it might have been a nod or a shake.

They hurried away from the Opera House, Nino holding his violin case and clutching Carla’s hand. Berti trotted alongside, matching them step for step. Suddenly, two policemen emerged from a side street and turned towards them. Nino flinched.

‘Relax, Papa,’ Carla whispered. ‘No partisan wanders through Rome with his daughter, dog and violin …�