Road to Rome

The gunfire echoed in the tunnel, amplified twenty times by the curved concrete walls.Before the reverberation subsided, someone opened fire again, and these overlapping loud noises overwhelmed everything.But Marco's attention was not on the bullet, he was almost able to strangle Bruch's neck, and he secretly vowed to kill the bloodthirsty dock rat with his own hands, right here, today.

Bruch yelled angrily, and hit Marco on the nose with his fist, and the smell of blood exploded in his nose and mouth at the same time.Marco didn't let go, took the opportunity to twist Bruch's arm behind his back, and finally managed to grab his neck, but the other party obviously expected this move, hit Marco's face with the back of his head, broke free, and kicked Marco's Knee, step forward, intending to keep kicking him in the head as he falls.Marco rolled around and escaped, and Bruch stepped on his hand, knelt down, and pressed his knee on Marco's chest, choking him by the throat.Marco punched him, and Bruch spat out bloody saliva, and grinned down at him like a drooling hyena, eyes full of crazy excitement mixed, a little bit of the hand stuck in his windpipe. Nor did it relax.

The stray bullet hit the concrete a few feet away, scraping off sparks.Marco wriggled in vain to break Bruch's hand.He couldn't tell where the pain came from, ribs, knees, wrists or abdomen, all the pain gathered together and turned into a huge leech, biting his head.He opened his mouth to breathe, and heard a strange gurgling noise in his throat.If he didn't break free quickly, he would fall into a coma soon. He should be able to find the right angle to attack Bruch's eyes, but his muscles gave up before his brain, and his fingers were numb and stiff, and he couldn't lift them at all.

Bruch suddenly howled like a wounded animal, let go, and staggered back two steps.Marco was lying on his back panting, dizzy, unable to care about anything but life-saving air.He tried to get up, unsuccessfully, just lay down on the ground in a different position, retched, and coughed.It wasn't until his breathing returned to normal that he became aware of the chaos around him again. The gunfire continued, but not so intensively.The wounded groaned on the ground, the unlucky ones lay motionless in a growing pool of blood.Bruch was still yelling, but not at Marco.On the back of the blond Voyager's striped shirt, a large smear of blood came from a knife lodged between his shoulder blades.The priest must have picked up the jackknife that Marco had knocked off, but like any good man who never inflicted bodily harm, he couldn't get the blade out of the complex tendons and bones, and was overwhelmed by his own violence. The behavior frightened, and it took a long time before I thought of fleeing to the depths of the tunnel.Bruch staggered up to Antonio, knocked him to the ground with a punch, and started kicking him indiscriminately in the chest and stomach.

Marco wanted to yell "No!", but the voice came out so hoarse and weak that he couldn't hear it clearly.He got up, slipped and fell in the blood of others, got up again, and strode over.

But someone arrived before him.Two uniformed policemen pulled Bruch away, pinned him to a wall, twisted his arms behind his waist, and handcuffed him.A third policeman bent over Antonio, lifted him up and handcuffed him too.No, this is not right.Just as this thought flashed through, Marco was also pushed against the tunnel wall, one policeman pinned his head and back, and another handcuffed his hands.I said I don't want uniforms and handcuffs, Marco thought, panting against the rough concrete, and struggled without the strength.The tunnel finally fell silent, save for footsteps, indistinguishable conversations, and a distant police officer calling for an ambulance to come right away.Marco was escorted into a police car with a broken window, and Antonio got into the next one, Marco called his name, the priest looked up, looking for the source of the sound, their eyes met, Antonio smiled weakly He smiled, pale, and looked like he was about to throw up.Marco also smiled and made a "see you later" mouth shape.

The car drives away and this is the last time Marco sees Antonio Pelligrini.

-

Antonio stayed alone in his locked room until midnight.

He knew it was midnight because the locked room was an office, not a detention cell, and it was separated from the large office outside by a shuttered window, facing the big clock on the pillar, which looked as if it had come directly from the train. The station was dismantled and moved, and the moment the pointer overlapped the number 12, Antonio even thought he would hear the siren and the conductor's whistle.

The handcuffs had been removed, but no one let him out, let alone explained why.Four hours ago, around eight o'clock in the evening, a young uniformed policeman brought boiling hot coffee and almost frozen bread. Antonio didn't touch either, and sat at the table blankly, watching the people coming and going outside through the window, Occasionally, some typists cast uneasy glances at him, but after 09:30, all typists got off work.The police detective's desk was gradually empty, and the desk lamps went out one by one, and finally only one light was left in the corner. Next to the desk lamp, there was a fat man in a blue shirt guarding the phone, constantly scratching at the phone. Eating biscuits, and laughing at the radio from time to time.

The hour hand moved forward very slowly.

The knife wound on his shoulder started to hurt again, and it was bandaged by a forensic doctor. Judging from his expression, the man didn't like to touch a human body that still had a beating heart.Antonio touched the bandage, it was still dry and the wound was no longer bleeding.He got up to pace, but because of the dull pain in his ribs and side, he sat down again, leaning awkwardly against the wall.With his eyes closed, he fell into a chaotic state of half-dream and half-awake for a short time, and woke up not long after.The phone is ringing, but the man in blue is gone, and the desk lamp is still on.The priest thought it was midnight, but in fact it was only four and ten minutes before one o'clock.There was a low voice somewhere, Antonio jumped up and put his ear to the door, it was not the sound of the radio, someone was talking, three people, the footsteps approached this way, stopped, and the conversation disappeared.In the end only one person came towards the office.The priest returned to his chair and pretended he never left.

The lock clicked, and Father Clement pushed the door open, closed it gently, walked to the opposite side of the table, put down a stack of documents, then pulled out the chair and sat down, took out a pen from his pocket, and put it on the documents.

"Sign these."

"what are these?"

"The way out of here." Father Clement pushed the document towards Antonio, "Read it again. But I suggest you don't even look at it, just sign it."

It was a typed testimony, and by the second page Antonio's hands were already shaking.In the interrogation that was written but never happened, "Father Antonio Pelligrini" testified against Marco Costa and Wilbur Bruch: kidnapping, intimidation, bribery, smuggling and Attempted bombing.Antonio shook his head and closed the folder: "I won't sign it, it's perjury."

"Really?" Father Clement clasped his hands together, pointing his fingertips together, "Which part? Mr. Bruch wasn't kidnapped in the street? That's not what Detective Hughes' testimony says."

"He did, but—"

"Maybe you want to claim that the Costa family is of good character and never smuggled?"

"It's not like that, you know what I mean—"

"Actually I don't know, Father Pelligrini. Perhaps you want to amend the charge of bribery? We can add your name to it, with Mr. Costa. After all, you arranged the payment, and the prosecutor will It is very interesting to know where you have used the donations from the congregation."

"It was you who arranged for the van—"

"I don't know, and neither does the Bishop. Which jury member would believe you? How could the church have anything to do with the dock gang?"

Antonio opened his mouth, but no sound came out.He didn't even feel pain for a while, only cold and nausea, as if something thorny was wrapped around his ribs and twisted hard.You guys lie, plot, form cliques, and step on each other.He thought of what Marco had said in that tiny monastery bedroom, and he felt offended at the time, but realized now that Marco was right, that none of the charges were exaggerated.Father Clement let him languish in silence for a few minutes, patted the back of his hand, and adopted an expression that might otherwise be described as loving, but at this moment, in this office, Antonio felt nothing but horror. "However, Antonio, we cannot subject you to unjust accusations. Signed this testimony, there is not a single sentence in it that is a lie, but a rearrangement of the facts. Like flower arrangements, we do not change the color of the petals, and the flowers Not fake, but choreographed to make it look more... pleasing to the eye."

Even yesterday I would have believed these claims, but not now.Antonio took a deep breath and stabilized his voice: "I won't sign." "It's time to grow up, Antonio, think about your brother, think about what he would do."

I know all too well what he would do. "I will not sign this perjury certificate." He repeated, word by word, "Not today, nor in the future."

Father Clement stared at him for a long time, smiled unexpectedly, did not speak, put away the testimony and pen, and left the office.

The door was locked again.

The fat man on the phone came back with coffee and was flipping through porn magazines while drinking.By seven o'clock in the morning, he too had left, passing by the office without looking at Antonio.Later, at eight o'clock in the morning, a detective and a uniformed officer took the priest into the holding cell and re-handcuffed him.There are no windows here, only a ventilation fan on the ceiling, humming.He waited inside alone for a long time, maybe two hours, maybe five hours, and the detective finally came back with the same statement and asked if he signed it.

Antonio said no.

For the next few days, they were all glued together like melted white paint, and the beginning and the end could not be distinguished.The light in the small room was always on, and someone brought him water and food, the same every time, a glass of cold water, a piece of dry bread with sticky tinned peas, or a suspicious oat gruel.Instead of asking him if he signed, the detective questioned him "how did he embezzle the church money" and warned him "the church gave solid evidence, you're going to jail, man. You might as well do yourself a favor and plead guilty , to see if the prosecutor is willing to reduce the sentence."

"I didn't." He repeated over and over again, I didn't, no, no, no, no.No, I do not sign.

Then, Killian called.

They put Antonio on the phone in what looked like a filing room, handcuffed his left hand to a filing rack, and tucked the receiver into his right hand.The priest huddled on the stool, clutching the phone tightly, not knowing what to say.Killian was waiting for him too, and the brothers listened to the electrical noise for a while in silence.

"Are you all right, Antonio?" asked Killian, from Rome.

He opened his mouth to say "no," but his throat was blocked and tears stung his eyes.It was not the reaction Antonio expected, he missed Kylian, but not to this extent.A more plausible explanation is that a familiar voice had punctured a swollen emotional abscess after days of interrogation.He took a shaky breath and cleared his throat.

"not so good."

"You know why I'm calling."

Antonio said nothing.

"Listen, the library position is still valid, nothing has changed, don't worry. Do yourself a favor by signing the testimony."

"But." Antonio stopped, not knowing how to describe his feelings, "but it wasn't in the plan...it's not what Father Clement promised. Marco shouldn't—"

Killian sighed, and it turned into an electrified whoosh along the transsea cable: "Antonio, dear, this has been part of the plan from the beginning."

"It's not fair."

"It's not a question of fairness. All gangs have to be brought under control. After Bruch is 'dissolved', who can guarantee that Italians won't do the same thing?"

"We're also Italian."

"But we're not a dock gang, and this is not the time to argue about the details."

"What will happen to Marco if I sign it?"

"Do you want to hear the truth? If you insist on not cooperating, it won't have much impact on the trial. The closed-door hearing started yesterday. I guess no one told you. Bruch pleaded not guilty and invited himself a whole circus As for Costa - thanks to Father Clement - the DA prepared him an agreement to drop all charges if he would join the military. I guess he will accept the agreement, if not his attorney will put You dragged to the witness stand, shaken out about your sex, and ripped you to shreds. You're not that important, brother, sign that damn testimony before I can get you to the Vatican."

Antonio slammed the phone down, slid to the floor against the file holder, and gritted his teeth to stop himself from sobbing.He wiped his face with his sleeve, once and again, and the tears seemed endless.The detective opened the door and gave him a look of pity.He uncuffed the handcuffs, put his hands on the priest's shoulders, and gently pushed him into another office. On the table was a glass of water, a familiar folder, and a pen.

-

Thursday, May 1942, 5.Father Pelligrini left the police station whose number cannot be disclosed, although according to written records, he had finished his statement and left as early as the evening of May 14.A black Ford picked him up, and no one cared where the car was going.

The news of Bruch's arrest made it to the inside of the newspaper, and in the same report there was no mention of Marco Costa, much less of Antonio Pelligrini, but again Pier 88 and "Normandy" No. [-] photo to remind the public of the dangers of Nazi sympathizers.The judiciary's gears turned slowly, dragging into the summer before a September arraignment was finalized.At that time, the news of the war had rolled over for several rounds, and not many people remembered the leader of the dock gang.

In early winter, the quay and the adjoining streets were hung with ribbons, not for Christmas, but for the departing troop carriers.The streets were crowded, and somewhere someone played a tuba, and at one point there was an uncoordinated sound of drums.Among the many new wives and worried parents stood a man who came alone, in a long gray coat and hat pulled down, because he was sneaking out and didn't want to be discovered too soon. It was time to go to Rome, take a military plane to and from the North Atlantic Airlift Line, and act as a messenger again under another name.Later in the Holy See, that pseudonym will be more familiar, but now, he is still Antonio.The crowd pushed around the edge of the port, silk scarves and hats were flying, and a girl was almost thrown into the sea. Antonio grabbed her, pulled her back, and left without listening to her thanks.

He stood on a stake where the cables were tied and looked out at the troop carrier. From this distance, the densely packed soldiers on the deck all looked exactly the same, and none of their faces were Marko.Everyone was shouting, waving, crying and laughing.Antonio also raised his hand, as if waving goodbye, and also as if praying for blessings. Maybe Marco saw it, maybe he didn't.Antonio preferred to believe that he had.

The boat went away slowly.To Europe, to where the war is.

End of the full text.