"We will stay here for the night," Kaz said as he stood in the doorway.
Above the door frame, a little niche had been carved out of the wall. A ceramic tile bearing the image of the Virgin Mary was surrounded by cut flowers, a small candle flickering in front of it. Framed in the dark doorway, with the religious symbols floating above his head, Kaz looked menacing, a small but dangerous holy warrior.
"Dottore," he added, "I believe you would find civilian clothes more to your liking?"
"Certainly," Sciafani answered.
"For now, we must insist on your company, Dottore. May I have your word you will accept our hospitality, or will it be necessary to impose it upon you?"
Kaz had a way with words. No one else I knew could tell a guy he was still a prisoner and have it come out so nicely.
"You have my word, for now."
"Good. It will make for a much more pleasant evening," Kaz said, walking into the house under the Virgin's gaze as the candle sputtered out in a sudden, sharp breeze.
Signora Ciccolo showed us to the well, where we could pump water to wash up, and then led Sciafani away to give him the couple's son's Sunday suit. The son was missing. If he was in an American POW camp in North Africa, he was in the safest place he could be, she told Kaz. They hoped for the best. She reappeared minutes later carrying the discarded uniform, which she put into the smoldering fire in her outdoor oven. Smart woman, I was sure Sciafani was thinking.
While Sciafani was changing clothes inside, Banville, Kaz, and I sat at a wooden table under a grape arbor attached to the rear of the house. An earthenware jug of red wine and four cups waited for us, but the time didn't feel right for a toast, although the smell of grapes filled the shaded air and I could almost relax.
"Well?" I said. "Does Harding know about this?"
"You know Major Harding," Kaz said. "He wouldn't approve, so I didn't ask. Nor did he ask why I went with the MPs this morning."
"Why are those MPs after me?"
Kaz and Banville exchanged confused looks. They'd gone to a lot of trouble to snatch me and hide me out here, but they hadn't seemed too happy about it. Now they seemed at a loss for words.
"Don't tell me you don't know?" Banville said, an edge of anger creeping into his tone. I was about to assure him I didn't when Kaz broke in.
"For desertion in the face of the enemy and for the murder of Sergeant Rocko Walters. Both offenses are punishable by death. Which is why we are hiding you. The road we came in on is a dead end. There is nothing of military value here, so we should be unmolested."
"Good, because there's probably another charge against me by now. An Italian POW, Roberto Bellestri, was murdered last night. I went to the POW camp to talk to him, but it was too late."
"Was it to silence him, Lieutenant?" Banville asked.
"No. I needed him to tell me what had happened. Who brought those charges against me? Was it Harding?"
"No," said Kaz. "He defended you, but in the end a JAG officer filed charges."
"What the bloody hell is that?" asked Banville.
"The American army legal branch," Kaz answered. "The Judge Advocate General's Corps."
"How did JAG hear about me?"
"First, you need to explain what's happened. The whole truth," Kaz said, his expression giving away nothing.
"OK, guys, I have to start from the beginning. I don't have everything straight, but here goes…"
I told them about waking up in the field hospital and not remembering a thing. About Rocko appearing and his story about finding me with an Italian soldier and bringing me to the hospital. About Biazza Ridge, Slim Jim, Clancy and Joe, and Aloysius Hutton. About how I made it back to the field hospital and saw them looking for me, except I didn't know who they were. About sneaking into Rocko's tent of treasures and what I heard there: Andrews, the yegg, Charlotte, everything. About the note, the bath, and Rocko's fear of what would happen to him if he squealed. How I was clobbered on the head and woke up to find Rocko dead in the tub. How the paratroopers were shot to pieces and fell to the sea in flames. About remembering Roberto Bellestri and Harding, and how things were coming back to me, but not everything, and that the good dottore had said the things I hadn't yet remembered were the worst of my vanished memories.
"You remember me, it seems," Kaz said, disbelief battling with hope on his face.
"Yes, you came back to me. But there's something else, something about a fire. When I look at Banville I see visions of fire."
"Do you remember Banville from before?" Kaz asked.
I studied Banville's face a long time. I connected him with a building or a car or both, on fire. But where?
"No. You're familiar, but I can't place you," I said to Banville. I looked at Kaz, and his face was ashen.
"Can't place me? What the hell are you up to? And where's my captain, that's what I want to know!" Banville's voice rose with his anger, and his last words were accompanied by his fist slamming on the table. He still meant nothing to me. Kaz turned his head to avoid my eyes. He knew. I wanted to ask but I was afraid of the shattered look on his face. I was scared of what I didn't remember, but it was easier to lash out at Banville.
"I don't know who you're talking about, goddamn it! If I could remember I'd tell you, don't you get it?" I wanted to grab Banville by the collar and take out all my frustrations on him. It felt good to get angry. And I was glad of the distraction for Kaz.
"Did you leave him somewhere? Don't tell me you can't remember your good friend Lieutenant Harry Dickinson? The fellow you almost got killed up in the North Sea? The man who captained the Motor Torpedo Boat that took you to Bone? Where he got shot in the leg, helping you?"
Banville was up now, his clenched fists resting on the tabletop as he leaned over me.
"I was in the hospital, Billy. In Algiers. You saved my life, do you remember?" Kaz asked.
"No, I don't. I don't remember being in Algiers. There are all sorts of gaps in my memories. I have no idea who Harry is. Ike mentioned Harry somebody this morning-"
"You saw General Eisenhower? Today?" Kaz asked, surprised.
"By accident, on the road to the POW enclosure. Harry Butcher was with him. I remembered Butcher, but Ike mentioned another Harry, said I should bring him with me to see him when it was all over."
"Eisenhower knows only the bare outline of the original plan, nothing about what has actually happened," Kaz said.
"Kaz, what was the plan? What was I supposed to be doing?"
I wanted to ask if I was an assassin, a murderer made legal by a state of war, but I didn't. If it was true, I knew Kaz would dress it up in nicer words, but I wasn't ready to find out.
"You do not remember coming ashore?" Kaz asked, avoiding my question.
"No, nothing before the field hospital-wait, no-at first that was all, but then I did remember Roberto leading me away from somewhere. He wanted to surrender, and helped me to our lines. Rocko found us and shot him."
"Rocko Walters, the soldier who was killed?"
"Same guy. He babysat me in the field hospital. He was very interested in this," I said as I drew out the silk handkerchief.
"Put that away!" Kaz said, thrusting out his hands to cover it. "And thank God you still have it."
"What the hell is it, and why did Rocko want it so badly?" I asked as I stuffed it into my pocket now, wishing it had gone into the fire with Sciafani's uniform.
"It might be best not to give Lieutenant Boyle too much help, medically speaking." Sciafani's voice surprised us as he approached to sit at the table. Kaz glanced at me, probably wondering the same thing I was. Had Sciafani seen the handkerchief? He seemed not to have noticed, as he was busy pulling and tugging at the black suit that had replaced his uniform. It was a bit too large on him, but he was the kind of guy who could look good in most anything. He adjusted the cuffs of the threadbare white shirt as if they were gleaming white linen with ivory cuff links.