Read To Find a Mountain for Free Online Page B

I tested the pasta to make sure it was right, biting a noodle in half to see that it felt firm but not crisp, soft but not soggy. Al dente .
    The sound of voices reached the kitchen, and soon Wolff led Bishop Frugazzi into the kitchen. The bishop was a short, wide man, balding, with horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in black and was sweating profusely.
    “This is Benedetta Carlesimo,” Wolff said. “She’s taking good care of us.”
    The bishop’s chubby hand took mine and he kissed it, then kissed both of my cheeks. “Ah, Benedetta, the blessed,” he said. “What a beautiful name, and such a beautiful girl!”
    He turned to Wolff. “You are lucky to have such a beautiful zoccola .”
    I blushed at the word, which means a woman of ill repute. I was certain that I hadn’t heard right, that the bishop hadn’t just called me that horrible name. I then busied myself with the food. Iole and Emidio came downstairs and were introduced to the bishop. They helped me finish setting the table while Wolff and Bishop Frugazzi began talking.
    “How goes the . . . effort, Colonel Wolff?” the bishop began.
    “Excellent, excellent.”
    “Good.”
    “We are pushing, the Americans are trying to reach us, but we throw them back, almost effortlessly,” Wolff said. To me, however, his voice didn’t sound as certain as his words.
    “The big guns . . . ?” the bishop asked.
    “Yes, the big guns are too much for them.”
    Bishop Frugazzi drained his glass and motioned for me to refill it, which I did.
    “They will soon give up,” said the bishop. “They lose too many men.”
    Wolff nodded in agreement.
    “I hear about the American losses,” continued Bishop Frugazzi. “Word from my parishioners is that the southern slope of Mt. Cassino is covered with dead Americans.”
    “Our men are good fighters,” said Wolff.
    I placed the bowl of spaghetti on the table. The bishop served himself, then pushed the bowl across to Wolff, who was clearly not as experienced with pasta. He awkwardly heaped a pile of the pasta onto his plate.
    “And how are your people?” asked Wolff, struggling to wrap noodles around his fork. He watched Bishop Frugazzi use his spoon to hold the pasta while twirling the fork, but this technique was clearly beyond the German’s reach.
    “They are good,” the bishop said, obviously distracted by the food in front of him. The bishop drained his glass again and I refilled it. The bottle was almost empty. “They say the Germans treat them well.”
    “We want it that way, Your Excellency. We are not here to hurt anyone.” Wolff paused a moment. “At least not any innocent civilians.”
    “It shows, Colonel Wolff.”
    Bishop Frugazzi heaped even more pasta onto his plate. “There are shortages, of course,” he said. “But that is to be expected during times of war.”
    “Some things cannot be avoided,” Wolff agreed.
    “Many villages are short on food already. But our people are survivors.”
    “The strong survive.”
    “Those who survive were meant to survive,” the bishop said knowingly.
    Just then, Iole retrieved the empty bread basket from the table and was passing the bishop when he reached out and grasped one of her pigtails. He jerked quickly but firmly and Iole let out a small yelp, like a dog whose tail was just stepped on.
    I saw shocked tears leap into Iole’s eyes.
    “More wine!” called the bishop, holding up his empty glass. I fought down my anger and emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. It occurred to me that the bishop might be drunk.
    As I finished filling his glass, his arm snaked around me and pulled me closer to him. “Ah, Colonel Wolff, you have picked a fine place for your headquarters. All the comforts of home, no?” he said, shooting Wolff a sly wink.
    Wolff did not smile. His eye caught mine and he sent me a message. “Benedetta,” he said, “start cleaning the dishes. The bishop and I will go outside for a cigar.”
    I jerked myself away from