The old woman spoke quietly during dinner, and quite suddenly, while I was finishing another of her delicious meals, vegetables straight from the garden, piping hot food so seemingly out of place in the heat that surrounded everything.
"What does she say?" I asked.
"What does she say?" I asked.
"She says you look like the Americans"
"The Americans?"
"Yes, the one's she saw in the war."
"World war Two!?"
"Yes... she says you look just like the ones who came to Naples."
And the story went.
They were starving in Naples when the Americans arrived. After driving through Sicily under Patton, Bradley and Montgomery, the slog up Italy proper began. Ships filled the Napoli port and the Americans drove their jeeps through the city, throwing candy and food like a parade to the children, children who had less than nothing to eat. They were friendly. Better than the Germans. And even though there was to be a history of rape by GIs, they were far kinder than the Germans, especially to the children. They would give out chocolate. Chocolate. All the older Europeans I'd met, Dutch, Belgian, and now Italian, mentioned the chocolate. As if somewhere in the U.S. Army manual, in between react-to-contact and coordinating artillery, there is some clause, some directive, that chocolate must be handed out to the population. Maybe that is how you win hearts and minds... not with grandiose political theory... but with smiles and free Hershey bars. She had been seven years old when the Americans came, seven, and some part of her memory matched some attitudes, cut of my hair, an easy smile, the eagerness to help clean up after dinner or the gratefulness when she did laundry... she says you look just like them...
Her husband had been there too. Near the naval yards. Luring servicemen away with beer and trips to the bordellos. Getting them drunk and selling them to older Italians, who would get them even further drunk and then rob them, strip them and dump them naked and hammered in the streets. so regular, so common was this in Naples that the Military Police had regular evening patrols, cruising the streets in their jeeps to pick up the naked drunk Americans and drive them back to base. The Napolians didn't murder them, but there were starving, short on clothes, desperate, so when the GIs had drunk and fucked their fill, the italians took advantage of it. I supposed I can't blame them much. War is hell, starvation, Germans rounding up Italian men for camps as the tide of war turned, Americans saving the day, but taking advantage of the lawlessness and the beautiful women.
maybe peace is smiles and chocolate for children."
"The Americans?"
"Yes, the one's she saw in the war."
"World war Two!?"
"Yes... she says you look just like the ones who came to Naples."
And the story went.
They were starving in Naples when the Americans arrived. After driving through Sicily under Patton, Bradley and Montgomery, the slog up Italy proper began. Ships filled the Napoli port and the Americans drove their jeeps through the city, throwing candy and food like a parade to the children, children who had less than nothing to eat. They were friendly. Better than the Germans. And even though there was to be a history of rape by GIs, they were far kinder than the Germans, especially to the children. They would give out chocolate. Chocolate. All the older Europeans I'd met, Dutch, Belgian, and now Italian, mentioned the chocolate. As if somewhere in the U.S. Army manual, in between react-to-contact and coordinating artillery, there is some clause, some directive, that chocolate must be handed out to the population. Maybe that is how you win hearts and minds... not with grandiose political theory... but with smiles and free Hershey bars. She had been seven years old when the Americans came, seven, and some part of her memory matched some attitudes, cut of my hair, an easy smile, the eagerness to help clean up after dinner or the gratefulness when she did laundry... she says you look just like them...
Her husband had been there too. Near the naval yards. Luring servicemen away with beer and trips to the bordellos. Getting them drunk and selling them to older Italians, who would get them even further drunk and then rob them, strip them and dump them naked and hammered in the streets. so regular, so common was this in Naples that the Military Police had regular evening patrols, cruising the streets in their jeeps to pick up the naked drunk Americans and drive them back to base. The Napolians didn't murder them, but there were starving, short on clothes, desperate, so when the GIs had drunk and fucked their fill, the italians took advantage of it. I supposed I can't blame them much. War is hell, starvation, Germans rounding up Italian men for camps as the tide of war turned, Americans saving the day, but taking advantage of the lawlessness and the beautiful women.
maybe peace is smiles and chocolate for children."
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