Hidden Message

I wrote this fictional story for my friend for a school project. I wrote the story as through the eyes of Mussolini's wife Rachele.

I was standing at the foot of my bed watching myself sleep. As fast as the breeze blew in my room from the still night, I was sitting up on my bed. My breath escaped me with one deep breath taken in, and it was gone. Something was buried in my chest; it felt like someone threw his hard fist right under my voice box and reached deep down to my heart. I went deaf as silence conquered my screams. I couldn’t help myself. No one was there. I was lying there drowning in my own blood. I ran over to my body holding myself; watching myself die. In an instant the morning sun blinded me as my eyes opened and I found myself lying on the chilled floor. Slowly rising from the ground I gripped onto the ledge of the window to pull myself up. The window was shut for no breeze to come in. Turning to face my bed the blood had disappeared. I was able to breathe again. “What happened?” I asked myself. The dizziness brought me back to my bed. Mystified with the horror I faced, I could find no explanation of where it came from or what it meant. The trance that kept me under was haunting. It was illusive to my mind but so real in my unconscious world that I could only keep it to myself.

“Signora Rachele,” I didn’t recognize her voice, “please let me help you with your bags, you shouldn’t be carrying such heavy things.” I thanked her wondering who she was, though I was very well known in town I wasn’t surprised she knew my name. I had Benito to blame for that. “When are you due? September? Can I touch?” She couldn’t stop smiling as she reached to feel my pregnant belly. At first I didn’t want this stranger to touch me nor to speak to me, but in some awkward way there was something familiar about her. I had no choice as she rubbed my belly. “The child that you are carrying is a girl, she will have many siblings, three brothers and then her wish for a sister will come true.” She kissed my cheeks and grabbed some bags and walked a bit ahead of me leading me to my home. I didn’t think she should be helping me with my bags, I didn’t think she had the strength. The lines in her face showed many years of stories but her eyes were so young. Her voice carried angelically and eased me. Her soft hand made my baby move and the warmth settled my heart. She was a beautiful elderly woman; there was nothing to fear of her. She placed the bags on my table and told me not to be afraid of what I see when I close my eyes. She walked out so quickly I couldn’t catch up with her to ask her how she knew. By the time I got to the door she was gone. I stepped on a white rose that was on my front door step. I couldn’t recall seeing it there when I got home. When I picked it up it opened its petals and intoxicated me with its innocent scent. I brought it inside and put it in a vase next to my bed hoping it would show me pleasant things when I closed my eyes.

The summer days were over and the brisk wind had touched my shoulder. It felt good. The air smelled so fresh and then the pain just came out of nowhere. My legs were bathed in warmth. I gripped onto my belly not knowing what to do. I started to scream, “HELP, someone help me. My baby…my baby…my baby.” My mother Anna had guided me to my bed. She rang up the doctor. The pain was intense. This was the birth of my first child and I was holding on for dear life. I was afraid thinking, “How will I survive this?” Then all of a sudden it was silent and the room went dark. I had been awakened by the cries of an angel. It was that day, September 1, 1910 when my daughter Edda was born. My first child, my baby girl; she was so beautiful.

A year had passed and Edda, had recently began walking. She cried for her father when he was taken away for “leading a manifestation against the Italo-Turkish war”. I knew it wasn’t his first incarceration, nor would it be his last. The war had killed many people and killed the heart of those who mourned over the dead. My husband had aspirations of invigorating our nation. People praised him and his interest in fascism grew.

I remember one night, it was late and Edda wouldn’t stop crying. I cradled her and whispered weary pleadings, “Please Edda, stop crying and go to sleep for mommy. I promise daddy will be home soon. Everything is going to be fine, just close your eyes and think about the beautiful day we are going to have in the morning.” My exhaustion was overpowering me and although she was still crying, I had to lay her down again. The moment I put my head on the pillow I couldn’t hear Edda’s cries anymore. Slumber had hit me hard and I could no longer fight to stay awake. She was kissing me on my lips. I tried to push her away but I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her back. I remember her touching me and I had gotten aroused. She had walked away bare and suddenly stopped to look over her shoulder. She said that no one would ever know. The light from the moon had glared off my mirror and casted a glow over her body. She had faded out slowly and then disappeared. I couldn’t understand what had happened. I found my husband’s journal in my bed with the words “PLEASE BELIEVE ME FOR I WILL SHOW, AND YOU WILL KNOW.” I opened my eyes and all that was next to me was a white rose.

The radio was on and the announcer spoke words of destruction. I’ll never forget that day it was June 28th 1914. His voice just went right through my body, “‘the heir to the throne of Austro-Hungarian Empire, in Sarajevo, Bosnia Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated today. Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia’” (Summary Timeline: 1914, 2004). Edda was almost 4 when it happened and I was struck with fear. This summer was not going to be a pleasant one. “On August 1st there was an outbreak of war. Germany declares war on Russia and only two days later declares war on France. As days came by Germany invades neutral Belgium and Britain declares war on Germany”. Soon more of Europe joined the battle. It was the beginning of World War I.

A year passed and millions of people were dying for their country. My dress had been stained as it dragged on the floor. There was 3 inches of snow on the ground and I had no care, it was one the happiest days of my life. “It was December 17th when Benito and I finally exchanged our vows in a civil ceremony”. My life seemed perfect. I had my beautiful daughter and my husband. That night we made love and I told him how I wanted our family to grow. He wanted the same thing but he didn’t think it was a good idea now with the war. He had fallen asleep before I had and for a long time, I watched him sleep. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Finally slumber came. Someone just spit in my face, right in the eye. I couldn’t see who it was for my eyes had been sewn shut. I had felt my blood rushing to my head; my arms were hanging over me. People were spitting and shouting obscenities at me. I begged them to stop and told them it wasn’t me who had hurt them. I wasn’t alone; there were four other people next to me. My ankles were burning the rope was too tight. In a flash, things had turned around and I was amongst the crowd shouting and spitting at the body. I saw myself hanging there; the anger inside me was on fire. I couldn’t stand to look at myself and the people hanging next to me. The woman that was hung next to me turned my stomach I just wanted to rip her head off! She was dead along side my lifeless body and the bodies of the other three men. Something touched my tongue and woke me. It left a nauseating taste in my mouth. There was blood coming from my nose. I ran into the bathroom to wash my face. When I looked up into the mirror to see if it was all gone there was a reflection of a woman behind me. She said, “I will never leave your side.” I turned around but no one was there. I swore I was going crazy. I turned back to look at my husband, and was overcome with the strong scent of roses. I took my place next to him and as I reached for him I saw a pedal from a white rose on my pillow.

The days came and went in a blur but the nightmares, I could never forget. I tried to ignore them but the more I did the more horrific they became. Benito, engulfed in his political conquests, was rarely home. We still, however, found time to enjoy each other. In the following few years, we conceived 4 more children. Vittorio was born in 1916. He looked just like his father, as did Bruno, his younger brother, who was born in 1918. Five years later Romano was born. My family was complete two years later when Anna Maria, my second daughter and the last of my children, was born. We got the family we wanted but in the years to come, we would suffer such immeasurable tragedies.

World War II had come. On "June 10, 1940 Italy entered WWII as a German ally." Fourteen days later "armistice between Italy and France was signed.” News of the war was everywhere and when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, "Italy attacked Greece on October 28th”. Italy was doomed; I could feel it in my heart. Depression dominated me. The nightmares kept haunting me. This time it wasn't me I saw suffering, it was my son Bruno. I heard him screaming for me. I woke up and realized he wasn’t here. He was in the military and I knew that I must have been dreaming to hear him scream. I knew something was wrong. I cried myself back to sleep, back to my horrible nightmare. I saw him boarding an airplane, fastening his seat belt and preparing for takeoff. I tried to stop him but I was helpless. There was nothing I could do. Then there was an explosion which erupted me out of my dream. A few days later my nightmare was all over the news. “On August 7, 1941 Bruno, eighteen…, was killed when a new bomber he was testing crashed near Pisa. There was an engine failure soon after takeoff. Two crewmen survived, but Bruno did not”.

Benito aged as each moment passed, Bruno's death was paying a toll on him. It was three years after the loss of our son and we were still scarred. Scarred for life. “After the Allied occupation of southern Italy, the King ordered him to be arrested in order to sign the armistice”. "Benito was rescued from prison by the Germans, and was allowed to seek revenge against those who voted against him. Among those killed was his son-in-law, Count Galeazzo Ciano, my daughter Edda’s husband, who had participated in Benito’s overthrow”. Edda was distraught after losing her brother and now her husband. It was all this fighting, the evil of these wars had destroyed my family. We could not be looked at anymore. We were not safe.

“By early 1945, most of the country was liberated”. It was the end of the fascist regime and the people of Italy wanted my husband persecuted. This was the beginning of the end. My husband left and never returned, he was on the run. Running away to save his own life. He left me behind with our children. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know how to keep my children safe; I didn’t know what the people would do. I struggled and I couldn’t stop trembling inside. I didn’t trust anyone; it was hard for me to sleep. I needed to keep my eyes open at all times. One night something came over me, I had no control over it. The radio somehow turned itself on, full blast, I was pleading with a woman to leave me and save herself. It was the woman I had seen before in my mirror, she looked at me and told me, “We can’t run anymore, there’s nothing we can do. No one will save us this time.” I slapped her leaving a bruise on her right cheek. She kept telling me how much she loved me but I was too angry to tell her how I felt about her. It wasn’t the time. Someone had arrived to take us to safety. Without warning the woman who helped me with my bags reappeared. She was standing there holding a bouquet of white roses. I tried to get near her but the men who were to save me, were suddenly pointing their guns. She blew me a kiss goodbye and threw the roses at my feet. When I looked back up at her she was crying and held her hand out for me. This other woman who was my lover, jumped in front of me and grabbed my arm; she wouldn’t let go. I didn’t understand what was happening until I was one of the men aiming at me. In a morbidly calm voice, what was to be the last words I’d utter, I heard myself tell the gunman, “Shoot me in the chest”.

I had seen the bullet being discharged from the barrel of the gun and I thought for sure I was dead but then the doorbell rang and I was awoken. I opened the door and found an envelope waiting there for me. It was a letter from my husband. In it he wrote:
Here I am, at the last stage of my life, at the last page of my book. We two may never meet again, and that is why I am writing and sending you this letter. I ask your forgiveness for all the harm I have unwittingly done you. But you know that you are the only woman whom I have ever really loved. I swear it before God; I swear it before our Bruno in this supreme moment…
He advised me to head for the Swiss border with the two youngest children and start a new life. If the Swiss should refuse my entry, he told me to surrender to the Allies.

Take care of Anna and Romano, especially Anna who needs it so badly. You know how I love them. Bruno in heaven will help you. My dearest love to you and the children.

I never heard from my husband again, it was true, it was the last page of his book. I missed him so much. I understood why he wanted my forgiveness, but the reason for his asking hurt. I needed to take a walk but I didn’t know where to go. I had my hand on the doorknob undecided. The doorknob turns on it’s own and opens. It was her again. “Signora Rachele, may I come in?” I invited her in and watched every move she made. She asked me “have you been paying attention to your dreams all these years? You know they are very important to remember. You will understand them very soon. Bruno is here with you; he has never left your side. He is the one who kept you strong. Keep your head up and face everything and everyone. You won’t be able to see what is coming if you are looking down. I must go now, it’s time.” She got up and walked herself out. Why didn’t she ever let me walk with her? When the door closed the radio again turned on by itself. Was I having another dream or was this really happening? The announcer mentioned my husband’s name. I got closer to hear the news. Benito had been shot. I started to scream, “Oh my… he’s been shot… my husband is dead.” Then he announced a woman named Claretta Petacci was shot dead at the side of my husband. I was being tortured, not only did I lose my husband but I lost him while he was with another woman. I was his wife and she was his mistress. I felt weak; knives were stabbing me in the heart. I began screaming again, “ROT IN HELL CLARA!!! If you weren’t dead now I would kill you myself. The anger just kept building inside me; I turned into a wild woman. I started to rip things off the wall, throw chairs across the room, and I broke every mirror in the house. I grabbed his clothes and threw them in the garbage. I stopped. I looked around. I cried. I still loved him but I was so angry with him. I was supposed to be at his side in his last hours, not some dirty whore. Again, I cried.

It was the next morning April 29th 1945, the newspapers were buzzing with the stories of Benito’s death. “All of the bodies, including my husband and Petacci’s, were loaded in a moving van and taken to Milan to be dumped in Piazalle Loreto, the square where the Nazis had earlier executed fifteen hostages. My husband, Petacci and four others were hung by their heels from the girder of an abandoned gas station”. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. All those dreams, it wasn’t my fate I was seeing. It was my husband’s. I was looking through my Benito’s eyes. “All through the day, in a raw display of hatred, men and women jeered and spat on the mutilated bodies. The square became so crowded at one point that it was hard to move…In the evening, with the square almost empty, Allied soldiers removed the bodies”. I was having déjà vu. I found out that the dream of me with that woman was really my husband and Clara when they were caught trying to flee and the partisans where the one’s who took them out and killed them.

I was turned away at the Swiss border. “I surrendered in tears to the partisans in Como, but after a few days in jail, I was released to my family and my memories”. When I returned home I looked through every single one of his journals, trying to find something to help me understand why he had shamed me. Word around town was that he was never faithful and that he had many affairs with many women. I kept searching and searching to see if he wrote about them. Benito had kept many journals documenting his life, his beliefs and his fears. I had stacked them on my lap and as I read one, another slipped to the floor. I reached for the book and there was a picture. It was her. The elderly woman. What was her picture doing in his book? Who was she? I flipped the photo over and saw something hand written. “Benito, my loving son, keep writing and help others gain knowledge through your insight. You are a great teacher and one day you will find true love. Keep her close. – Mamma Rosa” The hidden message in my dreams. I couldn’t believe it. Then I saw his handwriting on the bottom. “Mamma you will always be my white rose. – Benito Mussolini”.