EW Assignment 1

Character Sketch link: "Character Sketch, Severino Cuzelli" 



Chapter 1



Introduction of Central Character



Holding a calloused hand above his blue eyes, shading them from the bright morning sun, Severino let his gaze settle on the glistening, snow-capped mountain peaks hovering above the lush valley. His eyes scan south along the craggy line of mountaintops splitting the cloudless, blue sky as he wonders how the majestic beauty of these mountains can be the cause of so much pain, suffering and death.

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he leans against a dilapidated shed, one of the twenty wooden sheds that make up his father's silk worm farm, and he wonders how much longer he will be able to work here. The sheds were built in the mottled shade of the Mulberry trees to keep the worms cool, and the leaves of the trees supply the only source of food the worms need. He puts the cigarette between his dry lips and lights the end with a wooden match. The tip glows red as his lips pull on the cigarette, then coughs as he inhales the harsh tobacco smoke.

The declining silk worm trade worries Severino no end. Producing natural silk has been his father's only income for most of his life, a life Severino doesn't want for himself. If the natural-silk trade succumbs to the new, synthetic silk from Asia that's flooding the European markets, his father will suffer financially. His father has grown old raising a large family and working long hours, with no real source of income his last years will not be very comfortable.

He draws on his cigarette and thinks about his future. One day I'll go to America and earn a lot of money. He surveys the sheds, all in need of repair. I don't want to depend on boxes of squirming worms for my livelihood. His eyes stray to the path leading to where he lives, his father's house. He sighs. But not until my parent's no longer need me. He doesn't like to think about his parents being gone, instead, he finds it more comfortable to think of them purely as needing him—or no longer needing him.

The bloody, senseless war that has been waging for over a year, and shows no signs of ending, also worries Severino. Many of the men from the village of Cloz have already been sent off to war, and many of them are already dead. Severino wonders when his turn will come. He exhales a stream of cigarette smoke into the air with a sigh and wonders how his parents will support themselves if he is sent off to fight. His father is too old to work the farm alone now.

He pulls his hat off and wipes his sleeve along his sweaty forehead, then runs his fingers through his dark, wavy hair and wonders how long he will be able to avoid being part of the war raging in the mountains. He isn't a coward, he's not afraid of death, although he would like to live a long life. He knows that if he is called to war he will go. He would have no choice, really. But he wonders how his parents will survive without his help.

The British, Americans, and French are all aligned against the Triple-Alliance of Austria, Germany, and Hungary. The southern Tyrol has always been part of Austria, and Trentino has been the Cuzelli family's homeland for hundreds of years. Italy has eyed the southern Tyrol for annexation for years, and now that the tide had turned against the alliance, Italy has denounced its support for the Alliance and talks of joining with the allies—but only if they are awarded the southern Tyrol, including Trentino, after victory is attained. The allies seem only too happy to oblige.

Yes, if his country calls him to serve he will go. His ideas about who does the dirty work in war do not diminish the pride he feels for his country. Severino drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his boot. What would he tell his grandchildren one day when they learn that Italy confiscated his home and he didn't try to stop it? It is a matter of pride, he thinks to himself, isn't it?

But he also knows that leaving would mean the end of his father's farm. If Severino goes to war the farm will flounder and sink quickly and with no real income his parent's would suffer. Severino vows to find a way not to let that happen. If only this war would end, then he could go to America and earn enough money to send home so his parent's would be well-cared for. Taking care of your family is also a matter of pride, he thinks.



Severino reaches into the pocket of his work pants and tugs the silver chain connected to the old pocket watch that once belonged to his grandfather. He holds it up and watches as the orb slowly spins in the sunlight, reflecting the sun warmly from its burnished surface. It belonged to his father for a while but when he began to work full-time on the farm his father passed it on to him. "It should be carried by a man of work," his father had said when he gave it to him. "Now that I'm unable to work, it is rightfully yours."

"But papa," Severino had protested. "This belonged to your father, it is special to you."

"Yes, it is important, don't ever forget that." Giorgio paused. The watch dangled from his fingers at the end of the chain. "But it was given to me when I took over the farm from your grandfather. And now that you are taking it over from me, it is yours. Take good care of it."

Ever since his father gave him the watch, Severino has never been without it. He runs his fingers over the silver case feeling its edges, worn smooth by time. Its luster has turned to a patina finish, scratches spider-web its surface. He snaps it open and gently rubs the glass crystal on his shirt sleeve. Holding it out he looks at its thin, black hands that keep perfect time; checking the time he thinks, it's almost time for dinner.

He reaches behind his neck and massages the tightness in his shoulders as he looks around at his father's sloping land. Owning land is another matter of pride for Severino. Land ownership is the mark of a successful man, Severino believes. And a successful man does not have to place himself at the beck and call of the rich. Poor men, like the young men being sent off to fight in a senseless war, will always be the ones to do the fighting and dying—the dirty work—for the rich. He wonders what, beside their money, the rich take pride in.



A blurred movement catches the corner of Severino's eyes. At first he thinks he imagined it, but as he scans the low brush he sees it again, just a blur, but the movement is unmistakable. He slowly shades his eyes with his hand as he watches and waits for whatever it is to move again.

There it is. This time he sees it clearly; a brown and white rabbit hurries from one bush to the next, hoping to hide from any watching prey.

Severino watches as it makes its way in quick, short bounds, hiding behind whatever cover can be found. Severino can see that it is making for the wooded area not far away. Crouching low, he moves slowly toward the edge of the clearing and waits for what he thinks will be a delicious dinner to arrive.

The rabbit runs the three short feet from its last hiding place straight into Severino's waiting hands. Scooping him up, Severino grabs its ears and holds it out at arm's length. Nicely fattened, he thinks to himself. He'll look good in a stew. He smiles at the rabbit. "Hello, dinner," he says.

Looking down the grassy slope, Severino sees his neighbor, Dario Caputo, slowly walking up the hill, his eyes scanning right and left as if looking for something. The rabbit, Severino thinks. He considers walking into the woods and making his way home, unseen by his neighbor. Giving up the rabbit, and the nice supper it would provide, is not something Severino relishes.

Mr. Caputo is the only farmer on this mountain poorer than my family, Severino thinks after taking only a couple of steps. He stops, looks over his shoulder at his slowly ascending neighbor, then sighs loudly. "Okay, okay," he mumbles quietly. "He needs it more than I do." Severino looks at the rabbit struggling in his grasp. "You will be safe for at least one more day." He raises his free hand and waves, then shouts to Mr. Caputo. "Is this what you are looking for?" He holds the rabbit higher so his neighbor can see it.

"Hi, Severino," the neighbor shouts. "Where did you find him?"

"Actually, he found me." Severino walks toward Dario.

"Well, I'm thankful you have him. He is a birthday present for my granddaughter."

"I was thinking he'd make a fine meal."

"He would at that," Dario laughs. "He's certainly fat enough." Dario reaches out and strokes the rabbit's fur vigorously. "But my granddaughter, Anna, you have seen her I'm sure, picked him and asked that I give him to her for her birthday." He smiles up at Severino. "How can I deny my beautiful Ana?"

"Someday I hope to have grandchildren, Mr. Caputo. As many and as beautiful as yours."

"Thank you, Severino," Mr. Caputo beams. "If this war doesn't end, none of the young men around here will live that long." He stops and purses his lips. "I'm sorry, Severino. I didn't mean..."

"I understand, Mr. Caputo," Severino interrupts. "The war and its consequences make all of us wonder how it all will end."

"You have not yet been called, then?" Caputo asks as the two men begin walking up the hill. "The conscription has been going on for a year now."

"Not yet. I hope I won't be called." Severino sees the furrowed brow above Caputo's eyes, then adds. "It's not that I'm afraid, Mr. Caputo. I can take care of myself, and I will fight for Austria when the time comes. But leaving my father to tend to the farm alone will almost certainly cause it to fail. He is old and cannot do the work he once did."

"The trade is all but gone anyway, Severino."

"I know. But I'm hoping it will last long enough to take care of my father and mother until..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"I understand," Caputo says. "It is those damn Italians that worry me. They threaten to join with Britain and America against us. But it is only because they want all this when it's over." Caputo waves his hand in a slow arc toward the scenic countryside surrounding them.

Severino nods. "They have wanted this part of Austria for years, but we will fight to keep them out. The newspaper calls it National Pride. I guess that's what it is, but this is our home."

The two men arrive at Caputo's modest farm house, a small, stone and brick structure that appears to be almost as old as the mountains surrounding it. Severino hands the rabbit to his neighbor. "Here, I hope your Ana likes him as much as I would have liked him for supper." He smiles and looks up the path to where his father's house sits nestled in the trees. "I better hurry, it's time for dinner." Before he turns to leave he says, "If I am conscripted then my parent's will have one less person to feed. I worry about them if I should have to leave."

"You cannot concern yourself with that right now, Severino. You have to consider what is best for you. Maybe your brother will return from America and help your parents."

"He doesn't know what is happening here. We have rarely heard from him since he left." Severino removes his hat and wipes the sweat from his forehead. "I always thought that when I was sure my parents were cared for, or after they are gone, I would emigrate to America."

"Do you think you would like it there?"

"I don't know. So many men have left to go there to work. Not one has come back and said it was a mistake." He rubs the back of his neck and turns to leave. "But I can't go until my parent's situation is taken care of. I can't leave them with no way to live."

"You are a good son, Severino. But I know your papa, and I don't think he would like knowing you are staying here just because of him."

"Then don't tell him, please."

"But with this war...you may have to leave them anyway." Caputo turns toward the house as his wife sticks her head out of the window.

"Dario," she calls. "Where have you been? I hope you haven't been with Tomas, drinking his homemade grappa!"

Turning back to Severino and says, "I wish you well either way, Severino." Nodding toward his house he chuckles. "Women, huh? Better you stay single." He turns and walks along the dirt path to his house. "You were almost someone's supper, Horatio," he says quietly to the rabbit. As he enters the house Severino hears him call to his wife, "I'm home woman, what do you want from me?" He smiles out at Severino as he shuts the front door.

* * *

Severino's long legs make short work of the walk home and as he reaches the rough fence surrounding the house he looks out over the valley. In the distance lies Lake Guistina, a blue jewel shimmering on the valley floor. Below him the roar of the Fume River rises up from the leafy ravines that hide it. The beauty of Val di Sol never fails to grab his attention. If only this beauty could be turned into money, he thinks.

His mother, Lucia, is standing on the stone steps in front of his house. Her smile fades when she sees him coming up the path. She presses her hands into the pockets sewn into her white apron and disappears into the house. Severino pauses and wonders if something is wrong. As he walks onto the front step his father comes outside and gently closes the door behind him.

"What's wrong, papa," Severino asks, his brow furrowed. "Why did mama hurry inside when she saw me? Is she alright?"

"She's fine, Severino," his father answers as he takes his son by the arm and leads him away from the house. "We must talk."

Severino stops and looks into his father's eyes and sees worry. "What is it, papa?" He places his hand on his father's shoulder.

"The Carabinieri were here a little while ago," he says, his voice tinted with disdain. "The news they brought was not so good."

"What is it?" Severino asks anxiously. "What has happened?"

"The Italian's have joined with the allies, apparently it was announced yesterday. Vienna has issued new calls for conscripts." Looking into his son's narrowed eyes he continues. "You have been conscripted, son," he says softly. His eyes dart from his son to the house.

"Vienna! The Habsburgs! You will not see the names of our rulers on the list of those being called." Severino looks north in the direction of Austria's capitol. "Does mama know?"

"Yes, she was here when they came with the notice." They walk slowly back to the house. "She is very worried, Severino...and for good reason." Giorgio looks south along the line of mountains partially hidden behind low floating clouds. "So, you are called to war. What will you do?"

"I'll have to go, papa." He looks at his father and sees the questions in his eyes. "What choice do I have?"

"You could refuse," he says. "Go into hiding until we can arrange for you to go to America."

"No! Papa!" Severino says. "I will not hide from the danger of protecting my country. I am the son of poor parent's, I have no money, no connections—no power to do anything but go."

"Your mother will worry herself sick." Giorgia says as he stares back at his house. "Women don't understand."

"I don't understand, papa!" Severino says, his voice now louder. He sighs before continuing. "Why do we fight with these powerful countries? What can we hope to accomplish? More and more dead come from the mountains and still nothing changes. It is the poor who do the dying. The rich sit atop their brushed horses, their tunics sparkle with medals they have not earned. They do not fight the battles—they do not die."

"It has always been this way, son." Giorgio places his palm against his son's cheek and looks deeply into his eyes. "If you must go, then go. We will pray for you, your mother and me. And when it is over you must return here, to your home."

"What will you do, papa?" Severino asks. "You cannot work the farm, how will you earn money to live? I can send you money from my pay, what little there will be, it won't be enough."

"I have always taken care of your mother and my children," he says. "Nothing has changed. I will take care of your mother, and you must promise us that you will take care of yourself."

Both men stop talking at the sound of the squeaking front door. Lucia steps out into the sunlight, her eyes red and wet. "So you will go, my son?"

"Yes, mama, I must go."

She steps toward her son, her arms outstretched as she closes the distance between them. Pulling Severino into a tight embrace, she rocks gently back and forth as she speaks. "My son, my most precious son, you must promise to be careful—you must promise you will make it home safely to us."

His mother's grey hair tickles his cheek as she holds him close and rocks him like a small child. He gently pulls back and puts his hands on his mother's shoulders as he gazes into her face. He hesitates, thinking about a promise that he must make but has no power to keep. A smile slowly forms on his face and he forces a cheerfulness into his voice that he doesn't feel.

"Mama, I'm not a hero. I will be careful. And I will return safely to you and papa." A wide smile breaks out on Lucia's face, but Severino sees that the smile doesn't make it into her eyes.

"Then I won't worry," Lucia says with a sigh. "You have never broken a promise to your mother before, and I don't think you will start now." She circles her son's waist with her arm and smiles. "Let's go in and eat, I made your favorite, rabbit stew."



Lucia stands at the stove with her back to Severino as she ladles steaming, fragrant stew into round, wooden bowls. The air is scented with garlic. As she walks to the table she stops in the open doorway and stares across the valley and sighs as she stares at the mountains. Giorgio is outside filling his pipe with tobacco. He puts the filled pipe on the bench next to him and stares out at the mountains and falls deeply into thought for a moment, then frowns and walks into the house. Severino sits in the quiet kitchen staring through the open window at the hazy mountains that have always been familiar to him. But now, as he sits there knowing he will soon be in those mountains fighting a war, the shadowy mountains seem strange to him—alien. It's as if he is seeing them for the very first time.

Reaching into his pocket, Severino's fingers encircle the warm metal of the watch he always carries, his grandfather's watch. The metal feels smooth between his long fingers—familiar. He sighs as his mother puts a bowl on the table in front of him.

* * *



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