"Laura Resnick - Under a Sky More Fiercely Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Laura)

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civilian cooperation during the invasion.
I knew without being told that Luciano's friends would willingly assist
the Allies, if for no other reason than that they were all passionately
anti-Fascist, many of them having spent years in Mussolini's jails. The
promises which Luciano was making on behalf of the Americans were merely added
inducements.
The _cannoli_ seemed to turn to paste in my stomach as I stared at
Luciano. He wasn't a great man in America, I realized. He was just a criminal,
not a warrior or a hero. And the Americans had thought it appropriate to send
a criminal here to speak on their behalf, as if there were no Sicilians worthy
of negotiating with a real American hero.
And, as Luciano spoke with Vizzini, I realized that, worse than being a
criminal, he was also a fool. He truly believed that the people who had
dropped him into German-occupied Sicily were going to take him back to America
after the battle was over and let him return to his former life as "chairman
of the board." Vizzini knew it would never happen, but he made only one
attempt to tell Luciano, for, in the end, a man believes what he chooses to
believe.
I realized then how clever the Americans were. Of course they could
send Luciano here alone -- they knew he had no desire to remain in Sicily. His
longing to return to America was so evident in his face, it almost made him
look like a child. And, if he failed to fulfill his bargain with the
Americans, they could simply betray him to the Nazis, who would hunt him down
like an animal; it would simultaneously waste German resources and make
Luciano's life a misery. Yes, the Americans had left Luciano very little
choice when they made their agreement with him.
Having listened to Luciano, Vizzini finally said, "I feel certain I can
accept on behalf of all our friends. Do you have some way of notifying the
Americans?"
Luciano nodded. "They'll be waiting for my signal. Two days from now."
"And then you'll leave?"
"God, how I would love to! I can't stand this shit-hole, and I should
daily bless my father for having emigrated. But, unfortunately, it's a lot
easier to drop someone off in hostile territory than to pick him up again. I'm
stuck here until the American forces arrive."
My eyes clouded as he spoke, and my heart grew heavy. He was not the
only fool, I realized. I had seen yesterday that he had no love for this
devastated land, but I had thought nothing of it. After all, which of us had
not cursed the merciless sun, the dry river beds, the rocky hills? Which of us
had never longed to leave the certain poverty of life here for the riches
which awaited a man in America? But, like my father and grandfather before me,
I had, deep in my heart, continued to love Sicily throughout every moment that
I hated her for draining away my life before it had even begun.
And here was a man who didn't love her, who had clearly never loved
her, and he spoke on behalf of men who had never even seen her, but who were