Street Boys Read Online Free PDF Page B

be good,” Connors said to the dog. “If you see any Germans, bite them.”
    Connors and Willis walked together toward the jeep, the dog following slowly behind them. “Thanks for doing that,” he said to Willis.
    “He’s the first patient I’ve had since I’ve been out here who hasn’t bitched and moaned about my medical abilities,” Willis said.
    “You two ready?” Taylor asked. “Or do you want to see if any birds need their wings mended?”
    Connors tossed his gear into the jeep and jumped in behind the wheel. He turned the ignition key and started the engine, shifting gears from neutral to first. Then, for the only time that day, the bullmastiff barked, loud and often, running toward the jeep as he did, staring up at Connors with round, pasta-bowl eyes. Connors kept both hands on the steering wheel, his own eyes fixed on the empty road leading into Naples. He took one hand off the wheel, reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of gum. He unfolded the wrapper and shoved the slice deep into a corner of his mouth. He turned to look at the bullmastiff, now sitting alongside the jeep. They stared at one another for several moments, the sun bearing down hard.
    “Get in,” Connors said, reaching back to pat the rear seat. “Take you as far as Naples. After that, you’re back on your own.”
    “Are you nuts?” Taylor asked. “We can’t take a dog with us. It’s against any orders anybody would ever give.”
    “He could be a help,” Willis said.
    “Another wilted mind heard from,” Taylor said, turning to glare at Willis in the backseat. “How the hell is a dog going to be any help? Wounded one to boot.”
    “He might know his way around the city,” Connors said. “Sure to know it better than we do. Besides, it’ll give Willis something else to look at other than the back of your scrawny neck.”
    “Which, I should mention, if it gets any redder I could heat my lunch on it,” Willis said.
    “Give him some space,” Connors said. “He’ll need room to drool.”
    Connors watched as the mastiff jumped into the backseat, his 140-pound girth taking up a solid portion of the rear, and nestled alongside Willis. “They grow dogs big around here,” he said, looking toward the road, turning the wheel to the left, grinding the clutch into gear, scattering patches of dry grass and dust in his wake, riding along the tree lines. “I hope the same isn’t true about the women.”

5
    SANTA CATERINA A FORMIELLO, NAPLES
SEPTEMBER 26, 1943
    The two boys knelt before the main altar of the old church, their heads bowed in prayer. The church, with its tilted dome and boxlike design, was a cherished remnant of the Renaissance, built in 1593 by Romolo Balsimelli, an obscure architect who never planned on his work standing for centuries, defiant in the face of war and neglect. The church was cool, dark and silent, the whispers of the two boys echoing off the stone walls and shattered windows.
    “I can still smell the bowls of Mama’s lentils,” said Giancarlo Bardini, at twelve, the older by two years, sitting in a straw chair facing the main altar. “Me eating them with a spoon and you with bread.”
    “Is Uncle Mario with us, too?” Antonio asked. He was shivering, huddled close to his brother, back of his head leaning against the top rung of his chair.
    “Always,” Giancarlo said to him with a smile.
    “And Nonna Maria?”
    “In her chair, fanning herself,” Giancarlo said.
    The older boy stood and looked around the empty, dust-filled church. “We need to go and join the others,” he said. “We don’t want to be left behind.”
    “Just one more prayer,” Antonio said. “The one I always save for Mama.”
    Giancarlo nodded, watching his brother walk the three steps up to the altar. “You say more prayers than a priest,” he whispered.
    Antonio stretched his small frame across the base of the altar, stretching to reach the large cross resting in the center. His small hands gripped