Mariolina – 6 years old
Torino, Italy – 1940
‘I hate the bombs,’ I say to Nonna. She is cleaning the wound on her leg that happened on the night of our lucky escape from the bunker when she fell up the stairs.
‘Mmmm,’ is her only response.
I leave the kitchen and go and look for Mamma who is in our bedroom. ‘Voglio stare qui. I want to stay here.’ I look up into my Mamma’s big, brown eyes as she helps me into my overcoat just a few minutes later. She has dark shadows under her eyes and it looks like she has been crying. ‘What’s wrong, Mamma?’
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