All language subtitles for Naples.44.2016.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG

♪♪

- Volunteers from the Armed
Forces in World War II

found to possess
linguistic qualifications

were frequently directed
into the Intelligence Corps.

At the end of this fortnight,

trainees considered
to have shown promise

were interviewed
by the selection officer,

who went through a pretense
of discussing with them

their future.

What the trainee
did not realize

was that however encouraging
the report on the major's desk,

his fate had been
instantly settled

from the moment of the officer's
first quick scrutiny

of his face.

The selection officer believed

that blue
was the color of truth.

To the blue-eyed trainees,
therefore,

went the responsible
and sometimes glamorous jobs,

while the rest were
tipped into the dustbin

of what was then called
the Field Security Police.

The escape
from this predicament

was a posting
to an overseas section,

employed primarily
as linguists,

to bridge the gap
between the military

and the civilian population.

On the 1st of September, 1943,

I was posted
to 312 Field Security Service,

who had been
temporarily attached

to headquarters staff
of the American Fifth Army.

On the 5th of September,

we sailed
in the Duchess of Bedford

to join the invasion convoy
bound for Salerno.

This was the greatest invasion
in this war so far,

probably the greatest
in human history.

And the sea was crowded to the
horizon with uncountable ships,

but we were as lost
and ineffective

as babes in the wood.

No one knew
where the enemy was,

but the bodies on the beach
at least proved he existed.

- There was fighting
on the beach

and there was fighting
up ahead,

and there was fighting
in the harbor and on the banks.

For a while, it didn't matter

whether you were
in the infantry,

the Air Forces,
or the Navy.

The fighting
was hot all around.

We could hear big Navy guns
and the anti-aircraft guns

and the roaring
of the dogfighters out at sea.

Just out of the range
of our boats...

At about 11:00,
an excited American officer

dashed up in a jeep.

We'd been issued
with a Webley pistol

and five rounds
of ammunition apiece.

Most of us had
never fired a gun.

With these weapons,
we were ordered to assist

in the defense
of Army headquarters

against the Mark V
and Tiger tanks

that were now
rolling towards us.

What this officer
did not tell us

was that he
and the rest of the officers

were quietly pulling out
and abandoning their men.

[explosions]

Outright panic now started

and spread among
the American troops left behind.

In the belief
that our position

had been infiltrated
by German infantry,

they began
to shoot each other,

and there were
blood-chilling screams

from men hit by the bullets.

Then at 4:00,
we started up our motorbikes,

and by God's mercy,
avoiding the panic-stricken fire

directed from cover
at anything that moved,

reached this field,

with its rabble of shocked
and demoralized soldiery.

We crouched
in our slit trench

under the pink fluttering leaves
of the olives,

and watched
the fires come closer,

and the night slowly passed.

We set out to explore a little
of our immediate environment.

As the sun began
to sink splendidly

into the sea at our back,

we wandered at random
through this wood,

full of chirping birds,

and suddenly found ourselves
at the wood's edge.

We looked out
into an open space

on a scene
of unearthly enchantment.

A few hundred yards away,
stood in a row,

the three perfect temples
of Paestum,

pink and glowing and glorious
in the sun's last rays.

It came as an illumination,

one of the great experiences
of life.

We were admiring the splendid
husk of the Temple of Neptune

when the war came to us

in the shape
of a single attacking plane.

Hearing its approach,
we crouched under a lintel.

The plane swooped,
opened up with its machine guns,

and then passed on to drop
a single bomb on the beach,

before heading off northwards.

One of my friends felt a light
tap on a pack he was wearing,

caused by a spent
machine gun bullet

which fell harmlessly
to the ground.

The experience was, on the
whole, an exhilarating one.

We appreciated
the contrast involved,

and no one experienced alarm.

In our small way, we had become
seasoned to the hazards of war.

Some delicate in-built
mechanism of the nerves

has accepted
and acclimatized itself

to a relative loss of security
and minor dangers.

- [singing in foreign language]

- We finally got through
by jeep to Salerno,

but found a battle
still going on

in the outskirts of the town.

[explosion]

German mortar bombs
were exploding

in the middle
of a small square

only 100 yards
from Security headquarters.

Here I saw an ugly sight,

a British officer interrogating
an Italian civilian,

and repeatedly hitting him
about the head with a chair,

treatment which the Italian,

his face a mask of blood,

suffered with stoicism.

At the end
of the interrogation,

which had not been
considered successful,

the officer called in
a private of the Hampshires

and asked him, in a pleasant,
conversational sort of manner,

"Would you like to take this man
away and shoot him?"

The private's reply was
to spit on his hands and say,

"I don't mind if I do, sir."

The most revolting episode
I have seen

since joining the forces.

[explosions]

Kitted out temporarily
as an American private

with bucket helmet,
hip-clinging trousers,

and gated boots,

I picked up a lift
in an American truck

going in the direction
of Naples,

which had fallen
three days before,

and where I supposed
my section

would already be installed.

At Battipaglia,
it was all change,

with an opportunity
for close-quarters study

of the effects
of the carpet bombing

ordered by General Clark.

The general has become
the destroying angel

of southern Italy.

Here in Battipaglia,
we had an Italian Guernica,

a town transformed
in a matter of seconds

to a heap of rubble.

An old man who came to beg

said that practically nobody
had been left alive,

and that the bodies
were still under the ruins.

From the stench
and from the sight of the flies

streaming like black smoke

into and out of
the holes in the ground,

this was entirely believable.

[gunfire]

Somewhere a few miles short
of Naples proper,

the road widened into
something like a square,

dominated by a vast,
semi-derelict public building,

plastered with notices
and with every window blown in.

Here, several trucks
had drawn up,

and our driver pulled in
to the curb and stopped, too.

[clamoring]

One of the trucks was carrying
American Army supplies,

and soldiers, immediately joined
by several from our truck,

were crowding round this
and helping themselves

to whatever
they could lay hands on.

Thereafter, crunching
through the broken glass

that littered the pavement,

each of them carrying
a tin of rations,

they were streaming
into the municipal building.

I followed them
and found myself

in a vast room crowded
with jostling soldiery.

Here, a row of ladies
sat at intervals of about a yard

with their backs to the wall.

These women were dressed
in their street clothes

and had the ordinary,
well-washed,

respectable shopping
and gossiping faces

of working-class housewives.

By the side of each woman
stood a small pile of tins,

and it soon became clear
that it was possible

to make love to any one of them
in this very public place

by adding another tin
to the pile.

The women kept absolutely still.

They said nothing,
and their faces

were as empty of expression
as graven images.

Once again, reality
had betrayed the dream,

and the air fell limp.

- On October the 1st, 1943,

the armies of liberation
entered Naples.

[dance music]

[cheering]

- [speaking Italian]

- The city of Naples
smells of charred wood,

with ruins everywhere,

sometimes completely
blocking the streets,

bomb craters
and abandoned trams.

The main problem is water.

Two tremendous air raids,

on August 4th
and September 6th,

smashed up all the services,

and there has been
no proper water supply

since the first of these.

To complete the Allies'
work of destruction,

German demolition squads
have gone round

blowing up anything of value
to the city that still worked.

Such has been the great public
thirst of the past few days

that we are told that
people have experimented

with sea water in their cooking.

And families have been seen
squatting along the seashore

round weird contraptions,

with which they hope
to distill sea water

for drinking purposes.

Hundreds, possibly thousands
of Italians,

most of them
women and children,

were in the fields
all along the roadside,

driven by their hunger
to search for edible plants.

I stopped to speak
to a group of them,

and they told me that they
had left their homes in Naples

at daybreak
and had had to walk

for between two and three hours

to reach the spot
where I found them,

seven or eight miles
out of town.

I saw other parties
netting birds,

and these had managed
to catch a few sparrows

and some tiny warblers,

which they said were common
at this time of year,

attracted by the fruit
in the orchards.

Along the seafront
at Santa Lucia,

a similar spectacle of
the desperate hunt for food.

Inexplicably, no boats
were allowed out yet to fish.

Nothing, absolutely nothing
that could be tackled

by the human digestive system
is wasted in Naples.

There is a persistent rumor

of a decline in the cat
population of the city.

- [speaking Italian]

- The purpose of AMG
is to prevent chaos.

Therefore, immediately
on occupying a country,

AMG re-establishes
civilian government,

brings back order and law.

Field manual 27-5
has it in black and white.

"The object
of civil affairs control

"through military government

"is to assist
military operations,

"to further national policies,

"and to fulfill the obligation

of the occupying forces
under international law."

There it is on paper.

- I arrived to find
that we had been installed

in the palace of the princes
of Satriano,

at the end of Naples'
impressive seafront,

the Riviera di Chiaia
in the Piazza Vittoria.

The four-story building
is in the Neapolitan version

of Spanish baroque,

and we occupy
its principal floor

at the head of a sweep
of marble staircase,

with high ceilings,
decorated with moldings,

glittering chandeliers,
enormous wall mirrors,

and opulent gilded furniture

in vaguely French Empire style.

There are eight majestic rooms,
but no bathroom,

and the lavatory is in
a cupboard in the kitchen.

The view across the square
is of clustered palms,

much statuary,
and the Bay of Naples.

The field security officer
has done very well by us.

There were military units
by the dozen all around Naples

who wish to employ
Italian civilians,

and all of these
had to be vetted by us

as security risks.

A suspects file
had to be started,

and this was a job
that fell to me.

The labor involved was immense
and exceedingly tedious,

and was much complicated
by the prevalence in Naples

of certain family names--

Espositos and Gennaros
turn up by the hundred--

and by the fact that material
supplied by our own authorities

for inclusion in the official
black book was often vague.

Quite frequently, suspects were
not even identified by name,

but by such descriptions
as "of medium height,"

"aged between 30 and 40,"

"strikingly ugly,"
or, in one case,

"known to possess
an obsessive fear of cats."

Life here promised
to be hard-working,

sometimes prosaic,
and fraught with routines.

There is no notice
in the palazzo

to say who we are
and what we are doing here,

so it's hard to understand
why people assume this

to be the headquarters
of the British secret police.

However, they do
and we are beginning to receive

a stream of visitors,

all of them offering
their services as informers.

In the main, they are drawn
from the professional classes

and hand over
beautifully engraved cards

describing them
as avvocato, dottore,

ingegnere, or professore.

They are all most dignified,
some impressive,

and they talk in low,
conspiratorial voices.

Among the civilian contacts
of these first few days,

my prize acquisition
was Vincente Lattarulo,

a man steeped in the knowledge
of the ways of Naples.

He proved to be one
of the 4,000 lawyers of Naples,

90% of whom, surplus
to the needs of the courts,

had never practiced,

and who, for the most part,
lived in extreme penury.

Lattarulo had worked out
a scientific system

of self-restraints.

He stayed most of the day in bed
and when he got up,

walked short distances
along a planned itinerary,

stopping to rest every few
hundred yards in a church.

He ate an evening meal only,

normally composed of a little
bread dipped in olive oil,

into which was rubbed a tomato.

It appeared that Lattarulo
had a secondary profession,

producing occasional
windfalls of revenue.

He admitted,
with a touch of pride,

to acting as a zio di Roma,
an uncle from Rome, at funerals.

His qualifications
were his patrician appearance

and a studied Roman accent
and manner.

When the Neapolitans tend to
familiarity in ingratiation,

Lattarulo shows a proper Roman
aloofness and taciturnity.

This, say the Neapolitans,

who are fulsome and cloying
in their greetings,

is how a real Roman
gentleman speaks.

- [speaking Italian]

- How lucky for all concerned

that the liberation of Naples
happened when it did

and the perfect weather
of early autumn

helped hardships of all kinds
to be more endurable.

From where I sat
sifting wearily

through the mountains
of vilification and calumny,

I could refresh myself
by looking down

into the narrow street
running along one side

of the palazzo.

A day off on a remarkably fine
Sunday for the season

offered an opportunity

for further acquaintance
with the neighborhood.

This is inhabited
to bursting point

with working-class families,

whose custom it is
to live as much as they can

of their lives out of doors,

for which reason this street

is as noisy
as a tropical aviary.

- [screaming, shouting]

- Quite early in the morning,

a family living
in the house opposite

carried out a table
and stood it in the street,

close to their doorway.

There were a number of other
such tables along the street

and constant social
migrations took place,

as neighbors
paid each other visits.

People called
musically to each other

over great distances.

[commotion]

The poor and the rich
in Arione live side by side,

constantly rubbing elbows

while appearing
to be hardly conscious

of each other's presence.

300,000 of the population
of Naples inhabit Bassi.

In the Vicaria district,
up to three people

occupy every two square meters
in the basso.

All things in Naples
are arranged

with as much civility
as possible.

-Hello, Joe!
-Hello!

$5.00.

- Hello, Joe! Come on!

- Neapolitans take their
sex lives very seriously indeed.

A woman called Lola,
whom I met at a dinner party,

arrived at HQ and asked
if I could help her.

It turned out
she had taken a lover

who was a captain in
the Royal Army Service Corps,

but as he speaks
no single word of Italian,

communication can only
be carried on by signs,

and this gives rise
to misunderstanding.

- I dance with you,

but I won't let you
sleep with me.

- Who asked you?

- You don't want
to sleep with me?

- I don't want to dance
with you.

-Are you crazy?
-Hmm.

[both laugh]

- Watch where you put
your hands, GI!

- My name is Yossarian.

- Watch where you put
your hands, Yossarian.

- Would I agree
to interpret for them

and settle
certain basic matters?

Captain Frazer turned out
to be a tall and handsome man

some years Lola's junior.

She wanted to know all about
his marital status and he hers,

and they lied to each other
to their hearts' content

while I kept a straight face
and interpreted.

She asked me
to mention to him,

in as tactful
a way as possible,

that comment had been caused
among her neighbors

because he never called
on her during the day.

Conjugal visits at midday
are de rigueur in Naples.

When the meeting was over,
we went off for a drink

and Frazer confided to me that
something was worrying him, too.

On inspecting her buttocks,

he had found them covered
with hundreds of pinpoint marks,

some clearly very small scars.

What could they be?

I put his mind at rest.

These were the marks left by
the iniezione reconstituenti,

injections which are given in
many of the pharmacies of Naples

and which many middle-class
women receive daily

to keep their sexual powers
at their peak.

Lola had made him understand,

by gestures one could
only shudderingly imagine,

that her late husband,
although half-starved

and even when in the early
stages of tuberculosis

from which he died,

never failed to have
intercourse with her

less than six times a night.

She also had a habit,
which terrified Frazer,

of keeping an eye on the bedside
clock while he performed.

I recommended him to drink,
as the locals did,

Marsala with the yolks
of egg stirred into it

and to wear a medal
of San Rocco,

patron of coitus reservatus.

- I want to marry you.

-Not possible.
-Why not?

-Because crazy.
-Why am I crazy?

- Because you want to marry me.

- Wait, you won't marry me
because I'm crazy

and you say I'm crazy because
I want to marry you, right?

-Si.
-You're crazy.

- Why?

- Because I love you.

[explosion]

- A narrow escape today

while motorcycling
along the Via Partenope.

I was riding towards
the Castel Nuovo

when I noticed a sudden change
ahead from blue sky,

sunshine, and shadow,
to a great opaque whiteness,

shutting off the view
of the port.

The effect was one
of a whole district

blotted out by a pall
of the white smoke

sometimes spread
from the chimneys

of a factory producing lime.

On turning a bend,

I came upon
an apocalyptic scene.

A number of buildings,
including a bank,

had been pulverized
by a terrific explosion

that had clearly
just taken place.

Bodies were scattered
all over the street.

But here and there among them
stood the living

as motionless as statues,

and all coated
in thick white dust.

What engraved this scene
on the mind and the imagination

was that nothing moved
and that the silence was total.

This turned out to be one
of a series of explosions

produced by delayed-action
explosive devices

constructed by the Germans
shortly before their departure,

in each case from
several hundred mines

buried under
principal buildings,

a senseless massacre

perpetrated on
the Italian civil population.

- [announcement in Italian]

- A tremendous scare
this morning

following information
given by a captured enemy agent

that thousands
of delayed-action mines

would explode when
the city's electricity supply

was switched on.

This was timed for 2:00 today.

An order was given
for the whole of Naples

to be evacuated
and within minutes,

Army vehicles were tearing
up and down the streets,

broadcasting instructions
to the civilian population.

The scene
as the great exodus started

and a million and a half people
left their houses

and crowded into the streets

was like some
biblical calamity.

Everyone had to be got away
to the safety

of the heights
of the Vomero, Fontanelle,

and the observatory
overlooking the town.

- [shouting in Italian]

- This meant
that the bedridden,

the dying,
and all the women in labor

had to be coped with
in some way or other,

not to mention the physically
and mentally sick persons

in clinics all over the town.

I saw men carrying their
old parents on their backs.

And at one moment, a single
small explosion set off a panic,

with women and children running
screaming in all directions,

leaving trails of urine.

At the Vomero,
we took up positions

at a spot on the heights

where the road
had been intentionally widened

to assist visitors
to appreciate the view,

which was splendid indeed.

All Naples lay spread out
beneath us like an antique map

on which the artist had drawn
with almost exaggerated care

the many gardens, the castles,

the towers and the cupolas.

For the first time,
awaiting the cataclysm,

I appreciated the magnificence
of this city,

seen at a distance,
which cleansed it

of its wartime tegument
of grime.

And for the first time
I realized how un-European,

how Oriental it was.

A great silence had fallen,

and we looked down and awaited
the moment of devastation.

At about 4:00,

the order came for
everyone to go home.

The result of a carefully
organized plot,

designed to cause
the maximum disruption

to the life of the city.

Lattarulo looked even weaker
with hunger today than usual

and swayed from the waist,

eyes closed,
even when sitting down.

After our chat,
I decided to take him for a meal

to one of the side-street
restaurants

that have opened
in the past few days.

We found the restaurant

and took our seats
among the middle class patrons

who kept their overcoats on
against the cold.

All the coats were made
from our stolen blankets.

No attempt was made

to isolate the customers
from the street.

Ragged, hawk-eyed boys,

the celebrated scugnizzi
of Naples,

wandered among the tables,
ready to dive on any crusts

that appeared to be overlooked

or to snatch up leftovers

before they could be thrown
to the cats.

Once again, I couldn't help
noticing the intelligence,

almost the intellectuality
of their expressions.

No attempt was made
to chase them away.

They were simply treated
as non-existent.

Suddenly, five or six
little girls

between the ages
of nine and 12

appeared in the doorway.

They wore hideous
straight black uniforms

buttoned under their chins

and black boots and stockings

and their hair had been
shorn short, prison-style.

They were all weeping

and as they clung to each other
and groped their way towards us,

bumping into chairs and tables,

I realized they were all blind.

Tragedy and despair
had been thrust upon us

and would not be shut out.

I expected
the indifferent diners

to push back their plates, to
get up and hold out their arms,

but nobody moved.

Forkfuls of food
were thrust into open mouths.

The rattle of conversation
continued.

Nobody saw the tears.

They had been brought down here,
he found out,

on a half-day's outing
by an attendant

who seemed unable
or unwilling to stop them

from being lured away
by the smell of food.

The experience
changed my outlook.

Until now, I had clung
to the comforting belief

that human beings
eventually come to terms

with pain and sorrow.

Now I understood I was wrong.

And like Paul,
I suffered a conversion.

But to pessimism.

These little girls, any one
of whom could be my daughter,

came into the restaurant
weeping,

and they were weeping
when they were led away.

I knew that condemned
to everlasting darkness,

hunger, and loss,

they would weep on incessantly.

They would never recover
from their pain,

and I would never recover
from the memory of it.

- Naples was ripe
for epidemic typhus.

The armies of Adolf Hitler
had disemboweled the city.

- We were stopped
at a bottleneck

caused by a collapsed building
in the Via Chiatamone

where a sanitary post
had been set up.

And here, every passerby
was sprayed with a white powder

against the typhus.

The news is that Naples

is now officially suffering
from two epidemics...

Smallpox and typhoid.

People accept malaria

as a matter of course
in this town.

Epidemics, robbers,

funerals followed
by shrieking women,

deformed and mutilated beggars,

legless cripples
dragging themselves about

on wheeled platforms,

even raving lunatics they'd
no room for in the asylum.

People walked the streets
with handkerchiefs

pressed over
their mouths and noses

as they probably did in the days
of the plagues of old.

This morning
I actually found myself

in a little square
tucked away among the ruins,

where women were dancing
to drive the sickness away.

The war has pushed
the Neapolitans

back into the Middle Ages.

Churches are suddenly full of
images that talk, bleed, sweat,

nod their heads,
and exude health-giving liquors

to be mopped up
by handkerchiefs,

or even collected in bottles,

and anxious,
ecstatic crowds gather,

waiting for these marvels
to happen.

Naples has reached a state
of nervous exhaustion

when mass hallucination
has become a commonplace

and belief of any kind
can be more real than reality.

[indistinct shouting]

- Hey, you!

- Hey, come back here!

- The port was working again
and supplies came flooding in.

Food, bombs, shells, tanks,
plane parts, petrol, lorries,

supplies for peace
and supplies for war.

- [speaking Italian]

- The black market
flourishes as never before.

65% of the per capita income
of Neapolitans

derives from transactions
in stolen Allied supplies,

and one-third of all supplies
and equipment imported

continued to disappear
into the black market.

Every single item
of Allied equipment,

short of guns and munitions,

which are said to be sold
under the counter,

is openly displayed for sale
in the Forcella Market.

- [speaking Italian]

- No feat, according to the
newspapers and to public rumor,

is too outrageous
for this new breed of robber.

Nothing has been too large
or too small,

from telegraph poles
to phials of penicillin,

to escape the Neapolitan
kleptomania.

[dance music plays]

A week or two ago, an orchestra
playing at the San Carlo

to an audience largely clothed
in Allied hospital blankets

returned from
a five-minute interval

to find
all its instruments missing.

- [whistles a signal]

- A theoretically priceless
collection of Roman cameos

was abstracted from the museum

and replaced
by modern imitations,

the thief only learning,
so the reports go,

when he came to dispose
of his booty

that the originals themselves
were counterfeit.

Now the statues are disappearing
from the public squares

and one cemetery has lost
most of its tombstones.

Even the manhole covers

have been found
to have a marketable value,

so that suddenly these, too,
have all gone

and everywhere
there are holes in the road.

-Un dollaro.
-What?

-One dollar.
-What do you say?

- Well, let's give it to him.
We'll have a try.

-Si, si.
-Okay.

- Come on.

-There.
-Thank you.

[speaking Italian]

- Let's go.

Hey, come back here, you!

[indistinct shouting]

- Already
at the end of February,

the winter is slipping away

and the onset of the melancholy
of spring is announced

by the seller of broad beans,
who passes under our windows,

always at dusk,
with the saddest of cries.

"A fava fresca."

The warmth of the sun
comes through

and seeps into the cold walls

and the town wakes to new life.

On sale now,
and only in this season,

is a pagan springtime cake,
pastiera napoletana,

made with soft grain
of all kinds,

removed from their husks
months before ripe

and cooked with orange blossom.

The Vico Satriano,

the narrow street overlooked
by one side of our building,

hums with activity

as a great, vociferous
spring-cleaning begins

and unwanted objects
of all kinds--

chipped crockery,
broken vessels,

irreparable articles
of furniture--

follow the slops
into the street.

Everyone shouts,
gesticulates

and sings snatches
of mournful love songs,

such as "Ammore Busciardo,"
"Love The Traitor,"

and a boy has appeared
at the street corner beneath us

selling for five lire

a collection of 25
of the latest ballads,

all of them dedicated
to romantic frustration.

- [singing in Italian]

[explosions]

- A bad raid last night
with heavy civilian casualties,

as usual in the densely
populated port areas.

In Santa Lucia, home territory
of the Neapolitan ballad,

I saw a heart-rending scene.

A number of tiny children
had been dug out of the ruins

of a bombed building

and lay side by side
in the street.

Where presentable,
their faces were uncovered

and in some cases,

brand-new dolls
had been thrust into their arms

to accompany them
to the other world.

One man climbed into the rubble
and was calling into a hole

where he believed
his little boy was trapped

under hundreds of tons
of masonry,

begging him not to die
before he could be dug out.

"Hang on, son,
only a few minutes longer now.

"We'll have you out of there
in a minute.

Please don't die."

[wind blows]

- [speaking Italian]

- Today, Vesuvius erupted.

It was the most majestic and
terrible sight I have ever seen

or ever expect to see.

The smoke from the crater
slowly built up

into a great bulging shape,

having all the appearance
of solidity.

It swelled and expanded
so slowly

that there was no sign
of movement in the cloud,

which by evening must have risen

30,000 or 40,000 feet
into the sky

and measured many miles across.

The sky was fogged over
and ash was falling,

and everything, the buildings,
streets, and fields,

was covered to a depth of a
half-inch in a smooth grey pall.

There was fear for the safety
of military installations

in areas such as Portici
and Torre del Greco,

which always suffer
the worst effects

of an eruption of Vesuvius,

and I was instructed to find out
what the prospects were,

if these could
in any way be gauged,

of a worsening in the situation.

An increase in the violence
of the eruption

and also of
the population's fears

following the news
that San Sebastiano

was about to be carried away
by the lava stream

and Cercola was threatened,

I was sent to get
an on-the-spot report.

Sticky going all the way through
the ash with several skids,

I was right under
the great grey cloud,

full of swellings
and protuberances

like some colossal
pulsating brain.

- [indistinct singing]

- At the time of my arrival
at San Sebastiano,

the lava was pushing
its way very quietly

down the main street,

and about 50 yards
from the edge

of this great,
slowly shifting slag heap,

a crowd of several hundred
people, mostly in black,

knelt in prayer.

The spectacle of the eruption
was totally unexpected.

I'd been prepared
for rivers of fire,

but there was no fire
and no burning anywhere,

only the slow, deliberate
suffocation of the town

under millions of tons
of clinkers.

The lava was moving at a rate
of only a few yards an hour,

and it had covered
half the town

to a depth of perhaps 30 feet.

The whole process
was strangely quiet.

The black slag heap shook,
trembled and jerked a little,

and cinders
rattled down its slope.

Dominant in every way,
for sheer size

and the number of persons
supporting the platform

of images confronting
the eruption,

was that of San Sebastiano
himself.

But wandering away
into a side street,

I noticed the presence
of another image

also with numerous attendants,

which was covered
with a white sheet.

This was an image
of San Gennaro,

smuggled in from Naples
on an outside chance

that it might be of some use
if all else failed.

It is believed by Neapolitans
of all political creeds

and degrees
of religious conviction

that the fortunes of the city

depend on the miracle
of San Gennaro.

A good miracle is one in which
the blood liquefies quickly,

while the failure
of the miracle

is taken as a sign of
the saint's extreme displeasure

and regarded as a catastrophe.

Fear is expressed that
the blood of San Gennaro

may refuse to liquefy this year,

and that such a failure
might be exploited

by secret anti-Allied factions
and troublemakers

to set off large-scale rioting

of the kind that has frequently
happened in Neapolitan history

when the miracle has failed.

- [speaking Italian]

- [speaking Italian]

- At about 8:00,

the saint gave way
to this new pressure,

and the miracle took place.

- [speaking Italian]

- ♪ Jesce sole

♪ Jesce sole

♪ Jesce sole

♪ Nun te fa' chiu suspira

[cheering]

- The fragmentation
of Italian politics

in reaction to
the long-stagnant acquiescence

under fascism continues.

There are now some 60 officially
recognized political parties,

having memberships
ranging from 100 or so

to nearly two million.

Of all the emergent
political forces,

the most numerous, powerful,
and rational outside Naples,

in which the urban
subproletariat

is royalist to a man,

are the Christian Democrats,

the Social Democrats,
and the Orthodox Communists.

- [speaking Italian]

[crowd cheers]

[cheering]

[cheering]

[cheering]

[applause]

- I am concerned

at the increasing
number of applications

by officers or other ranks
to marry Italian civilians.

The Bureau
of Psychological Warfare

has just stated in its bulletin

that there are
42,000 women in Naples

engaged either on a regular
or occasional basis

in prostitution.

This, out of a nubile female
population of perhaps 150,000

seems incredible.

Three out of four of these girls
I have interviewed

will probably
cease to be prostitutes

as soon as they can hope to
keep alive by any other means.

Nine out of 10 Italian girls
have lost their menfolk,

who have either disappeared
in battles,

into prisoner-of-war camps,
or been cut off in the north.

The whole population
is out of work.

Nobody produces anything.

How are they to live?

- [speaking Italian]

- A circular issued by
the general officer commanding

is probably the real reason

behind the sudden coming
to an end of my investigation

into the suitability
of marriages

proposed between
the British soldiery

and Italian girls
in the Naples area.

In the first three months,

43 such vettings
have been carried out,

and in 12 cases, the report
has been favorable.

However this may be,
I am out of it for good,

having been relieved
by the field security officer

of this particular duty
in so subtle a fashion

that I'm bound to suspect that
after a year of close contact

with the seamy side of life
in Naples,

he's been unable
to avoid infection

by the deviousness
of the environment.

- Hello, Yossarian.

- Ha.

I didn't know.

- That I work for Milo?

Everybody works for Milo.

- Yeah.

Well, he told me
to ask for number 33.

- Mm-hmm. 33.

$10, please.

No towel, Yossarian?

[music plays]

- [speaking Italian]

- A most embarrassing episode
happened today.

Mobs of youths
began to assault girls

found in the company
of Allied soldiers.

The girls were chased,
and when caught,

their knickers were torn off.

Soldiers who intervened
to defend their girls

were promptly beaten up.

The incident highlighted

an unhappy
and deteriorating situation

produced by the encroachment
of the Allied presence

on the emotional
and romantic life of the city.

Then the foreign soldiers
came on the scene

and were in immediate collision
with the local boys,

who had no work,
no prestige, no money,

absolutely nothing
to offer the girls.

- Hey, brother, leave her alone!

- A British private,
wretchedly paid as he is,

earns more than a foreman
at the Navalmeccanica,

while an American private,

who can shower
cigarettes, sweets,

and even silk stockings
in all directions,

has a higher income than any
Italian employee in Naples.

Thus, the long, delicate,
intricate business

of the old Neapolitan courtship,

as complex as the mating ritual
of exotic birds,

is replaced by a brutal,
wordless approach

and a crude act of purchase.

One wonders how long it will
take the young of Naples

after we have gone

to recover from the bitterness
of this experience.

- [man singing
in foreign language]

- The fact is that we have upset
the balance of nature here.

And I have arrived at a time
when, in their hearts,

these people must be
thoroughly sick and tired of us.

A year ago we liberated them
from the fascist monster.

And they still sit,

doing their best to smile
politely at us,

as hungry as ever, more
disease-ridden than ever before,

in the ruins
of their beautiful city,

where law and order
have ceased to exist.

And what is the prize
that is to be eventually won?

The rebirth of democracy.

The glorious prospect
of being able one day

to choose their rulers
from a list of powerful men,

most of whose corruptions
are generally known and accepted

with weary resignation.

The days of Benito Mussolini

must seem like a lost paradise
compared with this.

[crowd roars]

- [speaking Italian]

[cheering]

[cheering]

- [speaking Italian]

[cheering]

[indistinct announcement]

- The thunderbolt has fallen.

Today I was ordered to prepare
to leave immediately for Taranto

to embark on the Reina
del Pacifico for Port Said,

where I am to pick up
3,000 Russian soldiers

who had been fighting
with the Germans

and gone over to the partisans.

The Allied force headquarters'
order reads,

"You will be away
as long as necessary,"

but does not define
the duties to be performed.

My intuition warns me
that my stay in Naples

has come to an end,

so I am left
with only hours to spare

and no time to say goodbye
to any of the friends

scattered through so many towns.

There will be no time
for a last glass of Marsala

with any of
the scheming sindacos

or the Machiavellian
chiefs of police,

who have always, for all
their innumerable shortcomings,

shown hospitality to me
as a stranger.

There will be no time
for a last coffee substitute

in the Gran Caffè
in the Galleria

to say goodbye and good luck
to several girls

who are virtually fixtures
of the place

and bear me no ill will because
I was unable to help them

to marry Allied personnel.

I realize that I have had
my last meal at Zi Teresa's.

There won't be even
a half-hour to spare

for a dash up to the Vomero
for a last panoramic view

across the gardens
of the Villa Floridiana,

of the great grey and red city
spread below,

presenting at this distance

a totally fallacious aspect
of dignified calm

or for a final contemplation
of the somnolent Vesuvius,

so changed in outline since
its reshaping by the eruption.

A year among the Italians
had converted me

to such an admiration
for their humanity and culture

that I realized that
were I given the chance

to be born again and to choose
the place of my birth,

Italy would be the country
of my choice.

Perhaps when everything
is ready for the move-off,

at half past 6:00 tomorrow
from the Stazione Centrale,

there will at least be a moment
left to call on Lattarulo,

most faithful
of my Neapolitan allies.

I know in advance

that having staggered
under the impact of the news

and then recovered
with proper fortitude,

he will whisper,
"I've got a treat for you."

This he will describe
as caccia, game,

but it will be
a muscled city pigeon,

netted on someone's roof.

He will dash out to find
the neighborhood girl

who will stew it
in garlic and herbs

and serve it up
on the great ancestral salver.

When it is time to go,
he will take my hand and say,

"I'll be at the station
tomorrow to see you off."

And I know he will be there,
as promised,

dressed in all the dignity

of his zio di Roma suit
for such an occasion.

[ship's horn blows]

[wind blows]

♪♪