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they made me remember a street. They made me repeat it several times, as if it were a difficult Latin subjunctive.

Finally convinced that I had it in mind: "At the bottom, near the canal, last door on the left. Ring the bell twice, first short then long. Whoever opens it, you don't need to say anything, understand?" 

"Got it: I have to shut up. As usual." I grumbled starting to sweat from the sweater.

"On the way back, take a different route, forget where you've been, who you've seen, forget everything, understand?" 

"Okay. But it will be difficult for me to forget the sweater. Can I take it off, right after?"

Proud of the confidence shown in me, I left for my mission, avoiding passing in front of the various Platz Kommandatur and accelerating my pace when I met a patrol (the more time passed, the more the age of the German and Fascist soldiers seemed to decrease; many could have come to play with me, if by now everyone's desire to play hadn't passed). Accelerating my pace, I wondered if, arrested and questioned, I would be able to resist the torture and who knows who I would get into trouble by revealing the name of the street.

At the back, near the canal, I rang the bell, short, long. The door opened by itself. A few steps, in the half-light, someone motioned me to follow him, up, up oh how many stairs, an attic, a curtain, a door behind the curtain, what a small room, just the place for a cot and a chair. 

"Oh, it's you..." I said. 

"Hmmm." he said. I was glad to see him smile again.

I took off my apron. With a sigh of relief I took off my sweater. I handed him the bags. 

"Finally," he said. "It's important to them." 

"When are you coming home?" I asked. 

"Hmmm." replied Gianfranco.