Today, Mario Tutone came to visit and later in the day, so did Agostino and Ciccillo. They say I look healthy. I tell them the thermometer story and they have a good laugh.

The hidden thermometer trick is still working. There are two nurses: one is a simpleton, and the other seems more clever. They alternate days. Today I had a visit from an Italian woman married to a German, Mrs. Porri and another Italian woman. They bring me newspapers in which I hope to read about the end of this war. Before leaving, they suggest that when I leave the hospital I should go to the Fascist Headquarters and ask for some clothing, which I am in need of.

Tonight, Agostino and Ciccillo came to visit again, they ask about the thermometer. I tell them it’s hidden in my bed with a 38.5°C temperature. By now I’ve recovered completely but I don’t want to go back to the factory, the boss is so cruel to us Italians that amongst ourselves we call him “the executioner”, in fact that’s what he was to me.

This morning the clever nurse is on duty. He comes in, hands me the thermometer and leaves. When he comes to retrieve it, he looks at it and looks at me, then shakes down the thermometer, gives it to me and stands there. After five minutes, he takes back the thermometer and calls me “schurke” which means rogue. The nuns must have found out because they come and tell me “Tomorrow you must leave the hospital”. They give me some advice. I thank them both and say goodbye.

I leave the hospital after 18 days of rest.

Today I went to the Fascist Headquarters as Mrs. Porri suggested. It’s so cold my bones feel frozen, it’s been snowing continuously for about 20 days. At the Fascist Headquarters, they give me a voucher for a coat, shirt, and underwear, but as they were about to hand over the garments, Mr. Damato, head of the Fascist Headquarters says, “Are you a registered Party member?” Naturally, I tell him I am not. “Well, why don’t you register?” he says. I tell him it’s no time to be worrying about Fascism, it’s the last of my concerns! I tell him it’s been five months since I’ve heard news about my wife, kids, sisters, brothers, and parents. I want nothing to do with the Fascists. Upon saying this, they refuse to give me anything so I leave. As I mentioned before, I left the hospital on the 18th so I went to sleep at the usual place, I have nowhere else to go. The Lager is horrible and so is the food and I don’t sleep well there. The other night I went to eat at a big hotel where I’ve gone for the past five days, the food is better in this hotel. I ask the waitress if there is a room free and she says yes, so that same night I stay at the hotel. While I’m in the lobby, a man comes in. His name is Paolo Schumann and he speaks to me in Italian. He is German but married to an Italian woman from Florence. There are forms to be filled out for the police, he does it for me. He says I can stay in this hotel so long as I can afford it. During this month of February, we’ve had to go to the bomb shelters often. Nearby there is a sturdy, reinforced-cement bomb shelter, every time the siren goes off I run there with Mr. Schumann.

This morning I went to the police to have my forms stamped, they sign and stamp them without saying a word. So I’m able to stay at Hotel Kreuzbräu (this is the hotel’s name). I have a nice room on the fourth floor with two beds, but since I’m alone, one bed is empty.

Today, Mr. Schumann’s wife arrived from Konstanz, she is a nice lady. She lives by Lake Constance, far away from the bombing, and every two or three months, she comes to Munich to see her husband who cannot leave his pharmaceutical job. We ate together and talked about Italy.

We are sitting in the hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Schumann and myself, when a young, distinguished looking man sits near us. He hears us speaking Italian and says he’s a French man from Corsica who understands Italian. He says he’s a cinema actor, he even gives us two photographs- one to me, and one to the Florentine woman.

I’m in the same company eating dinner at the hotel. The Corsican sits near us and offers us some chocolate. While we’re talking, some friends of Mr. Schumann come in and sit at our table, so the French man and I have to move to another table. While sitting there, another Italian man comes in, Italo Mattiussi from Trieste, a friend of theirs. After dinner, the French man and I go to a café he knows and he offers me more chocolate. When we leave the café it’s 11:00, he says the place where he sleeps is closed because it’s late, and since he seems like a good person, I suggest he ask for a bed in my hotel. He speaks to the porter and we agree he can sleep in my room in the extra bed, he rents it for three days, he says he won’t be going to work for that time.