son,” his father said quietly. “I know.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Sandro
26 July 1943
Sandro scanned the happy scene in front of the house, and the amazing news had drawn everyone into the street to celebrate. Mussolini was on his way out, and it appeared that Italy would exit the war. Ghetto Jews could see the end of their long, horrible ordeal. The Simone family sat among their neighbors, who were singing, laughing, and hugging each other at tables set up for an impromptu party.
Their street was too narrow to enjoy full sun, but a sliver of brightness was all they needed. There was no food to spare, but they shared. There was no wine or real coffee, but they made do with water and whatever else they had. They had suffered for five years, stripped of their citizenship, professions, jobs, homes, and savings. They had been brought to the brink of starvation, suffering sickness and deprivation. They had been denied justice and all of their rights, but they had persevered to see this glorious day.
“To Italy!” Sandro said, raising his glass of water.
“To Italy!” His father, mother, and Rosa raised their glasses.
Sandro sipped his water. He could only imagine the emotions his sister was feeling. She would be worried about David, as she hadn’t had news of him since he had entered the special operations group. Italy might have dropped out of the war, but it raged on for Britain and the Allies against Germany and Japan.
Sandro touched her hand. “Rosa, I know David will be home soon.”
“I agree.” Rosa smiled back, gamely. “The end is in sight now.”
“Yes, it is, darling,” their mother said, putting her arm around her.
“It has to be.” Their father’s eyes danced behind his glasses. “I hope the Race Laws will be repealed, as the first order of business. The Community has already dispatched an emissary to the Badoglio government.”
“I would love to go back to school.” Sandro brightened, expecting that the Jewish faculty would return to La Sapienza—even if Levi-Civita hadn’t lived to see this day.
“I can go back to the hospital,” his mother said, delight etched into her weary features.
His father grinned. “I can reestablish my practice.”
Sandro leaned forward. “So, Papa, how long will it take to negotiate the Armistice?”
“I don’t know for sure. It’s a tricky business. Badoglio is in charge, so it will be poorly executed. If he drags his feet, the Allies will teach him a lesson.”
Their mother nodded. “Let’s hope it comes quickly.”
Sandro’s thoughts strayed to Marco, back to the day he had been digging sand on the riverbank and had looked up to see Marco, with a Nazi. The sight had horrified him, but he knew his best friend was still in there, somewhere under the Fascist uniform. They would probably never again be close, since Marco suspected that he had been seeing Elisabetta behind his back.
Sandro’s heart wrenched at the thought of her. He remembered when she had confessed her love to him, at school. By now, she had probably met another man, maybe even married. Elisabetta would never become his wife, but his heart would always belong to her.
“To a brighter future!” his father said, raising his glass.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Marco
August 1943
It was almost midnight, but Marco was walking home, exhausted. He had returned to work at Palazzo Venezia, but he was already regretting his decision. The Badoglio government had yet to find its footing and still hadn’t signed the Armistice. The feckless Badoglio delayed in choosing between the Germans and the Allies, trying to get Rome declared an “open city,” or neutral zone. Both sides were losing patience with Italy. The Germans had withdrawn to the outskirts of Rome, under Field Marshal Kesselring, and the Allies had dropped leaflets on the city, warning that they would resume bombing if Badoglio didn’t sign.
Marco walked down the Ponte Fabricio, unable to shake his melancholy. He still didn’t know who he was anymore. He didn’t know what to believe in. Fascism had been his identity for so long he didn’t have another alternative. The Badoglio government wasn’t offering any.
He passed a happy family on the bridge, and he wondered if he would ever have a wife and children. He slept with women, but his state of mind grew darker. He still thought of Elisabetta and would walk by her restaurant. He loved her, but he knew that she loved Sandro. Even if she wasn’t with Sandro, she was lost to Marco.
He crossed the bridge and spotted his father closing the outside seating