background. How many Jews are there in Rome?”
“About twelve thousand,” Foà answered. “There are maybe fifty thousand Jews in Italy, as a whole.”
“I thought there were more in Rome.” Kappler cocked his head. “Do most of the Jews in the city live in the Ghetto?”
Foà shook his head. “No, many have moved away.”
“But the converse is true, is it not? Everyone who lives in the Ghetto is Jewish, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So.” Kappler’s expression darkened quickly, like a sudden storm. “I will come to my point. You may be Italians, but that is of no importance to me or Germany. We consider you Jews, regardless of your nationality. Therefore, you are our enemy. We will treat you as such.”
Foà didn’t reply, nor did Almansi. Massimo’s mouth went dry.
Kappler sniffed. “I called you here to convey a demand. We need gold for new arms. Within thirty-six hours, you will pay us fifty kilograms of gold. If you pay, no harm will come to any of you. If you do not, two hundred Jews will be arrested and deported to Germany, then sent to the Russian frontier or elsewhere.”
Foà and Almansi exchanged horrified glances. Massimo hid his terror, refusing to give Kappler the satisfaction. The Nazi had presented his extortionate demand as if it were a mere business transaction, as if gold could be traded for human beings. Fifty kilograms was such an astronomical amount of gold that Massimo doubted that the Ghetto Jews could come close in such a short time, if at all. They had been left impoverished by the Race Laws under Fascism, and conditions had grown even worse under the Nazi occupation. The two hundred people to be deported could include Gemma, Rosa, Sandro, or himself. His neighbors, friends, or clients. His Community. Anyone.
Kappler broke the silence. “Gentlemen, if you have no questions, you may go.”
Foà cleared his throat. “I have a question or two. When does the time begin to run on the thirty-six hours?”
“Now.”
Foà recoiled, aghast. “Colonel Kappler, it will be impossible to find that much gold in such a short time. Isn’t there any way you can extend the deadline?”
“It depends.” Kappler leaned back in his chair. “If I perceive that you are proceeding with dispatch, I may be flexible. I may also be able to provide you with cars and light trucks to transport the gold in a secure fashion.”
“No, thank you.” Foà paused. “Instead of gold, could we pay the equivalent amount in lire?”
“No. American dollars or British pounds are fine, but not lire. I can print as much of your money as I want.”
“In the event that we cannot obtain the gold in time, would the two hundred Jews deported include those converted to Catholicism or the offspring of mixed marriages?”
“I don’t make any distinction.” Kappler pursed his lips. “All Jews are Germany’s enemy. I have already carried out several operations of this type, and it has ended well, so far. Only once did it not. That time, a few hundred Jews paid with their lives.”
Foà and Almansi looked stricken, and Massimo struggled to maintain emotional control.
Kappler rose, motioning to the guard. “Gentlemen, this meeting is concluded. I will see you here on Tuesday at noon, with the gold. Until then, goodbye.”
Massimo felt shaken to the core as the guard escorted him, Foà, and Almansi back through the gardens. He held his head high, but his knees had gone wobbly. The three men were led to their sedan, and they drove off. Nobody said a word until Villa Wolkonsky had vanished from the rearview mirror.
Foà, who was driving, spoke first. “How will we come up with that much gold? By Tuesday at noon? It’s not possible!”
Almansi shook his head. “If evil has a face, it is Kappler’s.”
“May I suggest a plan?” Massimo spoke up from the back seat, having gathered his wits. “First, we should work through the night, call our few wealthy members, and establish a donation center on the second floor of the synagogue. Second, we should call a meeting of the board for tomorrow morning. Third, we should make an announcement to the Community tomorrow, so everyone can contribute. We’ll pull out all the stops.”
“I agree,” Almansi said, after a moment. “Good organizational thinking, Massimo.”
“Yes.” Foà glanced at Massimo in the rearview mirror.
Massimo’s mind raced. “We should also call Palazzo Venezia and the Vatican, too. They should be pressed to help.”
“Agree,” Foà and Almansi said, in unison.
Massimo looked out the window. Darkness descended as the car sped toward the Ghetto. The three