men fell silent again, each left to his own fears. The task that had befallen them could not be more impossible. They had been charged with protecting innocent men, women, and children. They would try with all of their collective might, will, and heart to succeed.
It was Sunday night.
They had until Tuesday at noon.
The clock was ticking.
PART FIVE
I loved the Italians too much. Now I hate them.
—Field-Marshal Albert Kesselring
Then one of them took my arm and looked at my number and then both laughed still more strongly. Everyone knows that 174000s are the Italian Jews, the well-known Italian Jews who arrived two months ago, all lawyers, all with degrees, who were more than a hundred and are now only forty; the ones who do not know how to work, and let their bread be stolen, and are slapped from the morning to the evening.
—Primo Levi, If This Is a Man (1958)
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Sandro
26 September 1943
Sunday Night
Sandro knew something was wrong when he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. He looked up from his papers, and Rosa placed a finger between the pages of her book. His mother dried her hands on a dishcloth just as his father burst through the door. His sparse hair was flyaway, and his manner panicky.
“Do we have any gold?” he asked, his eyes round with alarm.
“Gold?” his mother answered, bewildered. “Are you crazy?”
“Think, dear. We must have some. What about your jewelry? Your wedding band?”
“It’s all gone, you know that. I gave my ring for the war in Ethiopia, and we sold the rest of my jewelry.”
“We must have some gold somewhere.” His father rushed to Rosa. “Don’t you have any jewelry left? Something David gave you?”
“No, we sold my wedding band, too. I have nothing of value left. Why?”
“The Community has to come up with fifty kilograms of gold by noon on Tuesday. If we don’t, the Nazis will deport two hundred of us.”
His mother gasped, horrified. “What are you talking about? That can’t be true.”
Rosa stood up slowly. “The Nazis want to make a bargain? Fifty kilograms of gold? For people?”
“Yes, and there’s no time to lose.” His father swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple going up and down his skinny neck like a lift. “We called Angelo the goldsmith. He says fifty kilograms of gold is about twelve thousand rings.”
His mother’s hand flew to her face. “Oh no.”
Rosa’s lips parted in outrage. “This is extortion, plain and simple! How will we ever come up with that much gold?”
Sandro said nothing, trying to keep his wits about him. He knew that the Community couldn’t produce that much gold in such a short time. Nobody had any money, much less gold. Since the Nazi occupation, conditions had gone from bad to worse. Ghetto Jews foraged daily for food, and some were starving. Tuberculosis was rampant in such close quarters, and his mother delivered babies that were stillborn. Everyone prayed for salvation, counting the days until the U.S. reached Rome, fighting northward from Sicily.
“Massimo, why do they want so much gold? Why now?”
“They need money for their war effort. Gemma, we don’t have time to discuss it. We need to look for gold.” His father crossed to the cabinet near the beds, which used to hold the family menorah and antique candlesticks.
“But tell me, how did this come about?” his mother asked, following him.
“Kappler summoned Foà, Almansi, and me to Villa Wolkonsky. He told us the demand.” His father began searching the cabinet, which held his papers and their clothes.
“Massimo, you met Kappler?”
Sandro felt a bolt of fear. Kappler was the notoriously brutal head of the Gestapo, which had its headquarters across town on Via Tasso, where people were beaten, tortured, or worse. Everyone said that the screams could be heard throughout the neighborhood.
Rosa stood motionless, her gaze terrified. “Papa, how will they choose the two hundred? And where will they be deported to?”
“I don’t know more than I told you. Help me look! There might be an earring, a trinket, a charm, however small.” His father rooted through the cabinet, tossing out papers and shirts. Rosa and his mother joined in.
Sandro watched them, knowing the search was futile. He didn’t know what to do. He was supposed to be a genius, but he didn’t have any answers. He didn’t know who among them would be deported. He knew only that Elisabetta would be safe.