of wine.
Sandro heard talking in the staircase, his father’s voice and Rosa’s. He turned to the door, and they entered the apartment, arguing.
“Rosa, listen to me. You don’t have all the answers.” His father took off his hat and coat, but Rosa left her red wool coat on.
“Papa, I know what I’m talking about. How can I convince you?”
“Convince him of what?” Sandro stood up. “Rosa, were you at Piazza Venezia, too?”
“Yes.” Rosa’s lovely eyes flared with anger. “I went with David and my friend Olinda Miller from the embassy. It was appalling.”
“No, it wasn’t.” His father scoffed. “Must you be so melodrammatica, dear?”
Sandro crossed to them. “I thought it was unsettling, too. What Mussolini said about the Geneva Sanhedrin, right?”
“Yes,” Rosa shot back, “but also the entire speech. Italy is a pariah since we attacked Ethiopia, so much so that the League of Nations sanctioned us, and Mussolini’s solution is to withdraw? What’s next, we withdraw from the civilized world? And we’re fighting to destroy democracy in Spain!”
His father frowned. “Rosa, you’re too influenced by that Brit of yours. Please remind him that Lord Chamberlain has a bond with Mussolini and Hitler.”
“Not everyone at the embassy agrees with Chamberlain, and David thinks appeasement is the wrong approach.”
Sandro interjected, “Papa, I’m concerned, too.”
“Don’t worry.” His father’s expression softened. “You parse words too carefully. You simply can’t do that with Il Duce’s speeches. He spoke with great emotionality, as is typical of him. No one can convince me that Il Duce is an anti-Semite. He isn’t. He’s going home to a Jewish mistress.”
Rosa looked pained. “You’re making excuses for him. You’re more loyal to him than he is to you. To us.”
“No. He’s loyal to the Jewish community, to patriots, to veterans—and I am all of those things. He’s been a strong leader all this time, since 1922.”
“Papa, look forward, not back. Look where we’re going. I’ve heard a rumor that Hitler’s coming to Rome, next spring.”
“So?”
“So that’s not good. You’re not listening to me, and I’ve been telling you and Mamma for months. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Sandro interjected, confused. “What are you talking about, Rosa?”
“Don’t answer.” Sandro’s father held up his hand, silencing her. “There’s no need to worry your brother.”
Rosa faced Sandro. “Sandro, you’re old enough to know. I’ve told Papa and Mamma, I am coming to believe we should emigrate.”
“Emigrate?” Sandro repeated, incredulous. “You mean leave Italy? Leave Rome?”
“See?” His father threw up his arms. “Now you’re getting your brother upset over nothing.”
“This is our home.” Sandro thought of Elisabetta, Marco, La Sapienza, Levi-Civita. His life was here in Rome and always had been.
Rosa looked at him directly. “David believes there’s a real threat to Jews who stay here. He’s not alone in this. Jews are leaving Germany and Poland, immigrating to the United Kingdom, Switzerland, the United States, even to Palestine. There’s an organization that helps.” Her eyes filmed, and Sandro felt an awful realization dawn on him.
“Are you leaving Rome, Rosa?”
Rosa nodded. “It’s going to take months, maybe even a year to finalize, but David thinks he can get me a job with a relief agency in London. He can get you to London, too, and Mamma and Papa. I’ve been trying to persuade them to go. They have to decide now.”
Sandro realized this had been happening behind his back. “This is crazy. I don’t want to go, and I don’t want you to leave us. We’re your family.”
“I know that, that’s why I’m trying to persuade—”
His father interrupted. “Rosa, your mother and I don’t need our children to tell us what to do. Fascism will not become anti-Semitic. Jewish refugees are fleeing to Italy from everywhere else, seeking safety. Why would they do that if it wasn’t safe here?”
“They’re making the same mistake you are, Papa.”
“No, you’re overreacting. Influenced by David. We live here. We’re Romans, for generations upon generations.”
Rosa shook her head. “You can’t let history hold you back.”
“History doesn’t hold me back. It holds me up. It gives me strength, like my country and my religion. All of these things are of a piece. They’re part of me, of our family, too.”
“Papa, you’re so frustrating.” Rosa turned away, picked up her purse, and headed for the door. “I’m going to David’s. I’ll be back later.”
“Rosa, wait!” Sandro ran to the door, raced out into the hallway, and hurried down the staircase after her. “Can’t we talk about it some more?”
“Later!” Rosa hit the landing and flew out the front door.
Sandro reached the