was seeing with new eyes. Its monolithic design used to impress him, but today it intimidated him.
He turned onto the path leading to the round, ultra-modern building that housed the Mathematics Department, and a large crowd of students buzzed on the grass in front. He jumped off his bike just in time to see a line of students, devastated and distraught, leaving the math building carrying their belongings.
Sandro felt stricken, witnessing the scene with dismay. Next to him stood a heavyset student, who also looked upset, and Sandro turned to him. “Excuse me, is this because of the new law?”
“Yes, the Jewish students were thrown out this morning. The Jewish professors received letters of dismissal, so they’re fired. The course schedule is chaos. Nobody knows what to do. It’s shocking.”
“What about Levi-Civita? Has he left yet, do you know?”
“Levi-Civita? You have Levi-Civita?” The student’s dark eyes lit up with new regard. “I’m Franco Dutolo.”
Sandro introduced himself, shaking his hand.
“Which course do you take with Levi-Civita?”
“No course, an independent study.”
“I haven’t seen him yet, but I just got here. I’m on a waiting list for his seminar, or I was. I transferred from the University of Padua. Levi-Civita taught there for years. Everyone loved him. He takes the students on trips to the Alps.” Franco turned and eyed the scene, shaking his head. “This is disgusting. It’s bigotry. I never would’ve thought this could happen, and people are saying it will decimate the math department. Professors Volterra and Castelnuova already left. Believe it or not, some of the students were jeering.”
Sandro recoiled, appalled.
“I heard that Professor Enriques tried to get into the library, but they wouldn’t let him.” Franco’s eyes flared in outrage. “They threw him out. One of the finest mathematicians of the century.”
“This is terrible.” Sandro watched the graduate assistants walk by, some looking numb, many crying.
“Can you imagine, this is happening at universities all over the country. Padua. Bologna. Turin. Ferrara. Milan.”
“I have to go inside.”
“Don’t, they told us not to. They told us to wait outside.”
But Sandro wasn’t following the rules anymore. He rolled his bicycle to the entrance, made his way through the crowd, and hurried into the building, his heart in his throat. Chaos reigned in the noisy hallway, and students milled everywhere, chattering and crying. Staff hugged each other, and professors wiped away tears.
Sandro took a right turn, heading for Professor Levi-Civita’s office, driven to see him one last time, to say goodbye and thank you. He threaded his way through the crowd in the hallway and spotted Enzo standing outside the professor’s office.
“Enzo!” Sandro hurried over, but the professor’s door stood open and his office was empty.
Enzo’s eyes glistened. “You just missed him. I’m so sorry. I knew you would come. I was hoping you would get here in time.”
Sandro felt his throat thicken, and all of the emotions he had been suppressing caught up with him. He wanted to break down and cry, not only for himself, but for the professor and everyone else, too.
“I’m so sorry about this . . . law.” Enzo sniffled. “Obviously, it disgusts me. It’s discrimination, and it should be overturned, but I know that doesn’t help you now. You were a brilliant student. I learned from you, not the other way around.”
“Thank you,” Sandro said, swallowing hard, as the kind words brought his sadness to the fore. “How was the professor? Was he upset?”
“Yes, but he held his head high. This is a nightmare. We’re losing everybody.”
“Where did he go?” Sandro struggled to maintain his composure.
“I don’t know. Everybody’s in an uproar. No one understands this new law.” Enzo rubbed his face. “The rumor is it’s going to affect almost a hundred professors across the country. It’s so stupid and wrong, and it will only hurt Italy. We’re going to lose the best. What’s the sense in that?”
Sandro didn’t have any answers. He would have to leave La Sapienza right now, never to return. He would never get his chance to work for Levi-Civita. He would never teach here or contribute to the field of mathematics.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Does it matter?” Sandro answered matter-of-factly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Elisabetta
5 September 1938
After school, Elisabetta entered the steamy kitchen at Casa Servano and hung up her purse outside the pantry, where Nonna sat at her table. Four chubby lines of soft dough sat dusted with flour, and the old woman’s silvery head was bent over them as she cut one line into small sections, leaving a row of small