go through with it. He didn’t know what to say. It felt like a blow, but he would keep that to himself.
“So soon?” His mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
His father’s lined face fell. “This is sudden, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Rosa answered, her tone softer. “I’ve been waiting for it to come through. I don’t want to go without you all, but I’m afraid to stay. I’m afraid for you if you stay.”
“We’ll be fine,” her father said quietly. “We live here. We work here.”
“We have to stay, Rosa,” her mother added, and Sandro looked down at his plate, stricken. He agreed with his parents, and he certainly didn’t want to leave Rome, or Elisabetta. But the turn of events had shaken his confidence in his position.
“Listen to me, one last time.” Rosa leaned over. “What worries me is that at some point, you will not be permitted to emigrate. I hear things at the embassy, and I know you’ll say that’s not official, but it’s reliable. Jews all over Europe are fleeing the Nazis. And I know you say Jews are coming to Italy, and you’re right, but they’ll be in the same terrible position. Those who act quickly have a chance to go. If you delay, it will be only more difficult and more dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” His father scoffed.
“Yes, Papa.” Rosa pursed her lips. “Other countries are already moving to block refugees. The United States has quotas on Jews and it’s raising more restrictions. Their State Department procedures are fraught with delay. Even if you can get a visa, there are regulations about how much money you can leave Italy with, and if it’s not enough to support you, nobody will admit you.”
His father frowned, and his mother arched an eyebrow, but Rosa wouldn’t let them get a word in.
“Nobody wants to take Jews, and even the British are asking applicants to pay thousands of pounds to get a visa to Palestine. If I didn’t work at the embassy, it would’ve been much harder for me. Please come with me to London. This is your last chance.”
“No, thank you,” his father said, shaking his head. “We’ve already told you.”
“I’m sorry,” his mother added.
Sandro felt heartsick, but he could see that his sister was on the verge of tears. He loved her, so he knew what he had to say. “Rosa, I understand why you want to go. You should do what you have to do.”
“Thank you.” Rosa smiled shakily at him, then returned her attention to their parents. “And there’s one more thing you have to know. I got married to David in London last week, so now I’m his wife.”
“What?” His father’s mouth dropped open. “You’re married?”
“Rosa?” His mother’s eyes rounded behind her glasses. “My goodness! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Sandro looked over, astonished, but Rosa was taking their mother’s hand.
“Mamma, I didn’t tell you because I know how you and Papa felt about me marrying somebody who wasn’t Italian. And doesn’t that objection seem beside the point, after all that’s happened? According to the manifesto, we’re no longer Italian because we’re Jews. Papa, do you see the absurdity?”
“No.” His father folded his arms. “The manifesto is still not the law. No one can deny history. We’re Italian Jews. We’re Roman.”
His mother shook her head, stunned. “You could’ve told us, Rosa. You could have let us know. We weren’t even at your wedding!”
Rosa looked stricken. “I knew you would have tried to talk me out of it, and I didn’t want to give you the chance. We had to get married there to improve my chances for immigration.”
Sandro understood, though he was sad he hadn’t gotten to see her get married, either. He felt happy for Rosa, but remained heartbroken that she was leaving the country. His emotions roiled within him. Everything was going wrong. His father was angry, his mother was reeling, and he couldn’t wait until this awful day ended.
His father shook his head. “Rosa, he’s not Italian. How could you?”
“We love each other, that’s how.” Rosa frowned. “He’s a wonderful man, and we were married in a Jewish ceremony, with his parents and brother there.”
“That doesn’t make him Italian!” His father threw up his hands. “We wanted Italian grandchildren.”
All of a sudden, Sandro felt the emotions he’d kept inside explode. “Papa, does it matter? First you say I can’t see Elisabetta because she’s not Jewish. Then you say Rosa can’t marry David because he’s not Italian.”
His father turned to him, wounded. “Your mother and I