“Sandro!” Elisabetta called out, and Sandro turned in her direction. He saw her, and their eyes connected. A pained expression flickered across his face, and he went back inside the school, disappearing.
She hurried to the steps, climbed them two by two, and hustled inside, spotting him at the end of the hall. He went into a classroom, and she followed. She ran to the end of the hall and entered the classroom, which was a cramped room barely big enough for tables that had been repurposed for desks, with old chairs. Mismatched bookcases lined the left wall, and on the right were two windows that shed a cold light.
“Sandro, I want to talk—”
“No.” Sandro stood at an old teacher’s desk, taking a thick packet of papers from his rucksack. “I can’t, I’m busy.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true.”
“I don’t know why you’re avoiding me.” Elisabetta crossed to him, touching his arm. Up close, she could see that he had lost weight and his expression was drawn.
“I’m not avoiding you.” Sandro pursed his lips.
“You are. What is it? Is it something I’ve done? Is it because of Marco?”
“No, no.” Sandro looked away.
“I’ve been thinking of you, so much. I miss you—”
“There’s no time for that anymore. I have too much to do, and I can’t hear about how you miss me.”
“I’m not here for me, I’m here for you. I know how much you’re hurting, I can see it in your eyes.”
Sandro averted his gaze again, his feet shifting. “Elisabetta, what of it? You can’t do anything about it.”
“I can listen and be with you.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“But it helps.” Elisabetta’s heart went out to him. “Remember after the Deledda lecture, when we talked? I told you everything about my father, and you listened. It didn’t change my father, but it helped me. And after my father’s funeral, too? We always talk, and it makes things easier, and better.”
“That’s past, and everything’s changed. My world has changed. My father is losing his clients. My mother is exhausted. Rosa left for London. Cornelia is gone. Everything is different.”
“Not us, we’re still us.”
“People change. People betray you.” Sandro’s expression turned pinched, and a new bitterness edged his tone. “There’s a divide between Jews and everyone else now. The walls of the Ghetto may as well be back up again. You’re on the other side. You don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, tell me what it’s like.” Elisabetta felt her eyes fill with tears, but she held them off because they were his to cry, not hers. “First, getting thrown out of school, then this new law—”
“The one that says there’s no intermarriage?”
“Yes, everything about the law is wrong, all of it.”
“I don’t have the same rights as everybody else anymore. I can’t marry anyone I want. I can’t marry a Gentile, you’re officially my better.”
Elisabetta felt stricken. “No, don’t say that, it’s not true. I’m not, and the law doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course it does, it’s the law.”
“The law doesn’t matter between us.” Elisabetta held his gaze. “The law wasn’t here a month ago, and who knows whether it will be here a month from now.”
“I do, and it will.”
“You don’t know that.” Elisabetta didn’t know how to reach him, or even if she could. “You don’t know what the future holds. It could be better.”
“It could be worse.”
“I’m saying the law is only politics. It will come and go. But these feelings we have for each other, they’re not going away, they’re here. I’m here, for you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I love you,” Elisabetta answered, meaning it with all of her heart. “I love you, and I will love you when this law passes, and when we get older, and whatever else happens or whatever time brings.”
“You mean you’re choosing me?” Sandro blinked. “Not Marco?”
“Yes. It’s you, Sandro. It was always you.”
“Your timing is impeccable, Elisabetta. Just when you can’t have me, you want me.” Sandro frowned, shaking his head. “The irony is too much. The law forbids it. My parents forbid it and—”
“None of that matters to me.” Elisabetta stepped closer, resting her hand on his arm.
“It does to me. This ends.”
“It never ends. It goes on and on, it’s love.”
“Not anymore, not for me. I don’t feel the same as I used to about you, not anymore.” Sandro straightened, setting his jaw. “I’m sorry.”
Elisabetta’s chest tightened. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I mean it.” Sandro regarded her, a chill in his blue eyes. “You