it. We deserve it.”
“You tried your best, and so did Beppe. We did all we could.”
“Not true.” His father shook his head. “You know what I hear? There are rumors that some are bribing their way to exemptions. That there’s a racket being run by the Under-Secretary of the Interior, Buffarini. He’s a virulent anti-Semite, but he’s fine with taking our money.” He shook his head again. “I let you down, dear.”
“You didn’t, Massimo. There’s no guarantee, even with a bribe.”
“It’s all my fault, all of it. I relied on reason. Law. Justice. I still can’t believe they denied me.”
Listening, Sandro began to worry about his father, who had changed after being ousted from the party, becoming melancholy. All the time his father brought up his failure to get an exemption, second-guessing himself over and over again. Lately, his father had even begun carrying a folder of notes, to an almost compulsive degree. As Sandro knew he would, his father opened it and began to read aloud, even now.
“Here’s the latest exemptions granted so far, which prove my point. According to the last census, 3,502 Jewish families were entitled to an exemption. That’s broken down as 406 families of those killed in action, 721 from families that were volunteers, 1,597 from families of those decorated with military valor, and 3 families of Fascist martyrs.” His father ran a fingernail across a line of his handwritten notes. “But, here we go, as of today, 724 families of veteran Fascists were granted exemptions, of which we should have been one. We should have been! It could have been us, so easily. If the interpretation hadn’t been so strict!”
His mother sighed. “We did our best, and even without my job, we’re not destitute. We still have our savings and the bonds they gave us when they took the house.”
“Right.” Sandro nodded, relieved. Under the laws, the deed to their old house had been transferred to a special government office, EGELI, and in return, his parents had been given thirty-year bonds. The transaction was a poor bargain, since the bonds weren’t for fair market value and didn’t gain maturity for thirty years.
“Massimo, don’t worry.” His mother put an arm around his father’s shoulders. “We have enough to keep us fed for a year, and perhaps by then, this nightmare will have passed. You handle the money, so you know better than I do.”
“Gemma, uh, there’s something I have to tell you.” His father’s lined face blanched. “We don’t have as much as you think we do. We have less than half.”
“What do you mean?” His mother frowned in bewilderment.
Sandro felt his stomach drop, but didn’t interrupt.
“Beh, it’s hard to explain.” His father began riffling through his papers. “I keep an accounting of the money I’ve withdrawn, over time. It’s in here somewhere.”
“What?” His mother recoiled, horrified. “You’ve been withdrawing money from our account? What for?”
“I’ve been giving out loans at the synagogue.”
“To whom?” His mother’s eyes flew open behind her glasses.
“I loaned it to my clients, until they get the exemption, or in case they don’t.” His father kept riffling through his papers, and his words began to speed up, rushing over one another. “Gemma, there are so many people worse off than we are, and when I’m sitting face-to-face with them, knowing we have more than they, I extend a helping hand. It’s as the Torah says, it’s tzedakah, righteous giving, charity, and justice that we should share what we have, and I assumed you would agree.”
“But they’ll never be able to repay it. Nobody has a job anymore.”
“I didn’t anticipate that you would lose your job, and even so, we should have gotten the exemption, that’s the thing, it was an injustice. I can show you on our original application—”
“Massimo, you shouldn’t have given away money, or lent it, when there’s talk of war. If that happens, we will need every penny.”
“Listen, both of you.” Sandro stood up, and a new sense of calm came over him. “We can’t look to the past. Papa, you can’t keep bringing up our exemption. Mamma, maybe he shouldn’t have lent money, but it’s gone now. We have to start over, going forward.”
His mother moaned, stricken. “But we don’t have enough to live on.”
“Mamma, I make some money. We have half of the savings you thought. I will sit down, balance the books, and account for it all. I’m fairly good with numbers, if you recall.”
“Wait, allow me to double-check one last thing.” His father returned