assumed they were the infamous interrogation rooms, as she could hear occasional cries of pain. Now her mind began to race with frightening scenarios. If she were interrogated, would they torture her and could she resist? What would she say to stop the pain?
The man at the desk appeared unconcerned by the noises down the corridor; it was as if he was in a soundproofed box. As Livia waited, and the minutes turned to hours, she agonised about why she had been arrested. Could it be her membership of the Pd’A, or her involvement with the newspaper? Perhaps the printer had been arrested and given her away? Or had they somehow discovered she was monitoring foreign broadcasts – an illegal activity punishable with prison and a costly fine. She resolved to deny everything, and hoped that if they searched the apartment, they would not find the radio. It was well hidden in the attic.
‘Livia Moretti, come with me!’ She looked up to see a short man with a pudgy face, dressed in a black uniform. He led her down the corridor. He stopped outside a metal door and unlocked it, revealing a small room with a tiny barred window high up on one wall. She glimpsed blue sky and a cloud scudding across, invitingly. There were two chairs in the centre of the room, and a table to one side, on which lay a set of electric cables and a block of wood studded with vicious-looking nails flecked with blood.
Livia began to sweat.
‘Sit there,’ the officer said, indicating one of the chairs.
She sat down, her legs primly together, her sweating hands clasped in her lap. Her mouth was very dry. She wanted a drink, she wanted her mother, her father, anyone.
‘We have received some information,’ he said, sitting down opposite her, brandishing a typewritten document. He lolled – his legs apart, sweat marks spreading around his waistband and shirt. ‘It concerns you,’ he went on.
‘Really?’ she asked calmly.
‘Shall I tell you what it’s about?’ he said, glancing at the paper.
‘I wish you would,’ she replied boldly.
‘That you are involved in the partisan movement.’
She felt light-headed, dizzy, her heart racing. She tried to calm herself.
‘That’s absurd,’ she replied. ‘I’m just a student.’
‘We have been given information from a very authoritative source that you are involved in partisan activities, and that you are working with a group in Rome.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t know anyone in Rome.’
He raised one eyebrow quizzically.
Somewhere in the distance, she thought she could hear her father’s voice, shouting. But it could have been her imagination.
‘Your father is a lawyer, I understand.’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘A liberal lawyer,’ he said accusingly.
‘He is kind, if that’s what you mean. He looks after those who cannot defend themselves.’
‘He is also political, I think?’ The officer looked down at his notes.
‘Not especially,’ she replied, wondering what evidence they could have found against her father. ‘He tries to remain above politics.’ She paused. ‘Who told you these lies about me?’
‘You are brave,’ he said curtly, ‘but a little too bold for someone in your position. I would try harder to be more helpful if I were you. Wait here.’
He left the room, but a guard remained standing by the door. He had a fleshy neck that protruded from his shirt collar, and thick lips that he licked from time to time like a lizard. Livia tried not to look at him.
‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ she said eventually.
He looked over her head and smiled. ‘Go on then.’ He made it sound like a challenge.
‘Here?’ she asked, appalled.
He shrugged.
She squeezed her legs together, regretting the coffee she had drunk a couple of hours earlier.
The short officer with the pudgy face returned. He sat down opposite her and leant back in his chair. ‘You will stay here until you have told us what we want to hear,’ he said simply.
‘But I don’t know what you want to hear. I haven’t done anything,’ she cried out. ‘I’m innocent. How can I tell you something that isn’t true?’
‘Think about it,’ he said, as he left the room.
The thick-lipped guard returned, clutching a china pot which he put in the corner of the room with a smirk. He walked out, locking the door behind him.
When night came, Livia lay down on the hard, tiled floor. She curled into a ball, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees, as she had done as child. Through the thick walls of her cell came the screams of men