CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Sandro
May 1940
Sandro had no idea why Marco wanted to meet at the Spanish Steps, which was mobbed with students and bohemians on this temperate night. He searched for his best friend among the throng talking, drinking, smoking, singing, kissing, playing guitars, and posing for pictures in front of the Chiesa della Trinità dei Monti, the church at the top of the stairs, its alabaster fa?ade and twin spires lit up.
No Marco.
Sandro made his way down to the landing, which was packed with people people sitting hip to hip. No Marco. Sandro began to descend the hundred or so steps, picking his way through.
Still no Marco.
Finally Sandro spotted his best friend against the side wall, sitting among a group of Dutch tourists wearing bright orange hats. Marco had on an orange hat, too, blending in with the Dutch. Sandro assumed Marco was playing a joke, as he made his way over and squeezed in beside him.
“Marco, why the hat?”
“It’s new.” Marco produced another orange hat and plopped it on Sandro’s head. “Here’s one for you, too.”
“Are you kidding? I don’t need a hat.”
“Keep it on. It looks good on you. Watch out, ladies!”
Sandro laughed. “What’s going on? Why are we meeting here, of all places? It’s so noisy I can barely hear you. Were you in the neighborhood?”
“No.” Marco glanced over his shoulder.
“Then why?”
“To see how you are, since the last time we got together.”
“I’m fine, I guess,” Sandro answered, mystified. “Rosa came home and she’s helping out.”
“That’s good. How are your parents? My father sends his regards.”
“Things grow worse, but we cope.”
“And Anna?”
“Who?”
“Anna, the girl you like.”
Sandro had forgotten about his fictional girlfriend. “Oh, Anna’s fine.”
“Are you in love?”
“Almost.”
“A man can’t almost be in love.” Marco laughed. “Either he loves, or he does not.”
Sandro needed to change the subject. “How have you been?”
“Fine. I might get a job at Palazzo Venezia. My boss got a promotion and he’s trying to bring me over.”
“Davvero?” Sandro managed to say, refraining from speaking further on the subject. “Good for you.”
“Thanks, but I know how you feel.” Marco’s expression turned serious under his silly orange cap. “I’m hoping one day I can be in a position to fight these horrible Race Laws.”
“I hope so, too,” Sandro said, though he couldn’t imagine Marco ever having such power.
“Things are tense at work, and I’ve come around to your view on the war. I was wrong before. I think we’re going to enter.”
“I agree.” Sandro feared that if war came to Italy, things would get worse for the Jews, though he didn’t know how that was even possible. Everyone in the Ghetto was out of work, food was growing scarce, and every day seemed to bring another new Race Law.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.” Marco brightened. “Guess what, I proposed to Elisabetta.”
“Congratulations!” Sandro patted Marco on the back, masking his anguish. He hadn’t guessed Marco would propose so quickly, but he should have. He would love Elisabetta forever, but he had done the right thing in sending her away. He couldn’t offer her anything, and Marco could offer her everything. She would be safe and happy if she married Marco.
Marco pursed his lips. “The only thing is, she didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no. She said she needs time to think it over.”
“So give her time.” Sandro wondered if Elisabetta’s decision had anything to do with him. On the one hand, he hoped it didn’t. On the other, he hoped it did.
“I’m going to, but I don’t see what difference time makes.” Marco rolled his eyes. “We should get married without delay. I love her, and she loves me. She does everything on her own, like always. I feel bad for her, and now she has to take care of Nonna, who’s sick.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I would rather be happy sooner, wouldn’t you? I love and adore her. And I have needs.” Marco snorted in frustration. “Rome is full of beautiful girls, yet I wait for Elisabetta. My brother took a vow of chastity, but I didn’t.”