Suddenly Sandro lifted his face and looked up at Marco, holding his gaze. Marco’s mouth went dry, and in that moment, he saw himself as Sandro saw him, a witness to his own actions, a Fascist standing with a Nazi. And Marco didn’t recognize himself.
Sandro resumed digging, but Marco experienced an epiphany. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He didn’t know what he had become. He had performed so well at Palazzo Venezia this past year, a rising star. But his father had been right about that, too; there were bosses on top of bosses, like a ladder that never ended. Marco didn’t know why he was climbing it anymore. He didn’t even know where it led.
He felt embittered with shame, for all that he had said and done, for all he had become. He had once told Sandro that he wasn’t his uniform, but he had been wrong. He had become his uniform, and now, he was disgusted with himself.
“Marco, do you know one of those guys?”
Marco blinked, shaken. “Yes. The one in the paper hat.”
“Who is he?” Rolf blew out a cone of cigarette smoke.
“My best friend.”
Rolf frowned. “Your best friend was a Jew?”
“Yes.” Marco averted his eyes. “Let’s go.”
“Where? Back to work?”
“I don’t know,” Marco answered, lost.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Elisabetta
19 July 1943
Elisabetta walked along, heading for San Lorenzo to meet a new black-market connection. San Lorenzo was a more congested neighborhood than Trastevere, and businessmen hurried on crowded sidewalks. Mothers tugged children by the hand, and old women rolled shopping carts behind them. Cars, buses, and trams honked on the wide streets.
She turned onto Via Cesare de Lollis, bordering La Sapienza, which reminded her of Sandro. It seemed like ages ago that she had gone with him to the Deledda lecture. Back then, all she had to worry about was choosing between two wonderful men.
Suddenly an air raid siren erupted through the loudspeakers on the street. She heard a horrifying hum vibrating through the air. She looked up in fear, and so did everyone else. A fleet of American bombers blanketed the sky, aiming directly for San Lorenzo. The Flying Fortresses. She knew from photos in the newspaper.
Chaos erupted. Women shrieked in terror. Men shouted. Everyone raced to get off the street. The air siren screamed. The planes zoomed toward them. Their engines rumbled louder and louder, a fearsome roar.
Elisabetta whirled around, not knowing if there was a shelter. Men and women jostled her, scattering in all directions. She raced with the panicked crowd to the nearest building, a shoe store. People pushed and shoved to get inside, frantic and desperate.
She pressed in with them, obeying instincts for survival. The roar of the planes deafened her. Everyone covered their ears, screaming, shouting, praying, crying. Mothers clutched their children, cowering. The planes darkened the sky and eclipsed the sun.
Boom! A blinding flash of light exploded in the middle of the street. The percussive blast sent her flying through the air. Brick and stones spewed as if from a volcano. She landed on the ground with everybody else, a stunned mass of humanity, wailing, crying, screaming, groaning, bleeding.
Elisabetta stayed conscious. Her head pounded. She couldn’t hear a thing. It was as if she had gone deaf. She told herself she had to get moving. She had to find shelter. She tried to get up but a woman lay on top of her, motionless.
Elisabetta tried calling to her, but the woman didn’t respond. Elisabetta realized the woman was dead. A little girl lay moving nearby, her head bloodied.
There was another explosion, then another. The ground shuddered. Black smoke billowed. The roof of the shop buckled and crashed.
Elisabetta screamed in sheer terror. She still couldn’t hear herself. She struggled to her feet. Grit and debris blanketed her body. Cuts covered her arms and legs. Her purse was gone. She was missing a shoe.
Boom boom boom! Bombs exploded throughout the neighborhood. The explosions rocked the ground. Debris flew everywhere. Glass windows blew out of storefronts.
Elisabetta couldn’t see through the smoke. Fires broke out on the buildings, flashes of horrifying orange amid wreckage. The air superheated. Black smoke rolled across the rubble, heavy with particulate. Her eyes stung, her nostrils clogged. She coughed, gasping. People staggered like shadows in an inferno.
The explosions kept coming. She ran this way, then that, colliding into terrified people doing the same. Everyone fled screaming. She whirled around, losing any sense of direction. She heard crying and realized it was coming from her. Her knees buckled. She fell to the ground atop the rubble and lost consciousness.