“What’s going on?” Elisabetta asked, looking over.
“Nothing.” Marco watched the Nazis, who examined their fingernails, brushed dirt from their coats, or smoked one cigarette after another. “They stand there, looking at the same vineyards night after night. That will help us, when the time comes. They’re bored to death.”
“That’s why they were so interested in me today.”
Marco lowered the binoculars. “That’s not why. You’re a beautiful girl, carrying wine. It’s what men dream of.”
“Men like wine that much?”
“No. Men like women who like wine that much.” Marco returned the binoculars to his eyes. “Still, you did well. You were brave.”
“Thank you.”
“The next step will be harder, and there’s always the possibility that Baron von Weizs?cker didn’t get Sandro and his father sent here. If the Baron failed us, we’re in trouble.”
“I think he did it.”
“Why?”
“I make the best pasta in Rome.”
Marco smiled, falling in love with Elisabetta all over again. His heart ached for her, and he worried these feelings would never leave him.
He stole a glance at her in the moonlight, but her eyes were on the camp.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
Marco
18 October 1943
The next day, Marco and Elisabetta were lying in the ravine, having camouflaged themselves with underbrush. It was already late afternoon, and they were still waiting for Sandro and his father to appear. If the train had left Rome this morning, then Sandro and his father should have already arrived, assuming that they had been on the train.
Marco tried not to be discouraged. Elisabetta had fallen silent. He focused the binoculars on Via Remesina, the road from Carpi station. There was no sign of anyone. So far, the only traffic on that road or Via dei Grilli had been a mule cart, a farmer on horseback, and an old truck from an acetaia.
He shifted left, to the transit camp. It looked like business as usual, with Nazis on post at the perimeter. A group of Nazis guarded the construction site, where the prisoners labored. No preparations were being made to receive new prisoners, which worried him.
Marco watched and waited, then finally noticed something coming down Via Remesina toward the transit camp. In the next moment he realized that it was a few Kubelwagens, a Nazi escort. They must have come from Modena or elsewhere. Perhaps that accounted for the delay.
His heart began to pound. The vehicles drew closer. He could see that behind them walked a bedraggled procession of men, women, and children.
“They’re coming.” Marco kept the binoculars to his eyes.
“Do you see Sandro?” Elisabetta asked, excited.
“Not yet.” Marco watched the shifting view of families trudging down the road. They clung to each other, downcast. He searched every face, hoping it was Sandro’s or his father’s. The heads bobbed and moved, a shifting mass of men, women, and children.
He spotted Sandro, walking with his arm around Massimo, who was limping slightly. “I see him!”
“Thank God! Can I look?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to lose sight of him.” Marco watched as the Kubelwagens and the line of families turned the corner toward the entrance to the transit camp. The Nazis opened the gates and allowed the Kubelwagens to enter. Other Nazis hustled to the line and hurried the families inside with guns and barking dogs.
Marco watched as the families filed in. In time, Sandro and his father entered the transit camp and were hustled inside. The Nazis forced in the remaining families, then closed the gates. The families massed in front of the barracks, instinctively forming a group. Dogs barked and strained on leashes, terrifying the children. Mothers cradled babies, and fathers picked up toddlers.
Nazis brandishing weapons separated the men from the women and children, sending the men to the east and women to the west side of the barracks. Husbands and wives reached for each other, crying at being torn apart. Children screamed for fathers and grandfathers. They were forced to split up at gunpoint or menaced with the butts of rifles.
“What’s happening?”
“The Nazis are separating men from women.”
“And Sandro?”
“He and his father are getting in lines for the barracks.” Marco waited to see which barracks Sandro and his father were assigned to. Soon they were shoved in front of the third barracks from the east and forced to line up outside. The barracks had a white sign that Marco couldn’t read.