Levi-Civita began to speak, his voice calm and soft, so that the audience had to lean forward, and Sandro listened, spellbound. He could barely understand in some places, but his attention remained riveted on the professor, and he didn’t take notes because he preferred to concentrate. In time, Levi-Civita rolled over a blackboard and began to scribble calculations as he spoke. Sandro’s mind engaged like never before, so galvanized during the entire lecture that he felt dazed when it ended and Professor Levi-Civita bowed in an old-fashioned way.
Sandro leapt to his feet and clapped, and the audience gave Levi-Civita a standing ovation that lasted for fifteen minutes, then the faculty and dignitaries surged toward the stage. Students began to file out, flooding the aisles toward the exits, but Sandro was in no hurry, wanting to stay in the room, soaking in the experience for as long as possible.
“Sandro, this way.” Enzo touched his arm.
“Okay,” Sandro said reluctantly, and he followed Enzo to a side entrance, then heard someone say:
“I’ll be damned if I’ll clap for a dirty Jew.”
Sandro stopped. He turned around to see who would say such a thing, but the crowd was moving. Two students who looked old enough to be graduate level stood closest to him, and he sensed they were the likeliest culprits. “What did you just say?” he asked them.
“Nothing,” the one answered, with apparent nonchalance.
The other shrugged.
“Someone just called Professor Levi-Civita ‘a dirty Jew.’” The insult curdled on Sandro’s tongue. His anger emboldened him, even though he was younger than they. “Was it you?”
The graduate student shook his head. “We didn’t say anything.”
“Sandro, let it go.” Enzo tugged him forward.
“No.” Sandro kept an eye on the graduate students. “If you didn’t say it, did you hear it? You must have.”
“We didn’t hear anything, either.” The students hurried to the left, and Sandro’s sense of fairness prevented him from accusing them further, as he couldn’t be sure. He scanned the scholarly, well-dressed audience, appalled that one of them could have uttered the slur. If Sandro had ever wondered what an anti-Semite looked like, he realized that they looked like everybody else.
“Come on.” Enzo ushered him out of the auditorium, and they reached the entrance hall, where students flowed around them, leaving the building.
Sandro couldn’t let it go. “Enzo, didn’t you hear that?”
Enzo checked his watch. “I have to get home, and you need to pick up your next assignment.”
“Doesn’t it surprise you?”
Enzo shrugged. “Not these days. Anyway the professor considers himself an agnostic, and his wife is Catholic.”
“So? That’s not the point.” Sandro had never thought about whether Levi-Civita was Jewish. He guessed now that the professor was Jewish, from his name.
“Here, let’s talk privately.” Enzo took Sandro by the arm and led him to the side wall. “It’s his politics.”
“The professor’s? Who even knows his politics?”
“University professors were required to sign a loyalty oath to Fascism, six years ago. If they didn’t, they were fired.” Enzo kept his voice low. “Only twelve out of twelve hundred refused to sign. Vito Volterra, the elder, was one of them. Volterra was a member of Parliament, a Socialist, so of course he couldn’t have signed. As a result, he was fired.”
“What does that have to do with Levi-Civita?”
“It’s rumored that he wrote the university a letter arguing that mathematics wasn’t political, and he didn’t feel it was necessary to declare his political beliefs. I heard it caused quite a stir, and ultimately he signed the oath only because he didn’t want to be fired.”
“But he’s right. Politics has nothing to do with mathematics. The obvious conclusion is that he’s agnostic in religion and politics. It’s a consistent position.”
“Nevertheless, there’s a suspicion that he leans left, and his history is against him. People know that way back in 1925, he signed Benedetto Croce’s letter protesting Fascism, which was published in the newspaper.”
“So?” Sandro knew about the infamous letter from his father, who disapproved. “Hundreds of university professors, journalists, and artists signed that letter. It’s not like Levi-Civita was the only one.”
“I’m just telling you that Fascists don’t admire the professor as much as you and I do.”