“Nobody wants to take Jews, and even the British are asking applicants to pay thousands of pounds to get a visa to Palestine. If I didn’t work at the embassy, it would’ve been much harder for me. Please come with me to London. This is your last chance.”
“No, thank you,” his father said, shaking his head. “We’ve already told you.”
“I’m sorry,” his mother added.
Sandro felt heartsick, but he could see that his sister was on the verge of tears. He loved her, so he knew what he had to say. “Rosa, I understand why you want to go. You should do what you have to do.”
“Thank you.” Rosa smiled shakily at him, then returned her attention to their parents. “And there’s one more thing you have to know. I got married to David in London last week, so now I’m his wife.”
“What?” His father’s mouth dropped open. “You’re married?”
“Rosa?” His mother’s eyes rounded behind her glasses. “My goodness! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Sandro looked over, astonished, but Rosa was taking their mother’s hand.
“Mamma, I didn’t tell you because I know how you and Papa felt about me marrying somebody who wasn’t Italian. And doesn’t that objection seem beside the point, after all that’s happened? According to the manifesto, we’re no longer Italian because we’re Jews. Papa, do you see the absurdity?”
“No.” His father folded his arms. “The manifesto is still not the law. No one can deny history. We’re Italian Jews. We’re Roman.”
His mother shook her head, stunned. “You could’ve told us, Rosa. You could have let us know. We weren’t even at your wedding!”
Rosa looked stricken. “I knew you would have tried to talk me out of it, and I didn’t want to give you the chance. We had to get married there to improve my chances for immigration.”
Sandro understood, though he was sad he hadn’t gotten to see her get married, either. He felt happy for Rosa, but remained heartbroken that she was leaving the country. His emotions roiled within him. Everything was going wrong. His father was angry, his mother was reeling, and he couldn’t wait until this awful day ended.
His father shook his head. “Rosa, he’s not Italian. How could you?”
“We love each other, that’s how.” Rosa frowned. “He’s a wonderful man, and we were married in a Jewish ceremony, with his parents and brother there.”
“That doesn’t make him Italian!” His father threw up his hands. “We wanted Italian grandchildren.”
All of a sudden, Sandro felt the emotions he’d kept inside explode. “Papa, does it matter? First you say I can’t see Elisabetta because she’s not Jewish. Then you say Rosa can’t marry David because he’s not Italian.”
His father turned to him, wounded. “Your mother and I have wishes for both of you, and we are entitled to that. Where is your respect, son?”
“I respect you, of course.” Sandro realized that he had to think for himself, as Rosa had said, so he did. “But can’t I disagree with you? Doesn’t what happened today demonstrate the fallacy in your logic? People aren’t categories, and it’s morally wrong to throw me out of my school because I’m Jewish. It hurts people, to no end. It’s just plain wrong. The government is discriminating against us, so we can’t discriminate in return, can we? It’s unprincipled.”
His mother rose, clutching her napkin, uncharacteristically shaken. Her eyebrows sloped down, and her lower lip trembled. “I hate this fussing. I wanted to see my daughter get married. Now, I can’t, and I never will.” She held her napkin to her nose as she began to cry, then she turned and hurried from the room, with Rosa at her heels.
It left Sandro and his father alone at the table, and they fell silent, neither speaking to fill the void. Sandro looked down at his plate, trying to sort his emotions. He had to acknowledge a diminishment of respect for his father, whose views simply didn’t stand to reason. Sandro never used to have such cross words with him, except for the last conversation about Elisabetta.
Sandro wished they could resolve the issue, so he looked up, but was surprised to find his father sitting stiffly upright in his chair. His father’s eyes had filmed behind his glasses, and Sandro experienced a wave of regret. Never before had he seen his father cry.
“Papa?” he said, rising, but his father waved him to stay in his seat.