Sandro sighed. Unfortunately, even if they were awarded the exemption, it would not readmit him to school because the exemptions applied only to the property provisions of the law. Nor would it permit him to marry Elisabetta, whom he thought about all the time. He still couldn’t believe that she had chosen him over Marco, and it was his dream come true. But it had come too late. He had sent her away for her own good. He had lied to her when he’d told her that he didn’t love her anymore. Of course he still loved her, he always would. But he was no longer a suitable husband for her; he had no job, no prospects, and he couldn’t even marry her anymore. Ironically, he loved her too much to tell her so, which left him miserable and aching, experiencing an odd sort of grief that mourned even the living.
His mother reached for the letter and held it up to the chandelier, trying to read through the envelope. “I can’t see what it says.”
“Mamma, just open it.”
“No, your father wants to be the one, and I told him we would honor his wishes.” His mother set the envelope down. “It will be his triumph.”
“I hope so.”
“I think we’ll get the exemption,” his mother said, as if reassuring them both. “He was practically a Fascist of the First Hour, an officer in the Great War, and he serves the Community.”
“I’m sure we’ll get it,” Sandro said, though he wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry it won’t permit your return to school.”
“It’s okay,” Sandro said, though the opposite was true.
“How are you enjoying the Jewish school?”
Sandro knew the correct answer. “I like teaching, and it’s good to contribute to the Community.”
“But I’m sure you miss your friends, and working for the professor.”
“Life is trade-offs.”
His mother paused. “That’s what I always say.”
“I know, that’s why I said it.” Sandro smiled.
His mother smiled back, her sharp eyes regarding him, behind her glasses. “I wonder if that means you’re listening—or you’ve stopped listening.”
“It means I’m listening.”
“How’s Marco?”
“He’s fine, working a lot.”
His mother paused again. “And Elisabetta? How is she?”
“Fine, I assume. I don’t see her. I’m not interested in her anymore.”
“Oh.” His mother blinked, her expression softening. “I hope you understood our objection.”
“I do, but I don’t agree with it.”
“Even after this? These awful Race Laws codify a ban against intermarriage.” His mother gestured at the white envelope, but Sandro couldn’t suppress the resentment flaring in his chest.
“Mamma, if anything, that should make you question your view.”
“What are you talking about? The Race Laws prove the necessity for standing together as Jews. Our Community is under dire threat.”
“I choose not to discriminate against those who discriminate. It’s a principled—”
“Oh, Sandro, fine,” his mother snapped. “You’re too smart by half, and I don’t want to fuss. Do we need more upset? Should I have more worries than whatever is in that envelope?”
“So let’s open it then.” Sandro picked up the envelope, annoyed. “If you won’t, I will.”
“No, Sandro, don’t. I forbid it.” His mother reached for the envelope just as Sandro jerked his hand away. The envelope tore in two, leaving her holding one half and him the other. In that moment, the front door opened and his father entered, smiling until he realized that Sandro and his mother were fighting. His father set down his briefcase and hurried into the dining room.
“What’s going on, you two?” he asked, mystified. “What’s that paper?”
“It’s from the Demorazza.” His mother slid the other half of the envelope from Sandro’s grasp and handed them both over. “I’m sorry.”
“Papa, I’m sorry, too,” Sandro said quickly. “It’s my fault. I wanted to open it, and Mamma said we shouldn’t.”
“What have you done? This is an important legal document!” Appalled, his father slid the white paper from the left and right halves of the envelope, then placed both sides on the table, matching them up. His mother stood over his father’s left shoulder, and Sandro came around his right. He looked down to see that the halves of the document were unevenly matched, but the ruling was legible—and horrifying.