He was heading to the door to lock up when he saw Massimo and Sandro hurrying over the Ponte Fabricio toward the bar. It was an unusual hour for a visit, but Beppe waved to them, and Massimo waved back. When the Simones reached the foot of the bridge, Beppe opened the door to welcome them.
“Buona sera, Massimo, Sandro.”
Massimo and Sandro greeted him, hustling inside the bar.
Massimo frowned, his anxiety plain. “We’re sorry to intrude this late.”
“Not at all. Come in, both of you.” Beppe closed the door behind them, turning the sign on the door to CHIUSO. “Thank you for coming to Aldo’s funeral.”
“Of course, and you have our deepest condolences. Aldo was a wonderful young man.” Massimo patted Beppe on the arm, and Beppe was thankful that Massimo was tactful enough not to mention the fight with Marco.
“Please, sit down.” Beppe pulled chairs out from the nearest table, Massimo and Sandro sat down, and Marco came over, carrying four glasses of red wine on a tray.
“Buona sera.” Marco set the wine in front of them, then sat down.
Massimo and Sandro greeted Marco, and Beppe could see that there was something weighing on Massimo’s mind. His old friend took a big gulp of wine.
“Massimo, what’s the matter?”
“I need your help.”
“Then you shall have it, brother.”
“Absolutely,” Marco added.
Massimo and Sandro seemed to ease, letting down their shoulders. Massimo met Beppe’s eye. “You know about these new Race Laws, forbidding Jews from owning property or businesses.”
“Yes, and you know my view. They’re a disgrace. I loathe our party’s discriminatory laws. I don’t countenance the persecution of Italian Jews, and it’s the wrong direction for the party and for Italy.”
“Thank you for saying that. Sadly, the worst has happened. I was denied an exemption.”
“Oh no!” Beppe recoiled, taken aback. He and Massimo had been reasonably certain that the Simones would get an exemption, and he certainly deserved one.
“If we can’t get this reversed, we’ll be ruined. We’ll lose the house and my practice.”
“Is there a way to appeal it?”
“None, legally.” Massimo’s forehead buckled. “I based my argument on my loyalty to the party. Remember the first day we met, when Sandro was born?”
“Yes, of course. I could never forget.” Beppe gestured outside the bar. “We met right there, on that spot. You had just left the hospital, having been there all night waiting for Gemma to deliver Sandro. We stood out front, together. It was the March on Rome, in 1922.”
Massimo nodded, his eyes briefly shining. “Then we went to Piazza Venezia and saw Il Duce speak. The crowd was packed as far as the eye could see. You were already a member of the party.”
“Yes, I joined in 1919.” Beppe suppressed a pang. So much had changed since then, not for the better. Fascism had betrayed the Jews, and Mussolini had set the party on a course to war, in alliance with Hitler. And now Aldo was gone, tainting Marco with suspicion of complicity.
“There’s an exemption to the Race Laws for Fascists of the First Hour, like you. Those who joined from 1919 to 1922 and the second half of 1924. I joined in 1923, though I was going to meetings from the earliest days. So you see, it’s only a technicality that I was denied the exemption.”
“That’s very true. I’ll help you in any way I can. What can I do?”
“Beppe, you know so many people in the party. I was wondering if you could speak to someone and attest to my loyalty, from those early days. I’m sure your word could make a difference.” Massimo turned to Marco. “And, Marco, you work at the fascio. I know you’re well thought of there. Is there someone you could speak to for us, as well? Commendatore Buonacorso knows me, for as you remember, I introduced him to you. Perhaps you could remind him of my loyalty?”
“Of course, we’ll talk to someone,” Beppe rushed to say, though the timing couldn’t have been worse. He and Marco had no influence since Aldo’s betrayal, but he couldn’t tell Massimo and Sandro the truth about Aldo’s death. It was confidential, and shameful.
Marco pursed his lips. “I’ll ask, too.”
Massimo breathed with relief. “Thank you, both of you.”
Sandro smiled. “Thank you, so much.”
Beppe patted Massimo on the arm. “Now, let’s have a drink, to old friends.”