“Anyway what have you got there?”
“Oh, this is for her.” Marco slid the gift from under his arm.
“You don’t think you can buy her off, do you? Elisabetta, why don’t you open your gift?”
“I will.” Elisabetta was too mortified to meet Marco’s eye as he handed her the present. “Thank you, Marco. What’s the occasion?”
“If I tell you, then you’ll know what—”
“Basta!” Nonna interrupted, with a snort. “Talk, talk, talk! I’m sleepy! Hurry up!”
Elisabetta burst into laughter, and so did Marco. She tore off the silvery paper, and he balled it up as she lifted the lid of the box and opened a layer of white tissue paper.
Nonna craned her neck. “How can I see? Why don’t you hold it up?”
Elisabetta gasped when she opened the tissue paper to reveal a beautiful pink dress, sleeveless with a scoop neckline, its fabric a filmy chiffon with a pink satin ribbon at the waist. She lifted it up, and it felt lighter than air, made for a night she would never have, for a life she would never live, a dress so elegant, feminine, and fancy that it was fit for a princess, not a waitress.
Nonna scoffed. “Now where’s she going to wear that?”
“Nonna, please.” Elisabetta clasped the dress to her chest, overwhelmed. “Thank you, so much, Marco. This is a beautiful dress!”
“You’re welcome.” Marco smiled warmly, his dark eyes shining. “I’ve been invited to a fancy party, and I was wondering if you would go with me. You can wear the dress.”
“What about shoes?” Nonna interjected again. “You think she has shoes for such a dress? Or do you expect her to go barefoot?”
“Nonna, I’ll get my own shoes.” Elisabetta’s heart was still hurting from Sandro, but a fancy party sounded fun, and she hadn’t had fun in such a long time, working every day and going to bed early every night.
Marco touched her arm. “Will you go with me, Elisabetta?”
“Yes,” Elisabetta answered impulsively.
“That’s enough!” Nonna glowered, pointing to the door. “Good night, Marco! Bye-bye! Sleep tight!”
Marco chuckled. “Good night, Signora Servano.”
Elisabetta placed the dress back in the box, folding it with care and smoothing out the skirt. “Marco, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“No, you won’t.” Nonna waved her hand. “Marco, see yourself to the door, will you? That’s not difficult, is it? Are you sighted? In full possession of locomotive power?”
“Signora Servano, yes, thank you. Good night, Elisabetta.” Marco reached for Elisabetta’s hand and kissed it softly, then strode to the door, and left.
Elisabetta felt her heart wake up, though she hadn’t known it was sleeping. Marco did love her, and she felt herself wanting what he was offering, whether it was fun, romance, or true love, she wasn’t sure. She knew only that she felt happy. She looked at Nonna, but the old woman was frowning.
“Nonna, what’s the matter? Don’t you like him?”
“Not for you,” Nonna shot back, lifting an eyebrow. “I told you before. You can’t be with him.”
“But why not?” Elisabetta asked, mystified. “Why don’t you like him for me?”
Nonna’s expression softened to sadness. “Sit down, dear.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Sandro
July 1939
Sandro hurried home as soon as he heard that yet another Race Law had been issued, restricting Jewish employment in scores of professions, including doctors. Sandro feared that his mother had lost her job, since Jews without exemptions had to be listed in special rosters, elenchi speciali, and their professional practice was limited exclusively to Jewish clients. His mother worked at Ospedale Fatebenefratelli, a Catholic hospital, and Sandro doubted that they had sufficient Jewish patients to justify keeping her on.
Sandro hustled through the Ghetto, past shopkeepers huddling over newspapers and distraught housewives clustered in teary groups. So many Jews had lost their jobs that the streets were lined with beggars, rag traders, and the newly poor, selling their possessions. Via del Portico d’Ottavia had gone from a thoroughfare bustling with happy families to a marketplace of despair.
Stores had closed and the butcher shop struggled, since kosher butchering had been prohibited under a set of Race Laws designed to prevent Jews from practicing their religion. Jewish periodicals had been ordered to cease publication, and intermarried Jews sought exemptions to define themselves as Gentile. Congregations diminished as Jews emigrated, and rabbis emigrated, too. The Fascist barrage of discriminatory laws, intended to exclude Jews from daily life and drive them from Italy, was doing its dirty work.