Suddenly Sandro realized he was going in the wrong direction, as his feet kept carrying him to their old house on Piazza Mattei. They had never gotten their exemption reversed, so his father’s law practice had been shuttered and they had lost their house. They had moved into a smaller apartment in a lesser house that had a dingy gray fa?ade, cracked like many others on the street, squalid compared with the refined Piazza Mattei.
Sandro reached the house, ran up the broken steps to the third floor, and opened the door to their new apartment. The air was stifling, and he dropped his rucksack on the floor of the cramped kitchen that doubled as a living and dining room. They used the living room for his parents’ bedroom, and Sandro got a bedroom barely big enough for a bed. It might have been close quarters, but at least it was sunny, since its back window faced south.
“Mamma, I heard the news. Did the hospital fire you?” Sandro went to his parents at the kitchen table, their expressions somber.
“Yes,” his mother answered quietly. Her eyes were reddish and puffy, and her face had fallen into resigned lines. She had on her gray linen dress and pearls, managing to look like her dignified self, though her heart must be breaking.
“I’m so sorry.” Sandro gave her a hug, then sat down at the small wooden table. They had sold most of the other furniture—except for a bookshelf stuffed with Sandro’s math books, Rosa’s first-edition novels, and his parents’ old textbooks—and all of their valuables, except for a breakfront containing their family menorah and silver candlesticks.
His mother paused, pursing her lips. “When the news came out, I had just delivered a beautiful baby girl, a big one, too.” His mother swallowed. “It’s hard to accept that it’s over, just like that. I’ve worked there such a long time. I loved what I did. I loved the labor and delivery nurses, they’re a very special group.”
“I know.” Sandro nodded, having heard her say so many times.
“And I feel terrible that my patients won’t have a female doctor anymore. The first-time mothers, mainly. They feel more comfortable with me. I regret that I won’t be there to help them.”
Sandro knew that as a woman she had struggled against discrimination by the other doctors. “Were all the Jewish doctors fired?”
“Yes.”
“In the other departments, too?”
“Yes, the lot of us.”
“Even before the effective date,” his father interjected, shaking his head. He had on his customary suit and tie, but his lapels looked worn.
“I don’t blame the administrators,” his mother added, with a sigh. “They had no choice. They have to follow the law. Giancarlo told me they hated to do it, and Moro cried when I picked up my discharge papers. Alberto took me and the others for coffee afterward. Sister Anna Domenica and the other nurses broke down and cried.”
Sandro knew them all. He had met most of his mother’s colleagues, when he would stop by the hospital after school.
“I blame myself.” His father raked a hand through his hair. “If I had gotten us the exemption, you could have kept your job, Gemma. I should’ve gotten it for us. I deserved it. We deserve it.”
“You tried your best, and so did Beppe. We did all we could.”
“Not true.” His father shook his head. “You know what I hear? There are rumors that some are bribing their way to exemptions. That there’s a racket being run by the Under-Secretary of the Interior, Buffarini. He’s a virulent anti-Semite, but he’s fine with taking our money.” He shook his head again. “I let you down, dear.”
“You didn’t, Massimo. There’s no guarantee, even with a bribe.”
“It’s all my fault, all of it. I relied on reason. Law. Justice. I still can’t believe they denied me.”
Listening, Sandro began to worry about his father, who had changed after being ousted from the party, becoming melancholy. All the time his father brought up his failure to get an exemption, second-guessing himself over and over again. Lately, his father had even begun carrying a folder of notes, to an almost compulsive degree. As Sandro knew he would, his father opened it and began to read aloud, even now.
“Here’s the latest exemptions granted so far, which prove my point. According to the last census, 3,502 Jewish families were entitled to an exemption. That’s broken down as 406 families of those killed in action, 721 from families that were volunteers, 1,597 from families of those decorated with military valor, and 3 families of Fascist martyrs.” His father ran a fingernail across a line of his handwritten notes. “But, here we go, as of today, 724 families of veteran Fascists were granted exemptions, of which we should have been one. We should have been! It could have been us, so easily. If the interpretation hadn’t been so strict!”