“Fine,” he answered without looking up, which wasn’t like him. He’d always been chatty at the dinner table, but he was completely preoccupied. He was still dressed in his suit and tie, but it had become too large for him, its frayed collar leaving space around his neck. He was balder and grayer, too.
“What’s in the folder, Papa? What are you doing?”
Her mother interjected, “Your father prepares exemptions from the Race Laws for members of the Community.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Rosa turned to her mother. “And how are you, Mamma?”
“I’m fine, too.”
“You must miss the hospital.”
“Yes, but I feel needed here. I midwife and patch skinned knees.” Her mother smiled briefly. “The Community has come together, and we help each other. We barter when we can, goods for services. Someone leaves us food and money in a bag on the door. We think it’s one of your father’s clients, in return for his legal services.”
“That’s nice.” Rosa knew her savings would do them good.
“Your brother’s been teaching mathematics at the Jewish school. He’s a born teacher.” Her mother pushed her empty plate away, and Rosa turned to Sandro, feeling a rush of love for him.
“Good for you.”
“Thanks. I teach three classes of about forty students each. The ages are all over the lot.” Sandro smiled gamely, but to Rosa’s eye he looked thin, too. His cheeks were hollowed out of his handsome face, emphasizing his remarkable blue eyes. But they didn’t have their usual brightness, as if hardship had diluted their hue.
“Do you hear from the professor?”
“No.”
Rosa felt a pang for him. “What’s going on with your independent study? Do you work on your own?”
“No, I don’t have time. I have to prepare lesson plans and grade exams.”
Rosa wanted to change the subject, but each one seemed worse than the last. “How’s Marco doing, after Aldo’s death?”
“He’s coming around.”
Rosa felt the loss of Aldo, whom she had always liked. “Poor Maria and Beppe. Emedio, too.”
“Marco works for the fascio, at Palazzo Braschi. He and his father tried to help us get an exemption, but they couldn’t. Good of them to try. What about Elisabetta?”
Rosa remembered that Sandro had been crazy about Elisabetta. “Whatever happened with you and her?”
“Marco liked her, too, and she chose him.” A frown buckled Sandro’s forehead, and somehow this struck Rosa as the saddest news of all.
“I’m so sorry.”
“If I have to lose her to somebody, I’m happy it’s him.”
Rosa could see Sandro was hurt, but putting on a brave face. “So, you had your first heartbreak. My advice is to move on. You’re a good catch. Are you seeing anyone?”
“No. I’m too busy.”
“There’s a lot of fish in the sea, Sandro.”
Her mother interjected, “That’s what I tell him.”
“Jewish fish,” Rosa added, to make Sandro laugh, which it did.
“I’m glad you’re home, Rosa.”
Rosa smiled, happy that she had come home, too. They needed her, tested in a way they never had been before.
Sandro asked, “You must be worried about David, eh?”
“Yes, of course,” Rosa answered, as David was always in her thoughts.
“Then we’ll worry together.” Sandro reached for her hand. “As a family.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Marco
February 1940
It was the dead of night in the Ghetto, and a cold drizzle began to fall, so Marco sped up on his bicycle. No one was on the streets, and everyone was asleep, which was why he always ran his secret mission this late. He had been dropping off groceries and money at Sandro’s doorstep for months. He would ride to their new apartment, run up to the third floor, hang the bag on their doorknob, then steal away. He and his father didn’t want the Simones to know it had come from them, as they would have felt embarrassed.
Marco pedaled down Via Catalana, the wide street that ran alongside the front of the synagogue, and his tires bobbled on the cobblestones. The light limestone of the Tempio Maggiore stood out in the darkness, and its square dome rose in a stormy sky. He turned right onto Via del Tempio and rode past the apartment houses, their shutters closed against the chill. A family slept in a doorjamb, huddling under a single blanket.
Marco looked away. It broke his heart to see the deprivation on the Ghetto streets, and he worried the situation was about to get worse. His boss and everyone at Palazzo Braschi believed that Mussolini had changed his mind, and that Italy was going to enter the war on Germany’s side.