“Here?” Giulia squeaked.
“Help me!” Eva started shoving the rectangular table with the thick marble top, the table that had been too heavy for the previous tenants to attempt to take with them. If she could get it in front of the door and turn it on its side it would reinforce the door if the Germans tried to break it down. It was the only thing she could think of.
Giulia was suddenly next to her, pushing with all her meager strength, and they scratched and scraped their way across the wood floor, inching the table toward the door.
When they were two feet away, they tried to ease it over, but the weight was too great and it crashed to its side, as high as the knob and extending several feet on either side of the doorframe.
Eva gave it a final shove, snugging it up under the doorknob. She wondered suddenly if it had been used this way before.
“Is the door locked?” Giulia said feebly, her breath harsh from the exertion. There was blood on her nightgown and drops of it trailing across the bare floor. Eva didn’t know how much bleeding was customary after so recently giving birth, but she pretended she didn’t see it. There was no time for compassion.
“It’s locked. But I want you and the children to go into the bedroom and get in the closet. You have to keep the children quiet. No matter what. I will keep the table pressed against the door. Maybe they will think there is no one here, and they will leave. But we have to be absolutely quiet. If they come in, I will tell them I am the only one here.”
Eva didn’t wait for Giulia to respond but ran to the sleeping children, scooped up little Emilia, and raced to the narrow closet, tucking her into the corner, her small body propped against the back wall. She curled into it like it was her mother’s breast, and didn’t even let out a whimper. Giulia was rousing Lorenzo, helping him stagger into the bedroom, his eyes still closed. Eva trusted that Giulia could handle her children from there and shut the bedroom door behind them.
She could hear the clatter of boots on the stairs.
She ran to the front door and threw herself down, her back against the table, her legs extended to the opposite wall that made up the narrow entryway serving as a divider between the kitchen and the sitting room. She braced her feet and closed her eyes. She found herself reciting some of the words from the Amidah. “Oh, King, you are a helper, a savior, and a shield. You are mighty forever, you are powerful to save.” She couldn’t stand and take three steps back, as was customary, and she left words out, but if God cared about such things at a time like this, he wasn’t a god who would bother to save them. Her lips moved over the words, adding, “Deliver us!” as she repeated them.
The apartment door shook beneath the pounding of an upraised fist.
“?ffne die Tür!” a voice demanded in German, and Eva slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shriek that tried to break loose. There was no sound from the bedroom beyond.
“?ffne die Tür!”
“Oh, King, you are a helper, a savior, and a shield. You are mighty forever, you are powerful to save,” she mouthed against trembling fingers.
“Open the door!” Another voice shouted in badly accented Italian. Fists beat against the door once more. The doorknob rattled and there was an emphatic shove from the other side, but the lock held with the heavy table as reinforcement. Again, a powerful shove. Eva’s legs started to tremble with exertion.
Two shots rang out above her head, stunning her, and her legs buckled momentarily. German cursing could be heard from the other side of the door. Apparently, the shooter hadn’t warned his comrades to cover their ears. There were two holes in the wall about a foot above Eva’s braced legs. The bullets had easily penetrated the door and buried themselves in the old plaster wall. A cloud of dust lazily floated down around her. Terrified tears ran down Eva’s cheeks, and the prayer died in her throat, but she didn’t move and she didn’t scream.
“No one lives there!” a voice rang out in the hallway. “It was damaged during the air raids in July. It’s been condemned.”
“Something is pushed against the door,” the German argued.
“Debris. The ceiling collapsed in several places. People died.” Eva realized suddenly that the voice belonged to Isabella Donati. The woman’s calm demeanor made her a convincing liar. Her claim that the residents had died should comfort the SS—they wouldn’t need to locate dead Jews. Another shot rang out, right above Eva’s head. Then another, and the table bucked at her back.
One German barked at the other, and then, miraculously, Eva heard them moving away, retreating down the hall to the next apartment. She waited, breath held, listening for their return. She waited for what felt like hours, until there were no more boots, no more cries, and no more confusion in the hall. The silence felt false, like the silence in a room where death waits behind the door, knife raised, waiting for the unsuspecting victim to turn her back.
Eva’s legs gave out when she tried to stand. Her muscles ached, and delayed shock stole her equilibrium. She moaned and steadied herself on the wall, looking down at the table that now had a web of cracks extending in every direction. Either the last bullet, the bullet she’d felt at her back, hadn’t penetrated the marble, or it had miraculously missed her.
She stumbled across the parlor and into the bedroom, crossing the tiny space and flinging the closet door wide, anxious to share the news of their deliverance. Giulia shrieked, one arm extended, clutching her baby, who was latched onto her breast, as if to ward off any would-be attackers. She blinked rapidly at the light, her eyes trying to adjust after an hour spent hiding in the darkness. Apparently, Lorenzo was also temporarily blinded. He barreled out of the closet like a demon freed, and crashed into Eva, fists thrashing, fighting as if his life depended on it.
“You can’t take us! Leave us alone!” he shouted.
“Lorenzo! It’s me! It’s Eva. Shhh! They are gone! They are gone!”
She wrapped her arms around the flailing child as the fight left him, and her eyes found his mother once more. Giulia staggered to the bed and sat weakly upon it, one hand buttoning her gown, the other wrapped tightly around her now squalling infant.
“They’re gone,” Eva reassured. “But they’ve cleared the building. They’ve taken everyone else.” How many? There were hundreds of Jews living in the ghetto neighborhood. Hundreds.
“Oh, God. Oh, dear God,” Giulia moaned in horror. “Mario. What if they arrested Mario?”
Eva could only shake her head helplessly. “Where’s Emilia?” Eva asked suddenly, realizing the little girl was absent.
“She’s in the closet.” Giulia laughed hollowly. “She slept through it all.”
The sudden pounding at the front door had Lorenzo crying out and Giulia staggering to her feet, babe in arms.
“Quiet!” Eva hissed, urging them back toward the closet as she raced for the door, determined to hold it closed once more.
“Giulia! Giulia!” A desperate voice, barely muffled by the door. A key scraped in the lock and Mario Sonnino pressed his face to the small crack in the now opened door.
“Giulia!” he cried.
“It’s Mario!” Eva called, her voice cracking with relief. “Giulia, it’s Mario!”
“Papà!” Lorenzo shouted, racing from the room, ahead of his mother.
“Help me move the table!” Eva instructed, shoving at the heavy furniture, and the little boy was at her side, pushing it out of the way.