Mario fell through the opening, grabbing at his son with one arm, embracing his wife with the other. Eva took the baby from Giulia and held the tiny body against her chest, kissing his downy head and patting his little back. The baby quieted instantly, but Eva’s heart was slower to calm. The stress of the last hour was slowly unraveling her control.
“They are rounding up all the Jews. Going from house to house. I ran all the way here. I was in the queue when the news hit, and everyone left the line, running in different directions, afraid for their lives. I didn’t get our rations, Giulia,” Mario said sadly, as an afterthought. “I thought I was too late. I thought they’d taken you and the children and left me behind.”
“You were lucky!” Eva spoke up. “If you’d arrived when they were still here, you would have been taken. And you might have given us away.”
“How did you manage? How?” Mario was weeping now, relief and joy seeping from his eyes, unchecked. “Is everyone all right? The baby? Emilia?”
“We hid in the ripostiglio.” Lorenzo puffed out his small chest and placed his hands on his hips. “And we were so quiet they thought no one was home!”
“You hid in the closet? All of you?” Mario whispered. His gaze lingered on his wife’s face, noting her pallor and the strain that tightened her mouth and lined her eyes.
“Not Eva! Eva held the door closed,” Lorenzo offered up.
All eyes were suddenly on Eva, Mario’s wide with awe.
“Your neighbor told them no one lived here. I don’t know if they would have moved on if not for her.” Eva’s mouth trembled.
“Signora Donati is gone,” Mario whispered. “Her door was wide open. All the doors are open. All down the hall. All, except ours. The SS police must have entered each one, making sure no one was left behind. It looks like the phone lines have been cut too.”
“They didn’t find us!” Lorenzo crowed.
“Where will they take them, all those people?” Giulia asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Mario shook his head in disbelief. “But it won’t stop with the ghetto. I heard someone say they have addresses. Names. Rome is no longer safe for Jews.”
“My sister and her family!” Giulia cried, suddenly realizing, now that Mario was safe, that she had others to be worried about. The same thing had just occurred to Eva. Uncle Augusto and his family needed to be warned.
“I have to go.” Eva thrust the baby into Giulia’s arms and turned toward the door, halting as she realized she was shoeless.
She ran to the lumpy sofa, shoving her feet into her shoes and her arms into the long red coat she had always loved. Now she wished for a coat in the drabbest brown, something that wouldn’t draw attention or admiration. She needed to be invisible. Hadn’t Babbo always said, “Keep your head down and your manners in place”? The thought of him made her stomach clench painfully. She missed him! Oh, God, she missed him so much. Had the SS dragged him away like Isabella Donati? Loaded him up in the back of a truck, never to be seen or heard from again?
“Oh, Eva. Be careful!” Giulia warned.
Eva kissed her cheek and embraced Lorenzo before looking up at Mario.
“Will you be okay without me?” she asked softly. “I will come back when I can, and we will finish your new documents. Giulia needs to be in bed, resting. But you know you can’t stay here. If you have nowhere else, come to the Convent of Santa Cecilia. We will figure something out.”
“I will take care of my family,” Mario said firmly, but his eyes found hers and held. “Thank you, Eva. Don’t worry about us. We are the lucky ones today. Do you have your pass?” She nodded, knowing that he wasn’t referring to the papers that labeled her a Jew. He was referring to the fake ones, the ones that claimed she was Eva Bianco from Naples.
“Mamma?” a sleepy voice said from the bedroom doorway. “Are we playing hide-and-go-seek? I want to count.” Little Emilia was rubbing at her eyes and yawning widely, completely oblivious to the terror of the morning. Her parents laughed quietly, and the laughter broke into grateful tears as they clung to each other and to their small children.
Eva slipped out then, letting the young family have a moment together, her mind on what remained of her own family, and the danger they all faced.
CHAPTER 11
TRASTEVERE
The alley leading out onto the Via del Portico d’Ottavia was eerily quiet, the four cramped blocks wedged between the Tiber and the Teatro di Marcello gutted of their inhabitants. The dome of the church in the nearby piazza peered down at Eva, making her feel exposed and small. She wanted to run from doorway to doorway, from tree to bush, hiding herself in spurts, but she made herself walk at a leisurely pace.
It was early, but not terribly so, and the streets were filling with Romans going about their day. It was as if the terror of the predawn was just a strange mirage, shimmering in and out of focus. She saw a single German truck, thick flaps obscuring its cargo. She didn’t duck her head or slink. She walked, telling herself that running would only draw attention, even as her stomach twisted more tightly with each step. She walked across the Garibaldi Bridge and down the wide Viale di Trastevere, too unfamiliar with her surroundings to duck onto side streets. It took too long, and when she finally turned onto the narrow street lined with palms and little stores, she was numb with fear. The street was too quiet, just like Via d’Ottavia, and she finally started to run.
She was almost to their building when strong arms wrapped around her from behind and dragged her back. When she cried out, a hand clamped around her mouth as she was pinned between a man’s chest and an alcove wall.
“Eva, shhh! Be still.” It was Angelo. The relief was almost as great as the despair as she turned and wilted against him.
“Grazie a Dio!” he cried, and pressed his sandpaper cheek against hers before pulling away so he could cradle her face in his hands. Angelo had failed to shave, a testament to the kind of morning it had been, and his blue eyes were wild beneath the unruly black curls drooping dejectedly over his brow. Their eyes clung, gratitude and relief giving way to a baser need, a need for affirmation, even celebration, and suddenly his mouth was on hers, kissing her fiercely, desperately verifying that she was indeed safe, present, and accounted for.
Eva froze beneath the onslaught, but only for a heartbeat. Her hands rose to his face, her mouth opened beneath his, and in those few stolen moments, there was euphoric frenzy. Lips, teeth, and tongues that tasted truth and reaffirmed life. The dam broke, and there was only unbridled feeling, stripped of duty and civility, of pretense and propriety. There were no lies between them, no space.
But the suspension of time could only last so long. Eva pulled back, gasping for breath, and with oxygen came remembrance.
“Angelo, the SS are coming,” Eva cried, hands gripping, lips pleading. “I have to warn my uncle.”
Angelo still held her face in his hands, his relief and lust slower to dissipate, and he forced his gaze from Eva’s lush mouth to meet her pleading eyes. She immediately began to shake her head, refusing the dreadful compassion she saw in his face.
“I know. I know, Eva. The SS are everywhere. All over the city, they are rounding up Jews.”
“Oh, no. No, Angelo. Oh, please, no.”
“I went to the apartment, Eva. I went there first. When the nuns said you never came home last night, I thought you must have been caught. I thought I was too late. I thought they’d taken you too.” His breath caught and he swallowed back the black nausea, the horror of that moment so fresh he could still taste it.
Eva closed her eyes, as if closing her eyes would protect her from what he knew.
“Maybe they were warned. Maybe they left before the SS arrived,” Eva said hopefully, her lips trembling around the words.
“They’re gone, cara,” he said gently, unable to keep the truth from her. “I saw the truck. I saw the truck drive away, Eva. I saw your uncle climb in. I think he must have been the last. And he saw me.”
Eva’s legs wobbled, and Angelo was there, wrapping his arms around her, bracing her as her tears began to flow and her strength left her.