Eva had met both Monsignor Luciano and Monsignor O’Flaherty when she’d first arrived in Rome and efforts were being made to collect the gold the Germans had squeezed out of the Jews. Monsignor O’Flaherty was rumored to be a bit of a ladies’ man because he attended every party and swanky soiree, but he joked that there was safety in numbers and that if he wanted to know what was going on in the city, he had to rub shoulders with the people who knew. He’d smiled widely and talked with her at length, and she’d liked him immediately, though she struggled a little with his Irish-flavored Italian. Monsignor Luciano had been decidedly less friendly. She had the feeling he didn’t approve of her. When he’d been introduced to Eva, he extended his arms, the way so many priests did, but he never touched her.
It was something Eva had noticed early on in many of the Catholic clergy, this embrace that was never consummated. It left her feeling bereft. Maybe Jews were more demonstrative, more physically affectionate. Or maybe that was just Camillo, just her family. Her father had kissed her cheeks whenever he greeted her, as if he didn’t see her every single day. Every single day until, one day, he was gone. Until he’d boarded the train, waving reassuringly, and he’d never come back.
Deep down, in that part of her soul where Eva kept painful truths tucked away, like grains of sand that chafed and bothered, she knew Camillo wasn’t coming home. And she prayed every day that he wasn’t suffering. That was another grain of sand, rubbing her raw when she allowed herself to think about him at all. If he were gone, she would learn to endure. She had learned to endure. But if he were suffering, that she couldn’t abide. Her loved ones were her Achilles’ heel. She supposed it was good that she had so few loved ones left. If she was going to be a spy, it made her less vulnerable.
In mid-December, charged with the task of emptying garbage cans and finding a crate of office supplies that had been delivered but that no one could account for, Eva stumbled across an out-of-the-way janitorial closet that wasn’t being used for cleaning supplies or paper, envelopes, or typewriter ribbon.
It wasn’t even locked.
Shoved in the corner, behind a small row of empty shelves, was a barrel overflowing with gold. Gold that had once belonged to Rome’s Jewish population, still in the very same container it had been collected in. Eva touched it in horrified disbelief, running her hands over it, sifting through the bracelets and the pins and ropes and chains. There were gold teeth and rare coins and wedding bands. She picked up a dainty ring and realized it was Giulia’s. Giulia had given her ring to keep Rome’s Jews from being slaughtered. But they’d been taken anyway, some of them reduced to ash, and Giulia’s ring sat in a closet at Via Tasso collecting dust—ignored, forgotten, and completely insignificant to the men who had extorted it.
Suddenly, Eva was crying, the tears sliding down her cheeks and falling into the barrel filled with the only remains of so many who were taken. It had all been a charade—a tactic—and the sheer, malevolent gall of the shakedown was almost more than she could bear. They hadn’t even needed the gold. They hadn’t even sent it back to Germany. It was inconsequential, as inconsequential as the Jews themselves.
Filled with fury, Eva shoved Giulia’s ring on her finger, determined to return it. Then she stuck her hands deep into the barrel, and sifted the pieces through her fingers, looking for something, anything, that might have belonged to her family. Augusto had given a gold watch chain, several tie pins, and a gold ring. Bianca had given much more than that. She opened her hands and looked at the treasure, her angry tears making it all run together in a shiny tangle, one piece indistinguishable from the next.
She released the treasure and stepped back, sickened by the sight but unsure of what to do. It might take all day to find Bianca’s jewelry, and Bianca was gone. But the gold didn’t belong here. It didn’t belong to the Germans. Without a plan or a purpose, other than to balance the scales of justice, to take back what was stolen, Eva started filling the pockets in her slim skirt.
Two handfuls in she realized that wouldn’t work. She emptied her pockets and took the little garbage can she’d intended to empty and dumped out its contents. Then she put four handfuls of gold in the bottom and covered it back up with the trash. She paused over a thin, gold-plated nail file and impulsively slid it into her shoe, where it rested between her foot and the left side. It was a pathetic weapon against the danger all around her, but she felt better immediately. She wiped her eyes, straightened her blouse, and smoothed her hair. Then she opened the door and flipped off the light, and with her back straight and her head high, she walked up the stairs and back toward the offices on the third floor, swinging the can from one hand, easy as you please.
The money her father had set aside to aid the refugees was gone, used up by the unending, overwhelming need of so many. It had been gone for a while, and the money in an account in the United States was difficult for Angelo to access. She would return to the closet every time Angelo and Monsignor O’Flaherty needed money for their refugees. The gold would go a long way. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.
15 December, 1943
Confession: I am an unrepentant thief.
I found gold at the Via Tasso, gold that had been extorted from Rome’s Jews, and I took some of it. I put it in my hat and pinned my hat to my head to hide it on the bus ride home. It worked quite well, though a chain was tangled in my hair when I removed my hat. When I showed it to Angelo, he didn’t cry the way I did when I found it. He yelled instead. He yelled at me and told me I was the most foolish woman he’d ever met. When I yelled back and told him I would be taking more, and I would keep taking it because it didn’t belong to the German thieves, he cursed, kicked the wall as hard as he could with his prosthetic leg, then hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe. I could feel his heart pounding against my cheek, and though I don’t want him to be afraid for me, I can’t find it in myself to regret taking the gold. I will take more, and more, and more. I will take every last piece. They won’t miss it, they stole it, and we need it. They’ve forgotten it’s even there.
Giulia wept when I returned her wedding band. When I told her and Mario where I’d found the gold, they were as sickened and angry as me. But they didn’t yell at me for taking it. Instead, they started devising ways to get the entire barrel out of German Headquarters. Mario insisted it could be traded on the black market for everything from milk to shoes and safe passage to Switzerland, and he pressed Angelo to take the gold and use it. Angelo has so many to look after, so many people to be afraid for, but I think the main reason he took it was so I wouldn’t try to barter with it myself.
Mario must have sensed his hesitation, because he told him that that much gold could save hundreds of lives. Angelo nodded and agreed but said he was more worried about my life and the danger I put myself in by taking it.
I reminded him that I am not the priority. He didn’t argue, but I could see his response all over his face when he looked at me. I am his priority. I’m not sure when it happened, but I am his priority.
The gold file I took from the barrel and slid in the side of my shoe is still there. It isn’t much of a weapon, though it is quite sharp. Still, it reminds me of what has been done to us, and it gives me courage.
Eva Rosselli
CHAPTER 15
CHRISTMAS
The day before Christmas Eve, first thing in the morning, Angelo cornered Monsignor O’Flaherty in his office and bade him to follow him to the loading dock at the rear of the Vatican where the kitchen and the service entrances were located.
“I have a surprise for you, Monsignor. An answer to our prayers.”
“Which prayer, Angelo? I’ve put up quite a few different ones as of late.”
“Food, clothing, supplies. Presents.”
“Presents?”
“Didn’t you say some of our smallest pilgrims are in need of Christmas cheer?”
“What magic have you done, Angelo?” O’Flaherty’s eyes lightened with hope.
“I haven’t done anything, really. One of my refugees found a pot of gold,” Angelo said with a bad Irish brogue.
“Whatever do you mean?” O’Flaherty gasped.
“You’ve met Eva. She is the one who works at Gestapo Headquarters.”
“Ah, yes. Eva.” O’Flaherty narrowed his gaze on Angelo’s face. “Monsignor Luciano has mentioned her as well.”