“It’s sad, really. She was playing so beautifully. Everyone was watching her. Listening, enjoying. The music and the girl, so exquisite. Such a beautiful woman. She didn’t want to play, as I’m sure you’re aware. I had to beg, cajole. Even threaten. She must have been so terrified.” Von Essen sighed theatrically.
“But you wouldn’t have guessed it by her skill. Everyone was quite taken with her. Especially the wife of Pietro Caruso, Rome’s chief of police. Frau Caruso was sure she’d seen the girl in Florence. She’d heard her play years before and hadn’t forgotten her. Eva Rosselli was her name. She went back a year later to hear the same orchestra again, and the girl was gone. She asked about her and was told Eva Rosselli was no longer with the orchestra because she is a Jew.”
Angelo held himself perfectly still, not allowing a glimmer of reaction to show on his face, but he doubted it mattered. Von Essen knew. He continued in a singsong fashion, as if telling a very quaint story to a group of women at a tea party.
“Imagine then, how happy Frau Caruso was to see her play Saturday night. And imagine how surprised she was that we would have a Jewess entertaining our dignitaries.” There was a tiny break in the fa?ade, a flicker of rage on von Essen’s face, before he tamped it down again. “Fortunately, Frau Caruso was really quite discreet. She only told my wife. And my wife deliberated and finally . . . told me.”
His wife had deliberated. That explained the uneventful Monday and Tuesday. Von Essen hadn’t known right away. Angelo wondered why the woman had waited at all. He wondered if von Essen had punished her for it. He imagined so.
“I did some checking up on you, Father Bianco. You came to Italy when you were young. And when you weren’t in school you lived with your grandparents. Your grandparents were live-in employees for a Jewish family. A family by the name of Rosselli. I was convinced you were also a Jew disguising yourself as a priest. But no. You are truly a Roman Catholic priest, ordained to the Roman diocese, a servant of God and Pope Pius XII, and a rising star at the Curia. You are authentic. It is Eva who is not. And she is not your sister, though it seems you were raised together.”
When Angelo didn’t protest or respond at all, but sat frozen in his seat, the captain laughed. It was an ugly laugh, devoid of humor or joy. It was a taunt, a repudiation.
“I imagine you do love her, though I don’t think you love her like a sister. In fact, I think you are sleeping with her. She is too beautiful to resist, isn’t she? I have hardly been able to keep my hands off her myself. But still, such unpriestly behavior!” Von Essen shook his head and wagged his finger, as if he could hardly imagine such a thing. “I am sure she has been helping you. Sharing information with you. She must have overheard something about the raids last weekend. Or maybe that is my fault. I wanted her to be out of harm’s way. And she betrayed me.” The flash of rage again, this time not so well hidden. He leaned over the interview table, his eyes sharp and his voice soft.
“But I will make you a deal, Father. I will let Eva go. I like the girl, and I don’t want to see her tortured all because of you. So I will let Eva go, give her a head start, a chance to hide before we come after her, so to speak. But I need to know where you are hiding all your Jews. We will find them, you know. Every monastery, every convent. Every school, every church, every religious college. We will raid them all again, one by one. And we will find them anyway. You telling us where they are won’t change their fate, but it might change Eva’s.”
Angelo’s mind raced, pinging from one option to another and dismissing it almost immediately. Had the captain hurt Eva? Was she in a cell at this moment, awaiting deportation? Was she even at Via Tasso? His breaths grew shallow and his hands clenched. He didn’t know it was possible to hate the way he did in that moment. The hate was so sharp it hurt, so bitter he could taste it on his tongue, so hot he could feel the flames in his chest.
Angelo didn’t close his eyes or bow his head, but he began to pray inwardly, searching for faith and strength. He ignored the captain, the soldiers standing outside the door with guns and helmets, empowered by evil men, and he pleaded for help. Prayer was the only weapon at his disposal. The captain leaned back, but he continued his negotiations.
“Ten. Let’s start with ten. Ten Jews for Eva. Ten for one, isn’t that the rule? I need ten addresses.” He handed Angelo a pencil and a sheet of paper. “Or just the names, Father. Just the names of the establishments, and I will place Eva in your care. You give me the list, and you take your sister and walk away. Only you and I will know. Eva might guess, but she will be grateful that you put her first, that you value her life above all others.”
“I don’t have any information for you, Captain. I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Angelo answered firmly and without hesitation, not allowing himself to think at all.
“No? Not even for your sister’s life?” Von Essen again put exaggerated emphasis on the word sister. “I will be sure and tell her.” He stared at Angelo for a moment, as if gauging his next move.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of your mercy. Amen.
The rosary continued through his head like a desperate drumbeat, and Angelo begged Eva for forgiveness even as he prayed that they—that she—would be saved from the fires of hell. He would happily give his life for hers, but he couldn’t betray those in his care, and he knew Eva wouldn’t want him to.
Captain von Essen stood and leaned out the door.
“Bring the girl in,” he said to the nearest guard.
Angelo stood as well.
“Sit down, Father. I have not had you restrained out of courtesy, but I will if I need to.”
Angelo remained standing. The captain moved in closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his favorite pose.
“The men are all talking about her, Father. How beautiful she is. She won’t fare well here. You know that, don’t you? And she won’t fare well in a camp. But no one really fares well in the camps.”
“May God have mercy on your soul,” Angelo murmured, not trusting himself beyond a whisper. His hands ached with the need to close them around the sneering captain’s neck.
“She won’t be raped—not here, at least. Do you know it is illegal for a German to lay with a Jew? Don’t want to sully the bloodlines. We have higher standards than that.”
“Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of your mercy. Amen.” Angelo prayed out loud, his eyes locked with the captain’s. He repeated the prayer again, enunciating the plea for those most in need of mercy.
The door opened, and a helmeted German pushed Eva into the room, as if shoving and intimidation were part of the routine. Her eyes were wide and her face pale and frightened, but her hair was neat and her clothes tidy, and she appeared unharmed.
“Sit,” the captain commanded, and Eva was pushed into a chair, the German soldier standing guard behind her.
“Sit,” he commanded Angelo, and this time, Angelo did as he was told, his eyes clinging to Eva’s. Captain von Essen sat on a chair, triangulated between them, as if preparing to pit them against each other.
“I have no desire for unpleasantness. My wife is very fond of you, Eva. And she is quite beside herself over all of this.”
Eva pulled her gaze from Angelo and stared at the captain stonily, waiting. The captain glared back, as if she had betrayed him personally. Then he continued.
“I have told Father Bianco that all he needs to do is tell me where the church is hiding the partisans and the Jews. Just ten. Not all. Just ten. But he says he can’t help me. What do you think about that?”