The Venice Sketchbook(101)

So now my protector is gone. The wise thing to do would be to take Angelo to the palazzo now. But frankly I no longer feel that I am in danger. I am known by my neighbours. We pause and chat around the vegetable barge. I exchange pleasantries with the old men when I take Angelo to the park, and they give him crumbs to feed the sparrows and pigeons. Even the local policeman knows me and bids me bondì .

Then as I lie in bed, with thoughts flying around my head, a brilliant idea comes to me: I don’t have to give him up. I will introduce Angelo as an Italian orphan, his mother a casualty of the war. I adopted him and I’m taking him with me back to England. I could escape now, at least as far as Switzerland—if the Swiss are still taking in refugees, of course. But I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Leo. I must wait for him to return first. I worry about him. Why did he have to leave in such a hurry when he had assured me he was in a protected occupation and his family was valuable to the war effort?

September 24, 1941

Today was the Regata Storica—the historical regatta that takes place at this time every year. Crews in period costume rowing enormous gondolas up the Grand Canal. Boats of all sizes. In spite of the war, it was still as well attended as ever, with people cheering for their favourites. Except the vendors were not present selling balloons and gelato. And the army and police were watching from the shadows. As the races ended and I headed for home, I was stopped at a checkpoint. “Identity card?” I was asked.

I pulled it out and showed them. I had deliberately made it rather the worse for wear, crumpling the photograph so that nobody could see it wasn’t me. The officer stared at it, then up at me.

“This is you?” he demanded.

“Of course.” I stared at him.

“The hair is darker.”

“I dyed it once. Now it’s my own colour.”

“You were born in Venice?”

“I was.”

He was still frowning. “There is something about you. Not right. You will present yourself at the questura in the morning, do you understand?”

“I have a young baby. I can’t leave him.”

“Bring him. We will need to see his birth certificate and identification.”

He held out his hand. “Give me your identity card. You will have it returned to you in the morning if all is well.”

I don’t know how I made it home safely. I was shaking. They would check my identity card and find out that I was a fraud—an enemy alien in their midst. They might even search my flat and find the radio under the floorboards. They shot spies, didn’t they? Until now I hadn’t really felt that I could be in any danger. Now I realized the full enormity of what might happen to me. Then suddenly I stopped short in the middle of a bridge, causing a man walking behind me to bump into me and utter some not too polite words.

They didn’t know where I lived! The identity card had Giuliana’s address on it. They would check that address and find that she had died, but they wouldn’t know where I was or my real name. I just wouldn’t go to the questura in the morning. I’d go into hiding. I hurried home, threw some random clothes and baby things into a suitcase and woke Angelo from his nap.

“Francesca, I have to go to a friend for a few days,” I said, babbling the first words that came into my head. “She is not well. She has broken her ankle, and I said I’d keep her company. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but you don’t need to come here until I send for you.”

“Va bene,” she said, nodding at the thought of time off. “I’ll still get paid, sì ?”

“You’ll still get your normal wages.” I wasn’t quite sure how she was paid, but I suspected that Leo had set up an automatic payment for her, the way he had for me. Which made me decide I should take out money while I still could.

I wrote a letter to Leo, in case he returned while I was away. In the note I said I had gone to visit an old mutual friend. He would know who that was since I had spoken about her a lot. I was going to head straight for the Lido and take out money at the branch of the Banco de San Marco there—until I realized I’d have to show identity. So instead I waited impatiently until the next morning, left Angelo with Francesca and made my way across to the bank behind St Mark’s Square and my friend Signor Gilardi. I asked to withdraw all the money from the account. Signor Gilardi counted out banknotes for me and handed them over with a smile.

“A big purchase, signorina?”

“I’m going to visit a sick friend.” I repeated my alibi. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”

“I wish you good journey, then.”

I came out and rushed back to Angelo, making sure that I avoided any streets where I might bump into a policeman. I was sweating and out of breath by the time I staggered up the stairs and downed a glass of water.

“I can make tea or coffee,” Francesca said. “Sit down. Rest a while.”

“No, I should be going. The only vaporetto leaves in half an hour.” I bade her farewell. Then I carried Angelo downstairs and put him into his pushchair. He sat up, excited that we might be going to the park. But instead I went to the vaporetto dock and took the next boat out to the Lido. As we crossed the lagoon, we heard the loud blast of a ship’s siren, and a large German gunboat sailed past us. And I wasn’t there to record it, I thought. Would there be Allied deaths because of me? Was I putting my own safety first?