The Venice Sketchbook(97)
“That’s right. Throw them into the canal.” Voices echoed up and down the fondamenta.
The officer looked around. A large crowd had now gathered, all shouting and gesturing.
“You can’t come to our city and start arresting innocent citizens,” a man’s voice shouted from the back of the crowd.
“Come, my angel. Come with me.” My saviour pulled me away from the carabiniere and tucked her arm through mine. “We’re going home.”
And I was led away. After we had turned the corner, I thanked her profusely.
“Nonsense. My pleasure,” she said. “I live in that building over there. If you need help, you come to me. I’m Constanza, eh?”
“Thank you. I’m Julietta.”
She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I hurried home without my groceries. But I worried. How was I going to get around if streets were being patrolled? I told Francesca what had happened to me.
“Cursed Sicilians.” She spat into the sink. “Who wants them here? Don’t worry, you are amongst friends.”
I was going to write to Leo, but this afternoon he came running up the steps. “I heard that some carabinieri tried to arrest you,” he said.
“They did. They wanted to take me to a camp.”
He sighed. “I wish you had gone home when you could, Julietta. How can I protect you? I can let our police know that you are not to be touched, but these outsiders, the new paramilitary units, they are not controlled by our city government. Please stay home as much as possible until we sort things out for you.”
“How can we sort things out?” I said, hearing my voice tremble a little. “I’m an enemy alien, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be in a camp.”
“Then you really must go to Switzerland right away,” he said.
“I can’t leave Angelo. I really can’t.”
“Cara.” He touched me gently. “The longer you hold on to him, the harder it will be. I want your safety, and that of my son.”
He went, leaving me feeling nervous and near despair. I gazed down at Angelo as I nursed him, and he sucked lustily, his chubby hand resting on my breast. He will be all right whatever happens, I thought. But what if I was taken to a prison camp? When would I realize I had to leave? Was it too selfish of me to hang on here as long as possible?
I didn’t see Leo for two more days. I stayed home, looking anxiously out of the window. A delivery was made from the consul with boxes full of wonderful and necessary items: tins of fruit, tomato paste, sardines, bags of dried beans and pasta, coffee, tea, wine, olive oil, and several fluffy blankets plus the incredible electric fire. I nearly wept with gratitude and shared some with Francesca, who was equally grateful. Then Leo came back, looking rather pleased with himself.
“All is well,” he said. “I had a little talk with my father. A useful man to know. Fortunately someone in city government owed him a favour, so here is your identity card and here is your ration card.”
He placed them on the table. I picked them up and looked at them. “Giuliana Alietti?” I asked.
“Used to work for us but recently died, unfortunately. Her husband had just turned in her cards. It seemed like a pity to waste them. The photograph is not unlike you. But still, proceed with caution. I’m sure there is a rumour in this neighbourhood that you are a foreigner. And there will be the odd person who hopes to be paid for information. But as long as I am here, all you need to say is ‘I am in the employ of the Count Da Rossi.’ That should suffice.”
“I hope so,” I said.
He went over to Angelo’s crib. The baby was awake and looked up at him with unblinking eyes.
“I think he is getting your auburn hair,” Leo said, glancing up at me. “And maybe your blue eyes? They don’t seem to be brown.”
“All babies have blue eyes, so I’m told by Francesca, who knows everything,” I replied. “They change to the real eye colour at a few months.”
“Good. I hope he will look like you,” Leo said. “That way I will remember you all my life.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, but my heart ached.
July 21, 1940
Almost a month has passed. I am still a little afraid to go out. Is anyone watching where I live? I have reluctantly decided I shouldn’t risk going to the Biennale, although the contessa tells me it has some interesting exhibits this year. I shall continue to see her. There is a vaporetto stop not far from my residence, although the navy has now requisitioned most of the ships and so service out to the Lido is far less frequent.
A strange Englishman came late one night, and the secret radio is now under the floorboards beneath the bedside table in my bedroom. I have to drag the table out and lift up the square of floorboard, and the radio is attached underneath. All very neat. He showed me how to operate it, how to read the codebook. I have been trying to learn Morse code, but I don’t think I’m very good at it. He also left a pair of powerful binoculars for spotting ships that sail from the mainland, in case the Germans decide to build a new harbour of their own. As of yet I have nothing to report. All is serene, and life goes on as it does every other summer.
Today was the Feast of the Redeemer. This time, on a clear sunny day, I watched the pilgrims go over the bridge of barges to the church and then return, carrying candles. It was hard to believe that a year ago my whole life was different. And yet how could I regret Angelo? I love him with all my heart. I didn’t realize humans were capable of such love.