From Sand and Ash(38)

“How interesting. The one-legged priest doing legwork.”

“Yes. Ironic.” He smirked, and his blue eyes glinted. She didn’t smile even though she wanted to. It was too easy to fall back into their old ways, poking at each other and teasing one another. It wouldn’t be good for her. It would make her miss him too much when she returned to Florence. She resolved to guard herself against him even as he spoke again, the humor absent from his voice.

“I want you to stay at the Santa Cecilia. It’s a cloistered convent, but there are rooms available for boarders along the entrance block. It’s in Trastevere, and you won’t be too far from your family.” He sounded as if he were giving an order, dictating what she would do, and she opened her mouth to refuse.

“Please, Eva,” he implored so softly that she could almost pretend it didn’t happen.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she murmured, hating herself for her vulnerability.

“Better alone than arrested,” he said, but his eyes were compassionate.

“I’m not sure that’s true, Angelo,” she answered. “I’m not sure of that at all.”

“Eva.” He sighed. “You don’t mean that.”

“How do you know, Angelo?” she asked sharply. “How can you possibly claim to know how I feel?”

He shot her a look that said he knew exactly how she felt, and she turned away with a shake of her head, dismissing him. He knew nothing.

“I told my family I was coming,” she reiterated. “They are expecting me. I’m sure they would like to see you too.” Angelo started to shake his head, anger tightening his mouth and causing the groove between his eyes to deepen into a canyon.

“I will see them, we will have dinner with them, and then you can lock me in the convent if you must,” she added before he could resume his campaign. Angelo exhaled with relief, and the rest of the ride was spent in stony contemplation.



They had to change buses and catch another before taking a streetcar that let them off two blocks from 325 Viale Domina. It was two in the afternoon, and they’d been traveling since six o’clock that morning. Angelo looked remarkably un-wilted, his black cassock and wide-brimmed hat traveling much better than Eva’s slim red skirt and white blouse. She felt filthy and wrinkled, and she removed her hat so she could smooth her hair as they waited for someone to answer the door. The building was neat and clean, the corridors wide and airy, but the residence was a decided step down from Uncle Augusto’s Florence home, which was now being rented to non-Jews for a ridiculously small amount of money. The door opened an inch, and a brown eye appeared in the gap.

“Eva! Angelo!” The door was flung open, and Eva’s cousin Claudia, decidedly less plump than she’d once been—war rations were only good for one thing—pulled Eva into the small parlor, reaching out a hand for Angelo as well. Eva took quick note of the polished floors, the pictures on the walls, and the pieces of furniture from their home in Florence. The homey atmosphere and the effort to make the apartment comfortable eased the knot in Eva’s stomach. She had worried about her uncle and aunt, about her cousins and their life in Rome. From the looks of it, all was well.

“We’ve been waiting to eat. Levi got fruit. He’s a black-market guru, you know. He manages to get things no one else can.” She prattled easily as she led them into a sitting area teeming with people.

“Eva, you remember Giulia, don’t you? Mamma’s sister?” Giulia Sonnino was much younger than her older sister, barely thirty years old if that, and Claudia and Eva had always looked up to her, more like a sophisticated older cousin than an aunt. Giulia was still lovely, but she was hugely pregnant, and she smiled wearily at Eva and Angelo and tried to stand to greet them. Her husband, Mario, pressed her right back down into the sofa and stood in her stead.

Mario Sonnino was a physician, a tall, slender man with kind eyes—a Jewish trait, according to her father. “We Jews have kind eyes and quick minds,” he would say. Eva didn’t know if it was true. Camillo had claimed so many things as Jewish traits, but Mario reminded Eva a little of her babbo, so maybe he was right.

Eva had attended Mario and Giulia’s wedding when she was twelve or thirteen, and she and Claudia had thought Mario very good looking. Plus, he played the violin, which made him a kindred spirit from the start. He wasn’t especially handsome—Eva could see that now—but he wore his goodness all over his face, and he was clearly devoted to his wife. Eva smiled at him warmly and shook hands with the little girl who hung on to his leg and dimpled winsomely when she was introduced.

“This is Emilia,” Mario said. “And the boy who is determined to beat Levi at chess is our oldest, Lorenzo.” Lorenzo, a little boy of about eight or nine and missing his two front teeth, heard his name and grinned, lifting his head from the chessboard in front of him. Levi stood from the game and approached Eva and Angelo in three long strides, swooping Eva up in a huge hug that had her laughing and little Emilia squealing and begging for a turn.

“Me, me! Swing me, Cousin Levi!”

“Yes! Swing Emilia!” Eva laughed as he set her down. Levi shook hands with Angelo, then Aunt Bianca started ushering them to the dinner table where the simple meal was quickly consumed. The conversation volleyed from one topic to the next, the time apart requiring a great deal of catch-up. When Angelo stepped in to field some questions, Eva turned to Giulia to inquire about her pregnancy.