From Sand and Ash(57)

Angelo groped beneath his stiff white collar and pulled up a chain that was hanging around his neck. Several keys hung from the links, and he selected one and unlocked a gate. It opened soundlessly, as if the hinges were kept well oiled. He closed it behind them, a careful clang, and led Eva up a little path that ended at the back door of the church. With another key he unlocked the rear entrance, and they slipped inside.

The scent of incense and candle wax assailed her, and beneath that heavy fragrance, the smell of old stone and damp corners. Vespers was over, and the minimal lighting from the wall sconces was mellow and muted. Angelo genuflected before the cross and slid into a pew, indicating that Eva should sit as well.

“Why are we here?” She had known Angelo wasn’t taking her to the convent when he gave the German soldier a strange address. But she’d thought he was taking her to his home.

“I didn’t know where else to take you. There is nowhere else where I can speak freely.”

“You don’t trust Monsignor Luciano and his sister?”

“I trust them. I just don’t want to endanger them. And every time I turn around, there is a new threat.” He clasped his hands and rested them on the back of the pew in front of them. “What happened today, Eva?”

“I saw a man die. A German soldier. He killed himself. Just like Uncle Felix. I was waiting for the streetcar. He held a gun to my head—”

“Mio Dio!” he moaned, and he dropped his head to his forearms.

“He held a gun to my head, Angelo,” she repeated. “And he told me to play my violin. So I did.” The whole bizarre incident felt like a Greek tragedy, acted out by unfamiliar actors on a makeshift stage.

“When I was done, he asked me to forgive him. Then he walked away.”

“How did he die?” Angelo asked.

“He threw himself in front of the streetcar. He knew exactly what he was doing.” Eva pressed her hands into her eyes, wondering how she would ever forget what she’d seen, forget what it had sounded like. “Then there were people screaming, and I just sat there. Before I knew it, I was being taken away. I told the soldiers what happened, but they didn’t believe me.”

“They believed you. You wouldn’t be alive if they hadn’t. You would be swinging from the streetlamp with that poor girl they hung today.” Angelo stared at her gravely, his blue eyes gray in the flickering shadows.

“Who was she?”

“Part of the resistance. A partisan. She was even younger than you, and she was murdered in the street.” He looked away and scrubbed at his face with open palms, and Eva knew she wasn’t the only one scarred by the day.

“How did you know I was there, Angelo?” she asked, her eyes on the blue-robed virgin who looked at them from her corner perch with patient acceptance.

“One of the nuns from Santa Cecilia was in the ration line, and she saw them take you away. She came to the Vatican and found me.” He rubbed his hands over his head once more, and his throat moved convulsively. “I have never been so scared in my life, Eva,” he whispered.

“I have,” she replied softly. “Several times.” He looked up at her, and he didn’t look away for several seconds. He just looked at her, drank her in, and she held his gaze.

“I was offered a job, Angelo.”

“What?” he gasped, the spell between them broken.

“The captain who questioned me. Captain von Essen. He needs a secretary who speaks German.” Eva pointed at herself. “I do.”

“Eva, mio Dio.” Angelo was shaking his head again. “No. You can’t do it.”

“I have to. What possible reason would I have to refuse? The convent needs the money.”

“No! You will hide. When you don’t show up, he will find someone else. He doesn’t know where you live. He won’t be able to find you.”

“But he can find you, Angelo. He knows where you work. He knows who you are.”

“I will be fine,” he snapped.

“No. You won’t. And I am going to take the job. Maybe I can help in some way. I will be in a position to hear if there is going to be a raid—”

“Eva!” Angelo grabbed her shoulders and shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “This is madness!”

“No. It isn’t! It’s war. And I will do my part. I will not sit by while others die. If I can help, I will.”

“Your job is to stay alive,” he cried, still gripping her by the shoulders, his face inches from hers. He was furious, but under the fury was a desperation she recognized. It was the desperation she felt when her father told her he was going to Austria to find her grandfather. But she understood her father now like she never had before. He had been compelled to act. Action was life, even if it ended in death.

“No, Angelo. My job is not to simply stay alive. My job is to live. Not hide. Not wait. Not hope that it will all end. You can’t tell me not to fight, Angelo. I don’t tell you what to do! You can’t tell me not to try to help in some way.”

“Eva—”

“If I can’t fight, then I might as well swallow a bullet like Uncle Felix or throw myself in front of a streetcar like that German soldier. I’m this close to hopeless, Angelo.” She held her fingers an inch apart. “Resistance is all I have left. Don’t you understand?”