From Sand and Ash(67)
Greta, an avid collector of everything old or valuable, peeked brazenly through the windows, trying to see what remained inside. It was obvious that none of the inventory had been removed, yet the shop was not open for business.
“What does that say?” Greta asked, pointing at the words on the window.
“Libri nuovi e rari—New and rare books,” Eva translated quietly. It said, “Luzzatto e Luzzatto” in bigger letters just above it. Eva felt the same old nausea rise in her throat. She was certain the Luzzattos were never coming back. Luzzatto was a Jewish-Italian name, and the bookstore had probably been sitting empty since the October roundup. The Germans had put the padlock on the door as if they now owned the place, but Greta was certain she could coax a key and a chance to explore out of her husband.
“There might be books worth thousands of dollars on those shelves. You know how Hitler loves his art and his precious things. Think of what I might find! Wilhelm could present the Führer with a one-of-a-kind gift!”
Eva would rather rot than watch Greta find a stolen treasure for Captain Wilhelm von Essen to present to the Führer, but she held her tongue, and her self-control was rewarded.
Three days later, Eva accompanied Greta and a German soldier—who seemed relieved to be out of Via Tasso for a while—back to the bookstore. Mrs. von Essen was decked out in a fur coat and a flirty little netted hat shading her big blue eyes, but when they walked inside the dusty establishment, she shed both and dug into her treasure hunt with a gusto that had Eva eager to stay out of her way. The German soldier must have had a similar response. He stepped out on the sidewalk and pulled a lighter from his pocket, more interested in a cigarette break than rows of old books.
She was browsing the titles when she discovered a little door tucked behind a tall row of the dustiest shelves. The door led down a flight of stairs that resembled the excavated sacristy at the Santa Cecilia, but she descended them carefully and found her own treasure at the bottom. Luzzatto hadn’t just been a bookseller. He’d been a publisher, and there, in a basement that looked more like a grotto, was a printing press with all the bells and whistles, cranks and trays, to make Aldo Finzi a very happy and productive man.
Best of all, there was a separate entrance leading up to the alley behind the shop and a set of keys hanging from a nail by the door. She tested the keys on the outside entrance, verifying they worked. Then she silently thanked Signore Luzzatto and dropped the keys into the pocket of her coat before climbing the old stairs and locking the little door securely behind her. They were back in business.
CHAPTER 16
FEBRUARY
“Aldo has another batch of documents ready to go,” Angelo said. “After you finish work today, he will meet you at the trattoria near the streetcar stop. Order a pastry. He will stand behind you in line. Drop your pocketbook, and he will hand it to you with the pouch of documents. Take your pastry. Leave. Don’t talk to him; don’t interact with him at all. He is a stranger.”
Eva nodded. Angelo hated giving her assignments like this, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the bookstore was closer to her than it was to him.
“Trattoria, drop my pocketbook. Leave. I can do that,” she assured him.
“Don’t go to Santa Cecilia. Meet me at the Sacred Heart. If you’re there first, light a candle and pray.”
“It is Shabbat.”
“Yes. I know,” he said with a small smile. “I will try to be there before dark so you can get home. Otherwise, plan on staying there for the night.”
“Why don’t you want me to go to Santa Cecilia?”
“The Sacred Heart is closer to Via Tasso for you and easier for me to access.”
“And if for some reason I am followed or caught, I won’t be endangering anyone else,” Eva added.
That too. But Angelo refused to consider the possibility that she would be followed or caught. She must have seen the concern in his face, because she immediately changed the subject, and they parted minutes later, Eva heading across town to Via Tasso, Angelo heading the opposite direction to Vatican City.
Eva was running late. Von Essen had brought her a report to type at four thirty, telling her it was of “the utmost importance” and asking her to leave it on his desk when she was finished. He continually forgot that he had told her she could leave at four thirty. He was on his way out, taking some new arrivals on some sort of patrol. He enjoyed patrols. It was something she’d noticed before. His SS uniform was crisp, his weapon at the ready, his boots gleaming like a mirror. They wouldn’t stay that way for long. It had been raining all day, making the dreary afternoon seem never-ending, making the hour seem later than it actually was.
She left the headquarters on Via Tasso at five thirty, a half hour later than the prearranged meeting time. She pulled a scarf over her hair to protect it from the rain and ran, hoping it would only appear she was trying to catch a bus or streetcar, rushing to the trattoria, praying Aldo had waited. She slowed to a walk and stood in line for her pastry as instructed, but Aldo didn’t fall in behind her. She bought a sweet roll and stood under the dripping striped canopy, eyes scanning, nibbling at the cinnamon-and-sugar-encrusted luxury that should have been savored. She was too uptight to savor it and ended up eating the whole thing without even tasting it. It was six o’clock—curfew—and she needed to get off the street.