From Sand and Ash(84)

“You cannot help Eva if they have taken her. You cannot save her, Angelo. But you can save yourself. Think of the people relying on you, my son. You must think of them.”

He’d kissed Monsignor Luciano’s hand and asked that he tell Monsignor O’Flaherty. O’Flaherty would understand, he was certain. And if he could help, he would. He’d taken more risks than anyone.

“We won’t be able to save you! The Pope can’t intercede. She isn’t worth your life, Angelo!” Monsignor Luciano cried, following him down the hall. But Angelo hadn’t looked back. He’d left the protection of the Vatican and taken the two buses across town to Via Tasso, knowing full well he was being lured out. But he’d had no other option. Von Essen had known the key to Angelo was Eva. And he’d used it. Angelo wasn’t surprised when it was Captain von Essen himself who finally entered the room.

“Thank you so much for coming here, Father Bianco. I would have come to you, but relations with the Vatican are so political, so dicey. Plus, there is the whole matter of diplomatic immunity. I thought it would be easier to have a discussion here, in case things don’t go according to plan.” He sat down and crossed his legs. His boots were so shiny Angelo could see the reflection of his cross in them.

“You wanted me to come here because you have no authority beyond the white line that separates the Vatican from the rest of Rome,” Angelo said calmly.

“But why would I need to do that? You are merely a humble priest. You wouldn’t know anything about Jews hidden all over the city, would you?” von Essen protested silkily.

“Where is my sister? Why has she been detained?”

Von Essen threw up his hands. “Oh, no. You misunderstand. She’s simply being questioned. And come now, Father, let’s not continue the charade. Eva is not your sister, is she?”

Angelo’s blood turned instantly to ice.

“It’s sad, really. She was playing so beautifully. Everyone was watching her. Listening, enjoying. The music and the girl, so exquisite. Such a beautiful woman. She didn’t want to play, as I’m sure you’re aware. I had to beg, cajole. Even threaten. She must have been so terrified.” Von Essen sighed theatrically.

“But you wouldn’t have guessed it by her skill. Everyone was quite taken with her. Especially the wife of Pietro Caruso, Rome’s chief of police. Frau Caruso was sure she’d seen the girl in Florence. She’d heard her play years before and hadn’t forgotten her. Eva Rosselli was her name. She went back a year later to hear the same orchestra again, and the girl was gone. She asked about her and was told Eva Rosselli was no longer with the orchestra because she is a Jew.”

Angelo held himself perfectly still, not allowing a glimmer of reaction to show on his face, but he doubted it mattered. Von Essen knew. He continued in a singsong fashion, as if telling a very quaint story to a group of women at a tea party.

“Imagine then, how happy Frau Caruso was to see her play Saturday night. And imagine how surprised she was that we would have a Jewess entertaining our dignitaries.” There was a tiny break in the fa?ade, a flicker of rage on von Essen’s face, before he tamped it down again. “Fortunately, Frau Caruso was really quite discreet. She only told my wife. And my wife deliberated and finally . . . told me.”

His wife had deliberated. That explained the uneventful Monday and Tuesday. Von Essen hadn’t known right away. Angelo wondered why the woman had waited at all. He wondered if von Essen had punished her for it. He imagined so.

“I did some checking up on you, Father Bianco. You came to Italy when you were young. And when you weren’t in school you lived with your grandparents. Your grandparents were live-in employees for a Jewish family. A family by the name of Rosselli. I was convinced you were also a Jew disguising yourself as a priest. But no. You are truly a Roman Catholic priest, ordained to the Roman diocese, a servant of God and Pope Pius XII, and a rising star at the Curia. You are authentic. It is Eva who is not. And she is not your sister, though it seems you were raised together.”

When Angelo didn’t protest or respond at all, but sat frozen in his seat, the captain laughed. It was an ugly laugh, devoid of humor or joy. It was a taunt, a repudiation.

“I imagine you do love her, though I don’t think you love her like a sister. In fact, I think you are sleeping with her. She is too beautiful to resist, isn’t she? I have hardly been able to keep my hands off her myself. But still, such unpriestly behavior!” Von Essen shook his head and wagged his finger, as if he could hardly imagine such a thing. “I am sure she has been helping you. Sharing information with you. She must have overheard something about the raids last weekend. Or maybe that is my fault. I wanted her to be out of harm’s way. And she betrayed me.” The flash of rage again, this time not so well hidden. He leaned over the interview table, his eyes sharp and his voice soft.

“But I will make you a deal, Father. I will let Eva go. I like the girl, and I don’t want to see her tortured all because of you. So I will let Eva go, give her a head start, a chance to hide before we come after her, so to speak. But I need to know where you are hiding all your Jews. We will find them, you know. Every monastery, every convent. Every school, every church, every religious college. We will raid them all again, one by one. And we will find them anyway. You telling us where they are won’t change their fate, but it might change Eva’s.”