From Sand and Ash(95)

“What if she decides to jump, and I’ve given up?” he mourned.

“We can wait here for a while. If she jumped, she will walk back this way,” Eva suggested.

“What if she jumped and she’s hurt, lying down there somewhere beside the tracks?” He sounded so young and lost.

“We will listen to see if she calls to you,” she soothed softly.

He nodded despondently, and they waited, side by side, for a call that didn’t come. Finally, Eva could bear the silence no longer. She was cold and sore, and there were trees in every direction. She had no idea which way to start walking.

“Pierre, do you recognize any of this? Do you have any idea where we might be?” she asked gently.

“It is north to Bergen-Belsen. Maman told me the tracks lead north.” He pointed in the direction the train had just gone, then pointed straight in front of him. “We were going to go west. West is Belgium. That was our plan.”

“There is nothing for me at home,” Eva said. There was nothing for her anywhere, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. She would grieve later. Now she had to survive. “I will go with you to Belgium. Your mother says you have an aunt in Bastogne. She said she would come for you there when the war is over.”

The boy nodded and brightened a little, slightly reassured that he wasn’t completely alone in the world.

“I hope we’re still in Switzerland,” he mused. “If we are, we will be fine. We can go anywhere and ask for help and directions. But first we need to figure out where we are. The sun is coming up. I’m going to climb a tree and see what’s beyond the forest. We can always walk south along the tracks if I can’t see anything. Maman said the tracks will lead to a town.”

His mother had prepared him to be alone. It was obvious. Eva nodded and waited for him to scramble up a nearby tree. It wasn’t long before he was calling down to her excitedly.

“There is a road. I see a road. We will walk to it and see if there are any signs so we can figure out where we are.”

Pierre had to climb another tree before they finally emerged from the forest and came upon the road, but they were in luck. There was a sign, but their luck was short-lived. The sign said, “Frankfurt 10 km.”

They were in Germany.





28 March, 1944


Confession: I’ve broken my vows and I feel no remorse.



Eva told me once there were two things she knew for sure. One was that no one knows the nature of God. No one. And the other thing she knew for sure was that she loved me. I find I am reduced to those same assurances. I love Eva. I will always love Eva. And as for the rest? I only know that I know nothing at all.

Many will seek to tell me what God’s will is. But nobody knows. Not really. Because God is quiet. Always. He is quiet, and my anguish is so intense, so incredibly loud, that right now I can only do my will and hope that somehow, it aligns with his.

Angelo Bianco





CHAPTER 23


CROSSROADS


The blank pages in Eva’s journal haunted Angelo. She’d been snatched up, whisked away, stolen. She’d been taken from him, and her story wasn’t finished—he wouldn’t let it be—so he would keep writing until she could pick up where she left off.

He recorded his first entry the day he returned to the Vatican on crutches, dressed as a civilian, looking every bit like a man who had narrowly escaped death—multiple times. He’d been hustled into Monsignor O’Flaherty’s office, and Monsignor Luciano was called as well.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Monsignor O’Flaherty said, tipping Angelo’s chin up so he could stare into his badly bruised face. “More than three hundred men were pulled from the prisons and off the streets. No one knows what happened to them. Then we got word that you were alive. Beaten but alive. What happened to you? Where did they take you? And where are the other men?”

“Everyone is dead,” Angelo whispered.

“Dear God!” O’Flaherty gasped.

“Where?” Monsignor Luciano cried.

“They took us to the Fosse Ardeatine. They took the men into the cave, five at a time, and killed them with a shot to the back of the head, one after the other. Toward the end, one of the German soldiers sneaked me out through another tunnel. He saved my life. He took other lives, but he saved mine. He didn’t want to kill a priest.” Angelo stopped, the weight of the memory suddenly more than he could carry. “The soldiers didn’t want to do it. Lieutenant Colonel Kappler sent cases of cognac to the caves to loosen them up so they could perform.” His voice was bitter, and the horror continued to rise in him like a tidal wave. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, focused on the here and now, on Monsignor O’Flaherty’s hand on his shoulder.

“It is a miracle that you are alive,” Monsignor Luciano whispered. “Praise God.”

“I am grateful for my life, Monsignor,” Angelo said softly. “But it is very hard for me to praise God in this moment. I lived. But three hundred thirty-five others did not. I feel more guilt than anything. I lived, hundreds died, and Eva is gone.”

“I have tried to discover where the train was headed, Angelo. All I know is that Eva was on it,” Monsignor O’Flaherty offered after a short silence.