“Nonsense. How often do we get together for a civilized conversation?” Giorgio’s photographer slipped in the door and occupied a booth. He shook off Nido’s attention and put his camera on the table in front of him. He added a pistol. So maybe he was more than a photographer, Cenzo thought.
“Are you still painting miracles?” Giorgio asked. “Or did you run out of paint?”
“Ran out of miracles.”
“That’s too bad, I sincerely thought you had talent.”
“You were going to tell me about Russo. Tell me.”
“I heard he was taken in for questioning by the Germans. Is that true?” Giorgio asked.
“I don’t know. There are a lot of Italians named Russo and lately there seem to be a lot of Germans,” Cenzo said.
“This Russo was a fish vendor. He was detained for trading on the black market, which is a petty crime. True, everyone trades on the black market if they want to eat. But this Russo is also a communist.”
“Also a lot of them, I hear.”
“This one served with you in Africa. Anyway, he’s been released. I thought you would like to know, in case he was a friend. Apparently, your name was mentioned. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“No idea?”
“None.”
“Good. Then I will tell the SS there’s no reason for them to bother you.”
“They’ll take your word for it?”
“Why not? The Germans and I have been comrades in arms for years. I ought to have a certain amount of influence. Bottoms up.”
That was typical, Cenzo thought. For his brother, everything was geometry. One angle determined another angle, which determined a third angle, and so on. Giorgio would know that a Jewish girl was on the run from the hospital at San Clemente. That the Fatima had been intercepted in the area of the girl’s escape. That Cenzo had sought out a black-market operator named Russo.
“What is your title now?” Cenzo asked.
“It changes from one day to the next. I was with the Air Ministry but the Germans won’t give us any more planes or parachutes. So now I do radio broadcasts.”
“A salesman of death.”
“That’s a little harsh. I’m one of the men trying to keep Italy together.”
“How?”
Giorgio took a deep breath. “You know, it’s time for me to get back to Salò. I just wanted to assure you about your friend Russo and maybe I said too much. It’s been good, though, don’t you think, the two of us talking like this?”
“If you say so.”
Giorgio got to his feet. He started to offer his hand but thought better of it. “We should do this again.”
At the door, Giorgio gathered his photographer, who, on his way out, gave Cenzo an appraisal full of suspicion.
Nido returned to the booth. “What was that about?”
“Russo is out of prison.”
“Did your brother ask about the girl?”
“No, but for all I know that’s what the entire meeting was about.”
Giorgio didn’t care about Jews one way or the other, Cenzo thought. But this late in the game, what besides Jews did the SS have to trade? Besides, the SS were the past. Cenzo had the distinct impression that Giorgio saw himself as a man of the future.
“As for the girl,” Nido said, “it’s my opinion that she has nothing to fear as long as she is content to stay quietly in your fishing hut. She could stay there for a year without being caught, as long as she exercises self-control.”
“Content to live in a wooden box?”
“You’re living in a fishing shack with her. I hope you exercise self-control.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Nido crossed himself. “God forbid your mother got wind of this. The very thought makes me sweat. Forget I ever brought it up.”
“Done.”
“Okay. As for contacts, you know how it is. All types come into the bar and you think you know who is what, but if you approach someone you think is a partisan and guess wrong, you’ll be put against a wall and shot. If they are partisan and they think you’re trying to infiltrate them, you’ll be marched to a tree and shot. Either way, it’s not good for business.”
“You don’t trust anyone?”
“I’m not even sure about me.” Nido pushed a shiny key across the table. “For the storeroom behind the bar, as long as she doesn’t mind me barging in every so often for a bottle of gin.”
“Thank you.”
“Take it, take it.”
Cenzo tucked the key into his pocket. “I’ll remember this. Something else: if Russo comes by, can you tell him I’ll be fishing in the sky tomorrow?”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll know,” Cenzo said.
Nido wagged his finger. “This does not mean that I’m getting involved in this moronic war. I’m simply helping a friend who has fucked up on a colossal scale. Besides, I don’t trust your brother. I don’t believe his sudden concern for you.”
“You don’t believe in brotherly love?”
“Not in this case. Let me tell you something.”
“Is it another boxing story?”
“Wait. I just want to tell you this. I once boxed in Burma. I had a friend there who was a veterinarian and he had a friend, a woman, who got a pet python when it was just a baby. S’true. A beautiful snake with amber eyes. As it grew, it would coil up in her lap when she was reading and coil next to her in bed when she was asleep. One night, the veterinarian got a phone call from the woman. She was nervous because, instead of coiling, the python was stretched out next to her in bed. Completely stretched. From head to tail. The veterinarian told her to get out of bed and out of the house. He said, ‘It’s measuring you.’”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“Be careful who you embrace.”
• • •
Besides a murmur or two when Cenzo tied up to the hut, Giulia slept through his return. Her face was pale and delicate, her brow shining in the moonlight. Had she turned beautiful? Not in any ordinary way; more as if after days on the water she had developed the tautness of a wild animal.
For Giulia it was an unconscious pose. Cenzo lit the lantern and set its flame down to a soft arc, then opened his footlocker and brought out his sketch pad and colored pencils. Perhaps because he had to fill in what he could not see, he drew with more than the usual speed and abandon, using blue for shadow and Indian red for the outline of her cheek, letting her portrait emerge from the paper in one go before she awoke. Then drew her eyes as if they were open and looking at him.
11
High on bamboo poles was the net, “pesca da cielo.” Set out on the edge of the swamp, it resembled nothing so much as a cloud hoisted high into the air, billowing and dripping water, accumulating all species of catch. When Cenzo tugged on a central knot, the net opened and fish rained down onto the deck of the Fatima as Giulia dodged out of the way.
“I’m never going to fish with you again,” she said. “You’re a monster.”
“First I’m a beast, then a monster. Next a sea serpent?”
“Not a bad idea. You two couldn’t make more noise.” Eusebio Russo took shape in the mist. He was a big man with a red beard, a corduroy jacket, a rumpled hat, and one eye purple and swollen shut. He looked at Giulia. “And what sort of odd fish is this?”
“My name is Giulia.”
“A girl.”
“My crew,” said Cenzo.
“Really? Since when do you sail with girls?”
“One girl,” Cenzo said.
“When it comes to bad luck, one girl will do as well as a dozen. I heard her chattering a hundred meters away. Is she always so loud?”
“Quiet as a mouse and she’s sober, which is more than I can say for some.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He’s too modest. When we were mere boys, he used to take photographs of us dropping poison gas on the natives. The brass didn’t like that, coming from the brother of the Lion of Tripoli. So they took away our camera and our plane and shipped us home unfit for duty.”
“At least it saved us from fighting for Il Duce.” Cenzo checked Russo’s eye. “What happened?”
“I had a run-in with the SS. I have to admit, I thought it was my funeral. I was at the opera house when they pulled me in. They meant business. Handcuffs. A bag over the head. Then, after only one punch in the eye, I was back on the street.”
“You didn’t notice any SS officer in particular?”
“No.”
“No colonel with a scar down the side of his face that makes him look like he’s been put through a meat grinder?”
“No. It all seemed to be a big mistake. Do you have a cigarette?”
Cenzo lit two Junos and handed one to Russo. The cigarettes smoldered like damp fuses. Giulia stood still, exercising patience.
“Why were you asking for me at the fish market?” Russo asked.
“Can you get somebody to the partisans?” Cenzo asked.
Russo looked in every possible direction before asking, “This is a theoretical question?”
“Theoretical.”
Russo took a deep breath. “Okay, to begin with, which partisans? Sometimes they help each other, sometimes they shoot each other. The northern region is generally controlled by the Garibaldi Brigade.”
“Reds?”
“That’s right. There’s the church, but that’s riddled with collaborators. The Holy Father kept his eyes closed for a long time.”
“What about the Americans?” Giulia asked. “They’re real soldiers.”
“The Americans are my favorite fairy tale. ‘Once upon a time, the American army took a magic sleeping powder. The end.’ They should have been here a year ago. Is this why you’re here in the middle of the lagoon?”
“I’m learning to fish,” Giulia said.
“From my friend Cenzo? I could sell tickets to that. What are you two not telling me?”
“It’s simple,” Cenzo said.
“Now I’m getting nervous.”
“Do you remember a German raid on the hospital on San Clemente Island two weeks ago?”
“Yes, I heard. The SS rounded up all the Jews.”
“All but a girl who swam away.”
“Is that so?” Russo tentatively looked at Giulia. “You’re not serious.”
“She’s an excellent swimmer.”
“Her family?”
“They were caught.”
“I’m sorry, but why not just wait?” Russo said. “The German army is going to retreat sooner or later. They’re not going to care about one girl who managed to escape.”
“What’s strange is that they are still after her. The Germans were asking about her the other day at Nido’s. It’s as if catching Giulia is one of the last things they want to do before they return to the Fatherland.”
“It doesn’t add up,” Russo said. “Cenzo, my dear friend, what are you not telling me?”
“I killed an SS officer.”
“See, not so simple.”
“Cenzo didn’t mean to,” Giulia said.
“I had no choice. Hoff was trying to kill her.”
“You knew the officer by name? This is rich.” Russo turned to Giulia. “And you’ve been fishing ever since? Do you like to fish?”
“It’s okay.”
“But with Cenzo it has to be a passion. Everything perfect. If he says you can fish, you must be a fast learner.”
“Can you help her or not?” Cenzo asked.
“Remind me, how did you find her?”
“Floating in the water.”
“Like the baby Moses?”
“Like Moses.”
“What is her family name?”
“Silber.”
“Wealthy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good, but why were they still in Venice?”
“A failure in judgment.”
“And you’ll vouch for all this? Because, old friend, if something goes wrong, you will be held responsible.”
“Absolutely.”
“Really wealthy?”
“Loaded. I’m sure she’ll be generous. But you understand, she won’t be able to pay you until the war is over.” Cenzo could almost see Russo calculating the size of his reward.
“Very well, then I will personally escort her to a safe place.”
“To Venice or the mainland?”
“Leave that to me.”
“But I should come, too, at least until she’s handed off.”
“No. The fewer people the better. I’ll come back later and tell you how it went.”
“So you’ll be there?”
“Cenzo, you have to stop asking questions. The Garibaldi Brigade runs its own show. No outsiders.”
“They’re communists?”
“Do you have any objections?”
“No.”
“When can she be ready?” Russo asked.
“In a couple of days.”
“Tomorrow,” Russo said.
Cenzo was surprised. “Don’t you need more time to prepare?”
“Why? The sooner the better, I assume.”
“Where should we meet?” Cenzo asked.
“Your fishing shack will do.”
Cenzo did not like being rushed. He asked, “Giulia, is this okay with you?”
She was stunned. Arms empty, she stared down at the fish that covered the deck of the Fatima, sardines blue as glass, bream as bright as nickel, and rays as black as ink, committing them all to memory.
• • •
As they sailed back to Pellestrina, Giulia leaned against the gunwale. Where Russo would take her, Cenzo had no idea; but for her own sake, the sooner she went the better. Still, he wasn’t happy.
“Why are you getting rid of me?” Giulia asked. “I’m already a target and staying away from you isn’t going to help.”
“I’m simply facing reality. You need a better place to hide.”
“I’m not a help?”
“You’re a good help, but you shouldn’t be living with me. You’re not a girl anymore.”
“Attractive? Unattractive?”
“Beautiful.”
That stunned her into momentary silence. “What’s wrong with that?” she asked.
“Just about everything.”
“You think we’re so different?”
“I can’t think of any two people more different.”
“You think I’m too young?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I think you’re afraid of women.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“So, again, why am I a problem?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Yes.”
Cenzo slipped his hand around her waist and kissed her. He expected her to push him away, but she held the kiss like a long drink of water. He felt the heat of her face, the press of her body, and the way her leg overlapped and coiled on his.
Then he heard the rhythmic thud of the German gunboat as it approached, and he moved quickly to steer the Fatima out of the searchlight’s range.
12
Cenzo and Giulia played a desultory game of cards while they waited in the fishing shack for Russo. Aces were tops, except for sevens, and three sevens beat everything. Neither Cenzo nor the girl had their heart in the game, though, and the cards lay forgotten on the table. Not that Cenzo thought it was likely Russo woul
d return for her so soon, but she should be ready to leave.
“I’d feel better if you were coming,” she said.
“You’ll be fine.”
He had argued Giulia into going. For the first time, however, it struck Cenzo that he would be passing her to men he knew nothing about. He trusted Russo, but after him came a line of shadowy figures. Italy was awash with girls bought and sold, lost and never seen again. And what would her fate be if the SS found her first?
She asked, “Do you think I’ll see you after the war?”
The same question had occurred to him. Who knew what sort of place Italy would be when the Germans left? Would there be a civil war? Would Italy turn into another Russia or another America?
“I’m sure.”
“But do you really think so?” She took his hand.
“I said yes. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“How will I find you?”
“I’m always here. I was a fisherman yesterday, I am today, and I will be one tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Innocenzo? That’s your name?” She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Cenzo smiled but he had to ask again, “Is there anything more you can tell me about the man who betrayed you?”
In a small voice Giulia said, “I don’t know who he was, but I know what he was like.”
“Like what?”
“There were fifteen of us in a ward to ourselves: my father, my mother, and I, the Diaz and Columbo families, Dr. Razza the psychiatrist, DaCosta the lawyer, a banker named Blanco, and Rabbi Willenberg. We tried not to make much noise. Sometimes my father would put on a stethoscope and wander the hospital like a doctor and meet with other conspirators.”
“Do you know any of their names?” Cenzo asked.
“Only my father knew. They were rounded up too. You have to understand, he had a way of making us all believe that somehow he was in charge and we would be liberated any minute. It became a normal way of life. That day, my father and the rabbi were arguing in whispers about whether they could pray without ten men to form a quorum. My father didn’t really care, he just loved to argue. I had gone to the bathroom with a book to read. Well, it was sort of a bathroom. We used a basin we emptied twice a day. The book was Gone with the Wind. My parents were scandalized. We had been warned not to put any lights on, but I thought a candle would be allowed. Suddenly the bathroom door burst open. My father blew out the candle and said, ‘They’re coming,’ and I heard boots and dogs on the stairs and fists pounding on the door. The attic had windows hardly big enough for a cat to pass through, so my father pushed me into a laundry chute. I clung there while Lieutenant Hoff called out the names.”
The Girl From Venice Page 8