From Sand and Ash

by Amy Harmon

  “Yes. Many times.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I asked God to provide, to save the innocent, to protect the refugees, to ease suffering, to succor the weak, and to help me control my lustful thoughts.”

  “Did you have many?” she asked sweetly, her lips lingering at the corner of his mouth.

  “Yes,” he sighed.

  “So he didn’t answer that particular prayer.”

  “I really didn’t want him to.”

  She giggled again, and his mouth returned to hers, insistent, hungry, plying happy sighs and sweet promises. When they finally parted, her lips were swollen and her heart was light, and as she fell asleep that night, there was hope in her heart and a prayer on constant replay in her mind—the same prayer she knew so many others were uttering.

  “Save us, Lord. Deliver us,” she pleaded. “Please, deliver us.”

  21 March, 1944

  Confession: Sometimes I think the Germans are invincible.

  American forces landed on Italy’s Anzio Beach at the end of January, securing the beachhead and taking the Germans completely by surprise, but instead of pushing immediately toward Rome and forcing the Germans to retreat and pull off the Gustav Line, they stopped, inexplicably entrenching themselves, and the Germans were given ample time to reinforce their defenses and launch a counterattack. Two months later, thousands of lives have been lost and the battle rages on. The Americans, only fifty-eight kilometers from Rome on January 22, remain fifty-eight kilometers from Rome on March 21. I fear this war will never end, and I will be trapped at Via Tasso forever, smuggling gold and smuggling kisses from a man who won’t truly be mine until Rome is liberated.

  Eva Rosselli

  CHAPTER 20

  VIA RASELLA

  Captain von Essen was very quiet when he arrived on Wednesday. He shut his office door and stayed locked inside all morning. At lunchtime Eva waited for Greta, who had sent word the day before that she wanted to whisk Eva away to some new shop. But Greta never showed. A little worried about her, Eva knocked tentatively on the captain’s door and was told to enter.

  “Is Greta well?” she asked as soon as she set foot inside.

  “Yes,” the captain answered, but something flickered in his eyes.

  “We were going to have lunch together.”

  “I see,” he said softly. He sat back in his chair and studied her, his head cocked to the side. It was a strange response, considering his wife was technically unaccounted for.

  “Sit down, Eva.”

  Eva perched at the edge of one of the chairs in front of his desk, the same chair she always chose when he insisted she take dictation or instructions. He leaned forward, across his desk, and clasped his hands in front of him, eyeing her quizzically.

  “Did you know that not one of our monastery raids was successful last weekend? Not one. No Jews. No partisans. No antifascists. How can that be? The lieutenant colonel was so sure the answer was with the church. But no.” Captain von Essen pushed the tips of his fingers together and rested his chin on them, like he was lost in thought. “I went home to my wife so disturbed that she avoided me for three days. But last night she told me something I could hardly believe.”

  He continued to study Eva but didn’t explain what it was his wife had told him. She waited in silence, her stomach in coils of ever-tightening knots. He breezily changed the subject.

  “You were wonderful Saturday night, my dear. Wonderful. Such a lucky coincidence for me that you play so well and you were so willing to perform.”

  Eva thought it better not to remind him how truly unwilling she’d been.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “Can I bring you some coffee, Captain von Essen?”

  “That won’t be necessary. But I do need you to do something for me. Surely, there is a way for you to reach your brother at the Vatican?”

  “No. I have never contacted him there.” It was the truth, but von Essen raised his brows as if that were hard to believe.

  “Ah, but surely they could get a message to him if you needed him.”

  Captain von Essen picked up the receiver on his shiny black telephone and turned the rotary, waiting for an operator to connect him.

  “The Vatican, please,” he said and winked at Eva. “Your brother works with a monsignor. What was his name again?”

  “Monsignor Luciano,” she answered numbly, wondering if the captain wanted her to say Monsignor O’Flaherty. Did he know that Angelo worked with O’Flaherty? Was that what this was about? Von Essen repeated the name to the operator. He waited for several moments, smiling benignly at Eva as she rose slowly from the chair and stood before him, her unease growing by the second.

  “Ah. Very good. My name is Captain von Essen of the German Police. I need to get a message to Father Angelo Bianco, assistant to Monsignor Luciano. It is very important.” He paused as if he’d been instructed to hold.

  “Please tell Father Bianco that his sister has been detained and is being questioned at Gestapo Headquarters.”

  Angelo was kept waiting in a small holding room at Via Tasso for over an hour. No explanation was given, no answers were provided. He was told to wait, and he did. When he had received Captain von Essen’s message, he’d known the end had come. He only prayed it was his end and not Eva’s.

  He’d informed Monsignor Luciano what had happened and was forbidden to leave the Vatican. Several priests who had worked in the underground had been detained and tortured, some executed, and some sent to prisoner-of-war camps in Germany.

  “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 façade, 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.”

  Angelo’s mind raced, pinging from one option to another and dismissing it almost immediately. Had the captain hurt Eva? Was she in a cell at this moment, awaiting deportation? Was she even at Via Tasso? His breaths grew shallow and his hands clenched. He didn’t know it was possible to hate the way he did in that moment. The hate was so sharp it hurt, so bitter he could taste it on his tongue, so hot he could feel the flames in his chest.

  Angelo didn’t close his eyes or bow his head, but he began to pray inwardly, searching for faith and strength. He ignored the captain, the soldiers standing outside the door with guns and helmets, empowered by evil men, and he pleaded for help. Prayer was the only weapon at his disposal. The captain leaned back, but he continued his negotiations.

  “Ten. Let’s start with ten. Ten Jews for Eva. Ten for one, isn’t that the rule? I need ten addresses.” He handed Angelo a pencil and a sheet of paper. “Or just the names, Father. Just the names of the establishments, and I will place Eva in your care. You give me the list, and you take your sister and walk away. Only you and I will know. Eva might guess, but she will be grateful that you put her first, that you value her life above all others.”

  “I don’t have any information for you, Captain. I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Angelo answered firmly and without hesitation, not allowing himself to think at all.

  “No? Not even for your sister’s life?” Von Essen again put exaggerated emphasis on the word sister. “I will be sure and tell her.” He stared at Angelo for a moment, as if gauging his next move.

  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of your mercy. Amen.

  The rosary continued through his head like a desperate drumbeat, and Angelo begged Eva for forgiveness even as he prayed that they—that she—would be saved from the fires of hell. He would happily give his life for hers, but he couldn’t betray those in his care, and he knew Eva wouldn’t want him to.

  Captain von Essen stood and leaned out the door.

  “Bring the girl in,” he said to the nearest guard.

  Angelo stood as well.

  “Sit down, Father. I have not had you restrained out of courtesy, but I will if I need to.”

  Angelo remained standing. The captain moved in closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his favorite pose.

  “The men are all talking about her, Father. How beautiful she is. She won’t fare well here. You know that, don’t you? And she won’t fare well in a camp. But no one really fares well in the camps.”

  “May God have mercy on your soul,” Angelo murmured, not trusting himself beyond a whisper. His hands ached with the need to close them around the sneering captain’s neck.

  “She won’t be raped—not here, at least. Do you know it is illegal for a German to lay with a Jew? Don’t want to sully the bloodlines. We have higher standards than that.”

  “Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of your mercy. Amen.” Angelo prayed out loud, his eyes locked with the captain’s. He repeated the prayer again, enunciating the plea for those most in need of mercy.

  The door opened, and a helmeted German pushed Eva into the room, as if shoving and intimidation were part of the routine. Her eyes were wide and her face pale and frightened, but her hair was neat and her clothes tidy, and she appeared unharmed.

  “Sit,” the captain commanded, and Eva was pushed into a chair, the German soldier standing guard behind her.

  “Sit,” he commanded Angelo, and this time, Angelo did as he was told, his eyes clinging to Eva’s. Captain von Essen sat on a chair, triangulated between them, as if preparing to pit them against each other.

  “I have no desire for unpleasantness. My wife is very fond of you, Eva. And she is quite beside herself over all of this.”

  Eva pulled her gaze from Angelo and stared at the captain stonily, waiting. The captain glared back, as if she had betrayed him personally. Then he continued.

  “I have told Father Bianco that all he needs to do is tell me where the church is hiding the partisans and the Jews. Just ten. Not all. Just ten. But he says he can’t help me. What do you think about that?”

  Eva continued staring steadily at the captain. He raised a brow, waiting for her to respond. When she didn’t, he leaned into her, as if confiding in her, and his voice lowered convincingly.

  “You can save each other. I have no wish to harm either of you. I just want to do my job. There is a great deal of pressure from Herr Himmler himself.” Captain von Essen took her hand. “So why don’t you tell me, Eva. Where is your brother hiding his Jews?”

  “I am the only Jew he has helped, and that is only because we were raised together,” Eva said steadily.

  “You must be so very grateful,” von Essen said softly. He pulled his weapon suddenly, and Eva gasped, but instead of firing it, he used it to backhan
d Angelo across the face.

  Angelo’s head snapped back, and the left side of his face bloomed in hot pain, but he almost laughed in relief. If this was the captain’s approach, he welcomed it. Ask Eva the questions, torture Angelo. He wanted to sink to his knees in grateful prayer.

  “You have me. Let him go,” Eva cried.

  “Tell me what I want to know, and of course he may go.”

  “I am the only Jew he has helped,” she repeated, her eyes closing, as if she couldn’t watch what came next. This time it was the right side of Angelo’s face that took the brunt of the force.

  “I am the only Jew Father Angelo has helped!” Eva cried. “You have me. Let him go!” she repeated, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. Clearly, Captain von Essen thought she would be easier to break. Angelo knew differently. Eva wouldn’t talk. She would suffer with him, but she wouldn’t break.

  “Where did you get your pass? It is very authentic.” Captain von Essen changed his line of questioning.

  Eva answered immediately, clearly relieved she could answer without endangering anyone. “A man named Aldo Finzi. He worked for my father’s company at one time, as a printer.”

  “A Jew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where can I find Mr. Finzi?”

  “He is dead.” Angelo cut into the conversation, pulling the captain’s attention from Eva. The captain raised his brows disdainfully.

  “How convenient,” von Essen said drily.

  “I’m sure Aldo Finzi would disagree,” Angelo shot back.

  “And how did he die?”

  “You shot him in the street a month ago near the rail station. Don’t you remember?” Angelo challenged.

  He’d caught the captain by surprise, and von Essen tipped his head as if searching his memory.

  “You shot him in the back of the head after you told him to drop his pants.”