The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ISABELLA

Rome, Italy

Saturday, October 16, 1943, 7:00 p.m.

“Signor Bianco is very angry,” Signora Fontana said. “He has worried all week about his grandmother. The wife insists the grandmother is staying so they can escape with their unborn child. Poor thing can only stomach bread, but she’s strong and determined to get to Switzerland.”

“A child, so soon?” I sat at the kitchen table with the Biancos’ identity papers, the acetone, and scraps of muslin. “Of course. These are more modern times.”

I opened the first set of papers, which were Edoardo Bianco’s. “This trick works on fabric, and I’ve heard it removes ink from paper.”

“How will this work?” the signora said.

“Let us see.” I twisted the muslin into a fine point, unscrewed the top of the acetone jar, and dipped the tip inside. Very carefully, I blotted only where the blue stained the page. “We are lucky the clerk didn’t stamp over the picture.”

“Maybe he hoped someone like you would come along.”

“Maybe.” I carefully rubbed the blue ink in tiny increments until slowly the letter was gone. While I left the first set of papers out to dry, I worked on the second. It took an hour, but in the end, both identity cards were passable as long as they were not scrutinized too closely.

The front door opened, and the signora and I quickly hid the papers. As I was closing up the jar, Mia entered the kitchen. She held up a bagful of eggs. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I live here,” she said brightly.

“I thought you lived with Hauptmann Brenner.” No effort was made to hide my displeasure.

“He’s too busy tonight.” She yawned. “It smells like Rene’s in here.”

“I borrowed some acetone. I have a stain in my white blouse.”

“Ah,” she said, peering toward the table. “I hope you removed your stain.”

“Yes.”

She set her eggs on the counter, kissed the signora on the cheek, and left. Listening to her footsteps, I prayed the Biancos were very quiet.

“What will we do with Mia?” the signora whispered.

“There is nothing we can do. We need another two days, and the Biancos will be gone.”

“I love that girl, but I don’t know if I trust her anymore.”

“We’ll pray for her silence if she does see something.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Go to bed. I’ll lock up.”

I waited until the signora vanished into her room, and she finally turned off the light. As I climbed the stairs, my legs were wooden and so heavy. Just a couple of days and the young couple would be safely on their way.

I woke to the sound of a fist pounding on the door of the house. After rising from my bed, I rushed to the window and saw the military truck parked in front of the building. The Italian policeman stood at the door as another pounded again. I grabbed my robe and, shrugging it on, hurried to the Biancos’ door and rapidly knocked. Edoardo opened it immediately. He stood in his socks but otherwise was dressed. “You must hide behind the wall. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s the police, isn’t it?” Eva came to his side, clinging to her husband’s arm. “Have they come for us?”

“I don’t know,” I said, hurrying across the room. “But you must hide.” I pressed the panel in the wall, and it opened to the darkened space. “Gather your things.”

They had kept all their belongings in their satchels, and it was a matter of picking up their shoes. I quickly made their bed, and when they were in the secret room, I closed the door behind them.

I found Signora Fontana standing in the entryway, staring at her front door. “What do we do?” she asked.

“Let me speak to them.”

She stood behind me, her body looking more fragile and thinner in her nightclothes. I unlatched the lock and opened the door a fraction.

Standing on the step were several Italian policemen. The man who took the lead was tall, midtwenties, and broad shouldered. I recognized him from the neighborhood.

“You’re Sergio,” I said.

Hearing his name softened his stern features a fraction. “Yes.”

“How is your mother?” I asked. “Is her back better?”

“Yes.” Few Italian men were immune to references to their mothers. “I am not here to talk about that.”

“What can I do for you, then?”

His attempt to harden his features did not quite erase the hints of the gentler young man I had seen in church with his mother from time to time. “We are here for the Jews.”

“What Jews?”

“The ones living in this house,” he said brusquely.

“There’s no one here but the signora, Mia, and me.”

Sergio pushed past me. “We need to search every room. Stand aside, or you’ll be arrested.”

His two men hurried up the stairs toward my room on the third floor. “We’ve received a report that you’ve been hiding people here.”

“Who would spread such gossip?” There were many in Rome who whispered secrets for extra ration cards. “We have hidden no one. We rented a room to a couple, but they have left. Their papers did not indicate they were Jewish.”

“What were their names?” Sergio asked.

“Gomez,” I lied. “Estella and Mario Gomez.”

The two other officers descended the stairs with Mia on their heels. Their faces were flushed, and they looked a little put out. “We didn’t find anyone.”

Mia wore a thin silk robe that clung to the contours of her supple body. Barefoot, her red-painted toes peeked out from under the gown. “Sergio, is that you? Why on earth are you here?”

“We’re carrying out orders,” Sergio said. “The Jews are being rounded up in the city tonight.”

My heart sank as I thought of the hundreds of police and soldiers banging on doors, waking families who had refused to believe they were in grave danger.

“So why are you here?” Mia asked.

“Some said they saw a couple enter.”

Mia rearranged her robe, and in the process, she showed off a sizable portion of her breasts. The action did not go unnoticed by any of the men, especially Sergio. For good measure, she ran her fingers through her hair, arched slightly, and gave them one more glimpse. “We are alone here, Sergio.”

“They are looking for a couple,” I said. “I told them they left last week.”

“Ah, I remember them. They kept to themselves,” Mia said. “Whoever was here is gone, but if you insist on making this an issue, I can contact my good friend Hauptmann Karl Brenner and see what he has to say about it.”

The policemen looked at each other, and, judging by their frowns, they recognized the name. “If you harbor any Jews, you’ll be arrested.”

The three of us stood silent, doing our best to look dazed and confused.

When they left, I closed the door behind them and slid the lock into place. “The roundup has begun.”

Mia yawned. “Are there Jews hiding here? I guessed you were up to something when I saw you taking food from Sebastian’s storeroom. Does he realize you’re feeding runaways and Jews?”

“The food was for me.”

Mia grinned. “You never steal for yourself. But you would steal for others. If I had to guess, your stowaways are Signora Bianco, her grandson, and his new bride.”

“Why are you here tonight?”

“Does it matter? I helped save your friends. Be grateful it was Sergio and not Dannecker. He would have set fire to this house for sport. And you would be in the Gestapo’s Via Tasso prison, a very ugly place.” When I didn’t answer, she added, “I won’t tell Karl. He has bigger problems.”

“I need two more days before transport is ready for Edoardo and Eva,” I said.

“Where is Signora Bianco?”

“She would not come.”

“That is unfortunate,” Mia said. “Her apartment will be one of the first raided. They’ll strip it bare. I would suggest your guests leave sooner than later, Isabella.”

“Why would the police come here?” I asked.

“There are so many spies in this city, Isabella. You cannot trust anyone. Your neighbors aren’t your friends, as you now know.”

“But Signora Bianco . . . ,” I said.

“You tried to help her, and now that time has passed. You did what she wanted. You’ve shielded her grandson.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” Mia said. “If you go now looking for her after curfew, you’ll be arrested.”

“I’m not afraid of jail.”

“You need to be afraid of it, because they’ll make you confess to everything by the time they’ve finished with you. The Germans do not waste their breath with pretty pleases.”

“And what of your lover Karl? Why do you continue to see him?”

“For now, he’s very useful.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded. “You’re playing a very dangerous game with that man. I saw his wife struck by a car in front of our shop.”

Mia’s frown deepened. “When?”

“Today. Didn’t you tell me she wouldn’t be much more trouble?”

“Karl said he was sending her to Munich. He says she talks too much.”

“And he kills her for talking too much?”

“When she drinks, she discusses details of his work. There have been leaks. Suspects escaping the police one time too many.”

“If he killed her, what will he do to you if he finds out you were here tonight?”

“Don’t worry about me, Isabella. Worry about getting your Jews out of the city.”

After spending most of Sunday packing and worrying, at first light on Monday, I was dressed and out the door. Despite Mia’s warnings I went to Signora Bianco’s apartment. The building was quiet, but at the corner several German soldiers stood guard by an armored truck. Most of the roundups would not have happened here but in the ghetto near the Tiber River. I knocked on the porter’s door.

When he finally opened his door, he was dressed in a collarless shirt, suspenders, and black pleated pants encircling his belly. “What is it?”

“I’ve come to see Signora Bianco.”

He shook his head. “She’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“They arrived last night and found her dead in her bed. They said sleeping pills.”

“Do you believe them?”

“It’s not my place to question them. After they took her body away, they spent the rest of the night stripping her apartment bare. They took every stick of furniture, work of art, and even the drapes.” He looked past me to a collection of Nazi soldiers marching in a straight line. “You should not be here.”

“Did you see them take her body out?”

“I stayed in my rooms and minded my own business. There was nothing I could do.”

I curled my fingers into fists, feeling more frustrated than I could have imagined.

“Return to your life,” he said. “Forget her. And the others like her.”

I left, moving in the direction of Sebastian’s, but I had not forgotten the signora, and I would not ever forget her. And I would not look the other way.

When I arrived at the shop, I saw my calendar was fully booked with names such as Mueller, Hoffman, and Wetzel. There were no Italian names.

“They are customers,” Sebastian said. “And we are no good to anyone if we do not survive.”

I didn’t speak.

“You must smile and make the customers happy,” he said. “We must survive.”

“Of course,” I said.

Mia arrived and shrugged off her coat. Her cheeks had a rosy glow, and she looked happy. “You left early this morning.”

“I wanted to walk and clear my head.”

“We had a bit of drama last night,” she said to Sebastian. “Roman police looking for Jews at Signora Fontana’s. Of course, there was no one there for them to find.”

Sebastian regarded me. “That is good. Now off to help your clients. Appearances matter.”

I did as I was told. I smiled, did my work, kept the customers happy, but now I listened more closely as they chatted in German to each other. There was much talk of Saturday night’s raids. More Jews had already escaped than they’d anticipated, and many Roman policemen had done a poor job of arresting Jews.

I was the last to leave the sewing room, and as I shrugged on my coat, Sebastian appeared, carrying a cloth sack. “I waited until everyone was gone.”

“Why?”

He handed me the satchel. “To give you this. It’ll be easier than taking it piecemeal.”

I looked in the bag at the sausages and cheeses. “I never took anything for myself.”

“I know. Go home, and feed your guests, and if you should have more, take what you need.”

My gaze rose to his watery dark eyes. “Thank you.”

He tugged at his cuff. “We do what we must.”