Dr. Flavio Santini was not a doctor like all doctors. Romeo was right in defining him as unique. There were two treatment beds in his clinic, and while talking to his patients, he would lay next to them giving them the feeling that he needed their help and not the other way around. At the first session, he would explain that each person has his own demon, and he must learn to live with it in peace.
Beatrice felt relaxed in his company as his speech was reassuring, although sometimes he would get stuck in a stubborn stutter that lasted for a while. Beatrice tried to suppress bursts of laughter that sounded like howls of a jackal. The doctor would pause for a moment and get up to make sure she was not crying. When he realized that these were uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he also laughed and said. "Keep going; it's good; laughter keeps the demons at bay."
With great patience and sophistication, Dr. Flavio began to obtain a broad picture that he managed to assemble from the puzzle of words and sentences he could extract from her.
"I understand that after you met with Claudio Palumbo, the thoughts began to flood your mind."
"Yes, I think it was close to our meeting."
"Was there anything concrete that he told you that intrigued you?"
"Yes, he talked about genetics and the search for his roots. He also mentioned something related to Jews."
"Do you have a connection to Judaism?"
"I do not know; he said my last name was a common one among the Jews of Naples."
"Does your family have Neapolitan roots?"
"Not as far as I know. We are from Tuscany; to be exact, I was born in Livorno, and so were my grandparents."
"Suppose you were to discover that you have Jewish roots. Would that change anything for you?"
"No, I do not think so, even though my friends claim I have the appearance of a Jew."
"And what is the appearance of a Jew? Is there anything noticeable that differentiates them morphologically from others? '
"They stated that I have a Jewish nose, but of course, I took it as a joke because I do not think there is such a thing as a Jewish nose."
"Let's move on to Claudio Palumbo for a moment. Did you meet him again?"
"Yes and no. What I mean is, I did not meet Claudio face to face that time, but he left me a bunch of pages he had printed, something about a massacre of the Jews of Ancona."
"And you read the material?"
"Yes, I read it that night and then could not fall asleep; in my dreams, I heard the cries of the murdered."
"Can you tell me what happened there?"
Beatrice moved uncomfortably on the bed. Suddenly she got up and then sat down.
"I can only tell you if we sit and talk face to face with my eyes open; I do not want to experience the same horrifying sights I saw in my dreams."
The doctor sat down and smiled at her.
"Tell me what you dreamed about."
"In 1555, many Jews fled from Portugal to Italy after being forced to convert to Christianity. They arrived at the port of Ancona, intending to return to Judaism. At the dock, they were captured, and a massacre took place; twenty-four of them were brought to the stake and were burned alive."
The doctor looked at her as she wiped away tears and asked, "And how do you connect to that?"
"After this massacre, a particular lamentation was composed and was read at the beginning of every holiday in the synagogue of Pesaro. When I understood the text of that lamentation, my skin suddenly feels like pins and needles" a heavy sigh breaks out of her.
"I do not understand, and I once again ask you and forgive me for my insistence. What does the lamentation over those Jews that were killed have to do with you? After all, the Nazis murdered millions of Jews, and you are telling me about twenty-something Jews who were murdered about five hundred years ago?"
Beatrice looked him straight in the eye and, with a trembling voice, said, "Among the names of the murdered was the name of twenty-four-year-old Natanella Grazia Palumbo. At that moment, I felt as if I had lost a part of my family."
After leaving Dr. Santini's clinic, Beatrice walked down the street, still shaken by the information that the cunning doctor had managed to get out of her. She never intended to share her thoughts with anyone since she had not yet formulated a clear opinion on the matter. She entered the first bar that she happened to pass and sat down in a corner hidden from passers-by. She went to the counter and ordered a dry martini. "Signora, sit down, and I will bring it to you at your table."
After taking a generous sip along with some Sicilian black olives, she looked out at the passers-by in the street. They all seemed to be walking peacefully and calmly as if the world was slowing down. Even the loud music emanating from the TV screen that hung over her head suddenly sounded like it came from some sad, quiet symphony.
"Am I crazy? What's wrong with me? What does all this historical stuff have to do with me? There are thousands of identical surnames throughout Italy; why do I think that we are all related. I have to go back to reality and proportions; otherwise, I'll end up insane. "
Before she got up to pay, she called her daughter and arranged to visit her later in the day.