The street Aunt Clara lived on was quiet, as, during the afternoon, most residents retired to their homes for a siesta.
After knocking on the door three times, Beatrice began to worry. She went around to the backyard and tried to peek into the house while Maria Grazia kept knocking on the front door.
When she saw no answer, she decided to look for a key under the flower pots that stood at the front of the house, and under one of them, she found the key.
They entered the house, which was dim and quiet. Beatrice went into the kitchen, turned on a light, and saw dirty dishes in the sink. She picked up a plate to see if the leftovers were old; they were not. She then opened the refrigerator, looked at the expiration date on the milk carton, and saw it was fresh. "Aunt Clara went shopping or to a friend; she's fine."
"How does she live like this alone? It's irresponsible; if she faints, falls, or breaks her hip, who will know about it?"
"She has a distress button."
"What if it is not on her? What if she does not have time to press it?"
"So, she will rot here until the whole neighborhood smells the stench. What can I do with such a stubborn person?"
Suddenly they heard movement from the bedroom and Clara appeared in her robe.
"Who is so stubborn? Who are you talking about? And besides, what are you doing here? I hope we did not talk about meeting, and I just forgot."
Beatrice approached her aunt and hugged her. "No, we did not make an appointment. We were in Pitigliano and decided to come to visit you."
"I'm happy you came, but a simple phone call from your cell phone and I would have made ravioli or lasagna. Now you will get dry crackers with a green tomato jam I made."
"Auntie, we do not have much time. We have come to see you are alright. We will drink your herbal tea and drive back."
"I will go out to the garden and pick chamomile, sage, and mint leaves and make tea."
While Aunt Clara was out in the garden, Maria Grazia went over to the large antique fireplace and looked at the framed pictures standing on the wooden shelf above it.
"Mamma, who are those people?" she pointed at one of the photos.
Beatrice looked at the smiling couple standing with deliberate nonchalance. He was wearing a white suit with a black bow tie while she was wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat adorned with colorful feathers on the side and a black ribbon around it.
"I think it's Marco, and the young woman is Aunt Clara; look how beautiful she was."
At that moment, Aunt Clara walked into the living room. "Who's beautiful?" she asked.
She immediately noticed that Beatrice was looking at her picture, "I was once beautiful. See what old age does to a person?"
"Auntie, beauty passes, but health is more important, and thank God you are still at your best."
'What has God got to do with my situation? I take daily walks, eat healthily, do not smoke, sleep well, stay away from doctors and medicines, live a quiet life, and the one above has no hand or foot in my condition."
"Tell me, Auntie, who's the man standing next to you?" Beatrice asked, trying not to sound overly interested.
"A family friend, with whom I lost contact many years ago. He may have married and already is a grandfather to many grandchildren. Perhaps he is dead; I really do not know."
"By any chance, is his name Marco?" Beatrice questioned,
"Perhaps. I do not remember his name. It could be Marco".
"Do you know? Or are you guessing?"
"Under what circumstances were you photographed like this?"
"Why are you interrogating me about him? He does not interest anyone; this is a picture from before the war."
"Auntie, why did you not get married?"
"I did have many suitors, but I did not find the right one. Our parents died during the war when we were young, and Michele and I were left alone to take care of ourselves. We were lucky to have a home. Otherwise, we would have lived on the street. After the war, the economic situation was terrible,"
"I found among the documents in the basement Michele's birth certificate, which indicates your father's last name was Levite. Why then are you and Michele called Palumbo?"
Aunt Clara's face suddenly turned grave. She got up, went to the sink, and poured herself a glass of water.
"I see this is not just a plain conversation; this is an interrogation. You did not just by chance come to visit, but rather to question me."
"Aunt Clara, may you live to be one hundred and twenty and in good health, but if God forbid, you were not alive, who would give me answers to all my questions?"
"It would have been better if you wouldn't find answers to all your questions, and everything would stay the same. Are you looking for trouble? Do you want to cause an earthquake within your family? Is that what you want? "
"I am divorced, and my daughter is with me and ready to hear everything. I do not want to live a lie. I want to know the truth. I want to know why, if our last name is Levite, we are called Palumbo?"
"I did not think I would ever see this day and have to return to the hell of fifty years ago."
Clara poured herself another glass of water. She suddenly looked old and broken, her face flushed, and a slight tremor could be detected in her voice.
"According to your questions, I assume you know more than I imagine, so I'll tell you both everything. This way, I can die without having to take this burden my grave."
Beatrice went over to Aunt Clara and hugged her tight, "Aunt Clara, I love you as I loved my parents; I appreciate what you are doing; you are a brave woman."
Clara tried to smile, but all she managed was a frown. She began to talk:
"I was seventeen when I met Marco, who was three years older than me. His family lived in the neighborhood at the beginning of our street, and he went to the same school Michele, and I went to. Our parents were Christian Catholics and baptized us in church. We were very devout; our parents made sure we went to confession and on Sundays to Mass. Michele was deliberately not circumcised. All that was on the outside; however, at home, we acted as Jews and celebrated all the Jewish holidays. When I was seven or eight years old, and Michele was about ten, our parents told us we were Jews. They explained that we must maintain an outward Catholic behavior because, for generations, the family has known great suffering for being Jewish, and they would like to spare us that. Our father's last name was Levite, and our mother's last name was Palumbo, both Jews of Spanish or Portuguese descent. When Michele was born, it was decided the name Levite should be dropped, and the name Palumbo adopted so that their children would not be suspected of being Jewish."
"But why was it necessary to hide?" Maria Grazia suddenly asked.
"Do not disturb me with questions; I will tell you everything," Aunt Clara responded.
"There is a story in our family that is passed down from generation to generation, like the stories of the Old and New Testament, but this story does not make headlines but is kept in the hearts of the family members and is passed on to sons and from them to grandchildren. Our parents decided to stop the chain that lasted about five hundred years. The reason became justified when Mussolini imposed the racial laws in Italy later on. The many prohibitions and humiliations they went through, their obligation to move into the ghettos. Then the persecution and extradition to the Nazis proved that we had done the right thing... It became even more so when about eight thousand Italian Jews were deported to death camps from where they did not return, and the rest succeeded in fleeing and hide. Many were saved thanks to the altruism of good-hearted Italians who risked their lives and the lives of their families. But there were also Italians of a different kind."
"We had no idea," Maria Grazia said. "We as children learned history, but it never entered my mind that we ourselves are Jews," she continued sounding very excited about this revelation.
"Our parents wanted to spare us the suffering, but it did not work out so well for them, so Michele and I decided that at least we would continue to live as they wished us to live, but you, Beatrice, exposed everything. Had I died before this revelation, everything would have been cut off, and everything would have been forgotten. But someone probably did not want us to forget who we are and where we came from."
"Aunt Clara, I must give you another hug for your courage, but I also must let you know I would have uncovered everything even without you; you are just helping me to reveal the truth faster."
Beatrice walked over to Clara and hugged her again with tears in her eyes.
"I haven't told you anything yet; it's just the tip of the iceberg," Clara said in a hoarse voice from the tears that choked her.
"Auntie, how about us staying here for the night, and tomorrow you will keep telling us the story that will probably change our lives forever." Maria Grazia nodded in agreement.