"Mamma, why are you not sleeping? It's already two o'clock in the morning," Maria Grazia whispered in her ear.
Despite her exhaustion from dealing with the heavy issues that suddenly she found herself involved in, Beatrice had not closed an eye. Despite this, she was thirsty for the truth as she wanted to live without secrets.
"With my own hands, I opened Pandora's box," Beatrice said. "I am like Pandora of the Greek mythology, to whom Epimetheus ordered never to open it. One day her curiosity got the better of her; she opened it and with it unleashed all the tragedies to the world. When she realized what she had done, she locked it again, but she did not realize she also had imprisoned hope. Thus, the world remained estranged, cold, and full of tragedies for a long time," she whispered to Maria Grazia as she felt her eyelids grow heavy and tired.
Beatrice decided to leave the box open, for she believed the truth must be told, and hope will always accompany it.
Everyone has secrets he wants to keep, but one must also hope for a better future.
"Go to sleep, sweetie, tomorrow we have another hard day. I can't imagine what other surprises Auntie has in store for us," Beatrice said while yawning.
Aunt Clara had slept quite a few hours which were enough to make her feel refreshed and energetic. She was already busy in the kitchen preparing a large omelet and a green salad from the vegetables in her garden before the two women woke up.
"Buongiorno, my dears, I hope you slept well. Oh, how glad I am that you are here, even though you are making my life difficult. Last night before I fell asleep, I felt as if a heavyweight had been removed from my heart with my decision to tell everything. However, a black cloud is hanging over my head, and I hope it will disappear this morning. But first of all, let's eat. "
She poured them two large mugs of tea made with various plants collected from her garden and served them the breakfast she had prepared.
"So, who is Marco Pellegrini, you ask. I do not know if he is alive or dead; I very much hope he died in agony," she said with bitterness in her voice.
"No, Auntie, he's alive; I talked to him on the phone before we arrived," Beatrice said.
Clara turned pale and opened her mouth, "You talked to him? How did you get to him? What did that vile person tell you?"
"Nothing special, he admitted he was in the black brigades but refused to talk about that period. He remembers you and said he had not spoken to you for many years, and that's all."
Clara exhaled a sigh of relief. "I will tell you everything. It is important to me that it comes from me and not from him. I no longer know what to think; I promise I will not hide anything. "
She took the picture down from the fireplace and held it in her skinny hands, occasionally glancing at it.
"As I said, Marco was a boy who grew up in this neighborhood we are in now. He was a rowdy boy who spent most of his time on the streets. His main hobby was killing cats. He would catch a cat from those around the garbage cans, tie it to an electric pole and punch it until it died, or he would splash fuel on the cat's tail and set fire to it. We went to the same school, but he was always in the yard since he was often thrown out of class because he was wild, frustrated, and lazy.
Fate had it, and one day he came to our house on the eve of Passover. Before knocking on the door, he peeked through the shutters of the window to make sure we were home, perhaps because he saw everything was dark.
Dad immediately covered the table with a tablecloth, extinguished the candles, and went to open the door for him. Marco asked if he could come in, and Dad told him it was late and he should come another time. But in his devious and cunning way, he started to cry and begged my father to let him in. He claimed his father had gotten drunk and threatened to kill him. Dad took pity on him and let him in. He joined us at the family Passover Seder. Dad lied to him and told him that it was a dinner in honor of their wedding anniversary.
Marco was no fool and realized something else was going on, but at that time, he had no explanation for it.
Several years passed, and Marco was already twenty years old when one day he showed up in the neighborhood in the black brigade uniform. He walked around swollen with pride and even came to our house to introduce himself in his new role.
Dad felt ill and predicted that trouble was coming because of him. He tried with all his might to smile and to be nice to him."
"Why didn't your father throw him out of the house?" Maria Grazia asked, annoyed.
"My darling, this was the era of fascism; racial laws were announced in Italy. Do you know what racial laws are? Do you know what it means? "Clara asked, raising her voice in outrage.
"No, Aunt Clara, I was never interested. Perhaps you can tell me," Maria Grazia replied.
"In mid-July 1938, racial laws were announced by the Fascist Party, with the official reason being to maintain the Italian race's purity. The laws' main principles were that marriage between Italian Catholics and Jews, or non-Aryan foreigners was forbidden. The entry of Jews from foreign countries was prevented. Who would be considered a Jew was defined; anyone whose parents both are Jewish, those whose father or mother is Jewish, and those who converted to Christianity are considered Jews. There were a few exceptions, but they were insignificant.
A census was conducted among the Jews of Italy to determine to whom the racial laws would apply. In Livorno, the black brigade to which Marco belonged was assigned to conduct the census. In a crash course, they were taught to distinguish between a Jew and a Christian. He learned the type of clothes Jews wore, their language, their holidays and customs, and more. In the process, Marco recalled the Passover eve he spent with our family. He also occasionally heard sentences that our parents spoke to each other that he did not understand. As a result, he concluded that we are Christian imposters.
"So, he betrayed you to the authorities?" Beatrice interrupted.
"Although he was bored and thick-headed in class because he did not understand the material being taught, he was also cunning as a fox. He decided to take advantage of the existing situation. He knew that if he betrayed us, he would get a liquor bottle at the most, but he had bigger aspirations.
We tried leading a normal life; Dad would go out in the morning to work in the fish warehouse at the harbor, Mom was busy cleaning and cooking, Grandpa and Grandma on both sides were no more, they passed away shortly after we were born.
"Who were your grandparents? Did your parents not tell you anything about them?" Beatrice questioned.
"My paternal grandfather was called Gualtiero Levite, and my grandmother was called Gertrude Schossheim. My grandmother was Dutch-born in Amsterdam, and my grandfather was a merchant of salted and smoked fish. He sailed from Livorno to the Netherlands with his goods, which is how he met her. Her parents were of Ashkenazic descent from Germany who moved to Holland. My mother's father was called Edoardo Palumbo, and her mother was Regina Salemme, both born in Naples.
"We've strayed a little from the subject; continue the exploits of Marco, the fascist," Beatrice said.
Aunt Clara cleared her throat and continued.
"Marco started visiting our home every few days, always under the pretext of wanting to help. Dad was concerned but pretended to like him; Mom would always ask about his family's welfare and send them greetings.
He did not befriend my brother Michele, and it seemed to me that he wanted to court me. At first, there were compliments said casually, then greeting cards began to arrive, sometimes accompanied by some flowers or attached to a box of candies. Dad became upset because he knew he was the neighborhood bully but still kept his cool.
When the Germans entered Italy in 1943, there was complete chaos. The fascist militia forces raged in the streets, and the SS began conducting censuses and collecting the names and addresses of Jews to be sent to concentration and extermination camps.
There was full cooperation between the Germans and the fascist organizations. In October 1943, the Action began in Rome, Trieste, Genoa, Florence, Milan, Venice, and Ferrara. The captured Jews were deported to the Fossoli camp near Modena and from there by train to Auschwitz.
One evening Marco appeared at our house. He turned to Dad and asked for a large sum of money to bribe his commanders. So he claimed. He showed my father a list detailing the names of the entire Levite family. He explained he did not know that they were Jewish and only now learned that fact from the list. Dad was furious and told him that we had not been Jews for several generations and were Catholics. That is when Marco took out the booklet that he had in his shirt pocket and showed Dad the sections of racism that listed that even those who converted were considered Jews.
From the hiding place in the house, Dad took a wad of bills and handed them to Marco. He did not even bother counting the money. He just told Dad that everything would be fine and that he should continue with his daily routine.
A few weeks passed, and things seemed to be quiet, the atmosphere calmed down a bit, and Marco did not appear in our house in this period.
At the end of November, Interior Minister Buparini issued a special decree against the Jews, which stated that all Jews in Italy were considered enemies of the state. As a result, all their properties, including their homes, would be confiscated, and they would be deported to concentration camps.
Following the decree's publication, a new manhunt was launched by the Italian police, and not only in the big cities but also in the towns and villages where many hid.
One morning Marco showed up with a car and asked Michele and me to join him for a ride. Dad and Mom were at home, and Dad asked us to be back by noon. Marco promised we would be on time.
We drove to the south along the sea for about two hours. It was freezing, and if I remember correctly, it was even snowing. We stopped at a small inn, and Marco invited us for lunch. After that, we drove back home."
Maria Grazia and her mother sat with their mouths open, fascinated, listening uninterrupted to Clara's story.
She spoke in a monotonous tone that made their blood run cold. The scenes were as if floating and rising in her mind, and she described them with half-open eyes as she held the photo with both her hands pressed to her chest.
'When we got to the street where we lived, we did not notice anything different, except that Marco suddenly seemed nervous. He looked in all directions but avoided looking at us, nor did he exchange a word with us.
When we stopped, he got out of the car with us, and we walked to the house together. When we pushed the half-open door, we saw that everything in the house was turned upside down, I shouted for Dad and Mom, but nobody answered. It was as if the earth had swallowed them. I turned to Marco and screamed at him, but he pretended not to understand what was happening here either.
Marco stayed with us. Everything was quiet and dim, and he suggested we didn't turn on any lights and go down to the basement. As we trembled in fear and cold by candlelight, Marco explained that presumably, the Germans had taken the lists from the brigades and taken our parents. After he left, Michele could not stand the tension anymore and wept bitterly, I also cried and lay down on the carpet, and we probably fell asleep.
In the morning, when we woke up, there was a kind of frightening silence. We dared not come out of the basement. Michele took off his shoes and crawled upstairs. He returned with a basket full of food that he brought from the kitchen; ready-made, Mom, had cooked the day before. We ate it cold while still stunned.
Many hours had passed, and no voices were heard outside, so we gathered the courage to go upstairs. We knew the Allies had landed in Sicily in early July and were advancing north; thus, we thought possibly our parents were being held in some camp, and the Americans would release them. We still clung to that hope.
In the afternoon, Marco arrived on foot; he did not want to attract any attention. He encouraged us not to lose hope but warned us that the Germans might return, so he advised us not to leave the house and not open up for anyone. He fixed the door and replaced the lock, and when he went out, he would lock us in from the outside."
Clara took a glass of water and sipped it eagerly as her throat was hoarse from talking; the strain of remembering was visible on her face.
"Auntie, I will make us some tea so you can keep talking," Beatrice said and went to the kitchen. Maria Grazia walked over to Clara, sat down next to her, and hugged her without saying a word as tears welled up in her eyes.
"You probably realize I never saw my father and mother again, as they were among the ninety Jews from Livorno who perished in Auschwitz. We kept hoping that perhaps they would return when the war was over. For several months, every step or knock that came from the street made us jump to the door until we realized they were never going to return, and we don't even have a grave to cry on."
"I did not imagine my father carried such a load and never told me anything. How could he?" Beatrice cried bitterly." He died and took his secret with him. Had you not agreed to tell us, we would never have known about our past."
When Clara heard her niece say those words, she burst into tears. "How many times have I wanted to tell the story, but I always heard my father's warning that the chain must be broken. I was sure Michele and I broke it. When I found out that you started investigating, I broke down, as my conscience did not let me hide our past anymore. "
"Aunt Clara, I will forever thank you and will remember to thank you until my last days," Beatrice responded. Maria Grazia, who was sitting next to her, put her hand on Clara's hands and said, "I swear I will pass the family heritage on to my son and my grandchildren if I have any. I am a Jew because my mother is Jewish, and both my grandparents were Jewish. My son is also a Jew even though his father is not, and when he grows up, I will tell him."
After Aunt Clara quickly made Pasta al Bianco and served it with butter and grated pecorino cheese, the three women sat down in the living room and sipped red Chianti wine.
Aunt Clara fell asleep in her armchair as the cat rested its head on her feet. Beatrice and Maria Grazia retired to their room for a short nap too. After waking up, Beatrice and her daughter returned to the living room. Clara was already awake and preparing the rest of her story.
"Three times a week, Marco would visit us at our house and bring us food packages. On one of his visits, he told us that the Germans were preparing another Action and demanded that the brigades look for more Jews. He asked me to go down to the basement with him. When we were alone, he started using his hands inappropriately and began groping me. When I asked him to stop, he laughed at me and said I was his to do as he pleased. I tried evading him and run upstairs, but he stood in front of me and threatened that if I did not give in to him, he would report us to the Germans, and our end would be in the camps. He did not tell us he knew that our parents would not be returning.
Although I'm sure he knew that I was a virgin, I begged him not to go all the way, I let him undress me and touch my private parts, but suddenly he grabbed me tightly and lay on me with all his weight and raped me."
Clara broke down and began to weep bitterly while coughing, which made her choke until she momentarily lost consciousness; Beatrice poured a glass of water on her while Maria Grazia opened the shutter to let the cool breeze blow in. When Clara revived, they laid her down on the couch and put pillows under her head. She was as pale as a ghost.
"We will stop now," Beatrice said. "We will not leave you here alone. I will stay with you, and Maria Grazia will return home tomorrow to her sweet little Carlotto". With great effort, Clara tried smiling and thanked them in a weak voice.