She released the treasure and stepped back, sickened by the sight but unsure of what to do. It might take all day to find Bianca’s jewelry, and Bianca was gone. But the gold didn’t belong here. It didn’t belong to the Germans. Without a plan or a purpose, other than to balance the scales of justice, to take back what was stolen, Eva started filling the pockets in her slim skirt.
Two handfuls in she realized that wouldn’t work. She emptied her pockets and took the little garbage can she’d intended to empty and dumped out its contents. Then she put four handfuls of gold in the bottom and covered it back up with the trash. She paused over a thin, gold-plated nail file and impulsively slid it into her shoe, where it rested between her foot and the left side. It was a pathetic weapon against the danger all around her, but she felt better immediately. She wiped her eyes, straightened her blouse, and smoothed her hair. Then she opened the door and flipped off the light, and with her back straight and her head high, she walked up the stairs and back toward the offices on the third floor, swinging the can from one hand, easy as you please.
The money her father had set aside to aid the refugees was gone, used up by the unending, overwhelming need of so many. It had been gone for a while, and the money in an account in the United States was difficult for Angelo to access. She would return to the closet every time Angelo and Monsignor O’Flaherty needed money for their refugees. The gold would go a long way. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.
15 December, 1943
Confession: I am an unrepentant thief.
I found gold at the Via Tasso, gold that had been extorted from Rome’s Jews, and I took some of it. I put it in my hat and pinned my hat to my head to hide it on the bus ride home. It worked quite well, though a chain was tangled in my hair when I removed my hat. When I showed it to Angelo, he didn’t cry the way I did when I found it. He yelled instead. He yelled at me and told me I was the most foolish woman he’d ever met. When I yelled back and told him I would be taking more, and I would keep taking it because it didn’t belong to the German thieves, he cursed, kicked the wall as hard as he could with his prosthetic leg, then hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe. I could feel his heart pounding against my cheek, and though I don’t want him to be afraid for me, I can’t find it in myself to regret taking the gold. I will take more, and more, and more. I will take every last piece. They won’t miss it, they stole it, and we need it. They’ve forgotten it’s even there.
Giulia wept when I returned her wedding band. When I told her and Mario where I’d found the gold, they were as sickened and angry as me. But they didn’t yell at me for taking it. Instead, they started devising ways to get the entire barrel out of German Headquarters. Mario insisted it could be traded on the black market for everything from milk to shoes and safe passage to Switzerland, and he pressed Angelo to take the gold and use it. Angelo has so many to look after, so many people to be afraid for, but I think the main reason he took it was so I wouldn’t try to barter with it myself.
Mario must have sensed his hesitation, because he told him that that much gold could save hundreds of lives. Angelo nodded and agreed but said he was more worried about my life and the danger I put myself in by taking it.
I reminded him that I am not the priority. He didn’t argue, but I could see his response all over his face when he looked at me. I am his priority. I’m not sure when it happened, but I am his priority.
The gold file I took from the barrel and slid in the side of my shoe is still there. It isn’t much of a weapon, though it is quite sharp. Still, it reminds me of what has been done to us, and it gives me courage.
Eva Rosselli
CHAPTER 15
CHRISTMAS
The day before Christmas Eve, first thing in the morning, Angelo cornered Monsignor O’Flaherty in his office and bade him to follow him to the loading dock at the rear of the Vatican where the kitchen and the service entrances were located.
“I have a surprise for you, Monsignor. An answer to our prayers.”
“Which prayer, Angelo? I’ve put up quite a few different ones as of late.”
“Food, clothing, supplies. Presents.”
“Presents?”
“Didn’t you say some of our smallest pilgrims are in need of Christmas cheer?”
“What magic have you done, Angelo?” O’Flaherty’s eyes lightened with hope.
“I haven’t done anything, really. One of my refugees found a pot of gold,” Angelo said with a bad Irish brogue.
“Whatever do you mean?” O’Flaherty gasped.
“You’ve met Eva. She is the one who works at Gestapo Headquarters.”
“Ah, yes. Eva.” O’Flaherty narrowed his gaze on Angelo’s face. “Monsignor Luciano has mentioned her as well.”
Angelo didn’t want to know what Monsignor Luciano had said.
“She found the gold that Kappler demanded from the Jews. The fifty kilograms. It was in a storage closet at Via Tasso, pushed back in the corner like no one knew what to do with it.”
The monsignor crossed himself and released his breath. “Dear Lord. What a travesty.”
“She found a ring that belonged to her aunt’s sister. A woman we’re hiding. She took some of the gold. Handfuls of it. And the next day she went back for seconds.”
The monsignor looked at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Angelo wondered if he had looked the same when Eva had told him what she’d done. She was too fearless for her own good.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t belong to the Germans,” O’Flaherty said, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it.
“No. It doesn’t. But she didn’t take it for herself. She gave it to me, and I used it to buy all of this.” He lifted the flaps of the truck and O’Flaherty whistled, low and slow, when he saw the interior, filled to overflowing with food and toys and miscellaneous supplies.
“It’s Christmas, Monsignor. We have presents to deliver.”
The monsignor began to laugh and spin, and before Angelo knew it, he was being pulled into an Irish jig.
“Father, I can’t dance!” he yelped, trying not to fall flat on his backside.
“Sure ya can!” The monsignor laughed, but he released Angelo to finish the steps alone, laughing and kicking up his heels.
“Eva wrapped all of them and labeled them so we can gift them appropriately. The Jews celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas, but she says it doesn’t matter. She says we can all celebrate Christ this year, as it is his church protecting her people.”
“I like this girl.” O’Flaherty laughed, and he danced a few more steps.
Angelo liked her too, but he didn’t offer commentary.
“Well. I guess we should be about the Lord’s business, then.” Monsignor O’Flaherty clapped him on the back. “Let’s go!”
They set out across the city, delivering goods and blessings to the children hidden in monasteries and convents where there was never enough to eat, a great deal of need, and very little cheer. It was a bit of a risk for O’Flaherty to leave the Vatican at all, but one he frequently took, and as members of the Curia, it was not suspicious whatsoever for the monsignor and Angelo to be together delivering Christmas cheer to convents and monasteries throughout the city.
“Your Eva. Tell me about her,” the monsignor insisted from the passenger seat. Angelo was driving and enjoying himself thoroughly. He didn’t get the opportunity very often, and he never let his prosthetic stop him.
He looked over at the monsignor, wondering at his use of the word your, but he didn’t protest or disagree.
“Growing up, we were as close as two people can be,” he said. “My grandparents worked for her father, in his home. I came to Italy when I was eleven, and I lived with her family when I wasn’t at the seminary. I love her more than my own life.” It was the truth without all the complicated subtexts and side stories.
“Yet you became a priest,” O’Flaherty said thoughtfully.
“Yes.”
Monsignor O’Flaherty looked out the window and said nothing for a while, as if his thoughts were tangled up in Angelo’s twisted choices.
“She is a beautiful girl,” he said quietly.
“Yes.” Angelo braced himself.
“I hear she plays the violin.”
“She does. She’s been classically trained. She’s very accomplished.”
“I wonder if she can play any Celtic music,” O’Flaherty mused, and Angelo relaxed. “I miss it.”
“She can play almost anything by ear. I will ask her if she can oblige you.”
“She doesn’t work on Christmas, does she?”
“No.”
“Then she should come with us tomorrow. We won’t be able to make all our deliveries in one day. We will go to the schools on Christmas Day. She should see the fruits of her labor.”
“The fruits of her thievery,” Angelo said with a small grin.
“That too!”
Eva borrowed a wimple and a veil for the deliveries. If they were stopped, which they probably would be, considering the checkpoints all over the city, she would need to look as if she belonged in a Vatican delivery vehicle with two Catholic priests, and it would mean fewer questions and explanations at the seminaries and schools as well.
They introduced her to the monks and the nuns as Sister Eva, and left it at that. Monsignor O’Flaherty had a personality that outshone everyone in the room, and Eva and Angelo hung back and let him hug and laugh and generally draw the attention to himself. But Eva was lovely and oddly alluring with her covered hair and veiled figure, and she was impossible to ignore completely.
The final stop was the Seminario di San Vittorio, where the oldest boys stared with wistful smiles and the little boys surrounded her with wide eyes and careful hands, touching her borrowed robes like she was the Virgin herself, come to visit on Christmas Day.
They were all receiving haircuts, lined up in a long row. The older ones were being taught to shave, and Eva had the grand idea of soaping up the dirty little faces of the youngest boys and giving them “shaves” as well, making them sit very still, scraping off the suds with the dull edge of a butter knife, and patting their small faces dry with a clean towel. She got smiles and clean, shiny cheeks in the process, and she kissed each one and gave him a piece of hard candy when she finished.