We were tipped off by a local Fascist official that a raid would be carried out at an abandoned villa south of Rome where fifty Jewish orphans had been hidden and watched over by an order of Capuchin monks. We beat the raid by an hour, scattering the children among village homes until the Germans left. When they did, we returned the children to the villa and to the care of the monks. We are all praying the Germans don’t go back.
It is a game of cat and mouse, priest and prey, and it’s a wonder more aren’t breaking under the stress. But we have a purpose and none of us thinks beyond the moment, beyond the day. We scramble and pray and sleep when we can.
Temperatures are warming and people in the southernmost parts of the city, near the catacombs and the caves of Ardeatine, are starting to complain about a smell. The dead are making themselves known. The anger and fear in the city, the desperation of the occupying forces, and the ticktock of the end seem to permeate the air with the same stench of death. None of us will be able to hold on much longer. But for Eva’s sake I will. And wherever she is, she just has to hold on too.
Angelo Bianco
CHAPTER 24
THE AMERICANS
When members of America’s 5th Army finally captured Rome on June 4, 1944, there was very little fanfare. The Germans simply left. The long red banners and the Nazi flags were removed from the headquarters on Via Tasso. The homes they’d requisitioned were vacated. The political prisoners were abandoned. They simply retreated. Some said it was the Pope’s influence, some said it was a strategic regrouping. A few said it was respect for Rome’s considerable historic and artistic significance, but whatever the reason, when the time came, they left.
Then the people waited with breaths held, ears peeled. The American planes had dropped leaflets the day before, urging civilians to stay indoors, to stay out of the way in case the conflict grew heated. But there was no fighting. No bombing. Just the quiet fall of leaflets and the dawn of a clear June morning.
When the first American trucks and tanks rolled into town, people didn’t stay inside. They danced in the streets. It was a strange sight, really. Italians, who had allied themselves with a ruthless dictator and fought and died beside Germany’s sons, were welcoming the Americans into their capital city. When German tanks and troops had descended on Rome a mere nine months before, people had died trying to keep them out. It said a great deal about the feelings of the Italian people, about their resentment for being drafted into a war very few of them wanted, made to fight and die for preposterous goals and ridiculous men.
Angelo could only watch with bittersweet relief as the parade of military vehicles clattered along cobblestone roads and people wept with jubilation. Mario and his little family, the nuns of Santa Cecilia, and even Monsignor Luciano and his sister stood and greeted the American troops, who were smiling and waving like movie stars, as they rolled into the city. For Rome, the war was over. For the clergy, for the resistance, and for the Jews in hiding, this day was a staggering victory. They had survived.
Most of them.
But some had not. Some still would not. The war was not over for those who’d been taken. It was not over for Eva and for the numberless Jews still imprisoned in camps in the north and in the east. It was not over for the Allied soldiers who would fight on, pushing the Germans into further retreat.
Two days later, on June 6, Angelo and a small group of priests at the Vatican gathered around a radio as the BBC declared that “D-Day had come.”
“Early this morning, the Allies began the assault on the northwestern face of Hitler’s European Fortress,” the announcer reported. “Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied Naval Forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies on the northern coast of France.”
Throughout the following days, countries aligned against Hitler waited with nervous hearts and shaking hands, listening for updates and reports. The Germans only suffered a thousand casualties that first day. The Allies suffered ten times that, but by June 12, all five of the beachheads of Normandy were linked and in Allied control, giving them the foothold they needed to run Germany out of France.
From Normandy, Paris was a straight shot east, and when Paris was liberated in late August, Angelo implemented the only plan he’d been able to devise. A soldier with the 5th Army, a major who’d spent the last year in Italy, had given him some advice.
“The 5th is being split up. Some of us are being sent into France. The war in Italy is going nowhere, Father. We’ve been here for too damn long, fighting our way up one hill only to face another right behind it. We’ve taken Rome, but if things continue as they have for the last nine months, it’s going to continue to be a slog, and we sure as hell won’t be getting out of Italy until Germany surrenders, or we do. It’s a battle of inches here. If you want to get to this girl, your best bet is to get into France and follow the Americans into Germany from that direction.”
Angelo told Monsignor O’Flaherty his decision and was given his blessing, along with a reminder that he was “still a priest.” He had not been laicized. He would not be given permission to marry. That kind of permission had to come from the Pope himself, and it was never granted. If he wanted to marry Eva, he would have to do so outside of the Catholic Church. But Monsignor O’Flaherty embraced him anyway and told him that when he found Eva, he should bring her back to Rome so he could see her again.
The American army had moved into the Hassler Hotel—known by locals as the Villa Medici—making the newly renovated site their headquarters for the duration of their stay. Angelo found himself there, dressed in his cassock, his cane tucked out of sight, waiting to speak with the commander of the 5th Army who had taken the city two months before. He had taken the major’s advice. He was there to enlist in whatever capacity they needed him. His only goal was to get to Germany.
The hotel was filled with memories of Eva, even though, in its current state, it looked nothing like it had the night Eva played her violin for a room full of the enemy. He could see her so clearly, resplendent in her black gown, her slim neck bowed over her instrument, a sparkle at her ears and a gleam in her eyes as she looked at him. He’d held one of those earrings in the palm of his hand that night as he’d contemplated the future, leaning over the sink in her hotel room, warm from the bath and cold from the evening’s events. His nerves had been shot from the raid, his emotions running high. He had felt the shift, the realignment of his priorities, and as he held the earring in his hand, Eva sleeping in the next room, he had been heartsick with love and soul weary with waiting.
“Father? What can I do for you?” A trim man in a neat uniform with slicked-back hair and a cigarette clenched in his teeth waved him forward from his office door. His “office” was the large coatroom where Eva had told Angelo about the suspected raid. Angelo stood and followed the commander inside, trying not to reveal his limp and probably making it more noticeable for his efforts. He decided to get right to the point, and after sitting down across from the commander, jumped right in.
“I’ve come to see if it would be possible to be of service to your men.”
“We have chaplains, Father, but we could always use a few more. Is that what you mean?”
“I’ve lived in Italy since I was eleven years old, but I’m an American. I speak fluent German and Italian and passable French. I could be an interpreter as well as a chaplain.”
“Why? The army doesn’t pay well. And you don’t have to do this.”
“I do have to do this. Plus, the priesthood doesn’t pay well either. That isn’t why most of us do what we do, is it, Commander?”
“You got that right, Padre. But what are your reasons?”
“A Jewish girl, a girl who is very important to me, was deported and sent to a concentration camp in northern Germany almost five months ago. I intend to find her. I was told the best way to do that would be to follow the American army into Germany. I will serve in any capacity you wish, just as long as you’ll send me where I have the best chance of getting to Germany the quickest.”
“You’ll have to stay for the duration. Even if you, by some miracle, find this girl. You’ll have to see it through to the end. You won’t be able to quit.”
“I understand. My only goal is to find her and get her to safety. I will fulfill my commitments.”
“Father O’Flaherty said you were determined.”
Angelo started at the mention of the monsignor.
“He sent me a message, said you’d be coming to see me. He managed to hide several of our downed pilots from the Germans. We owe him. He told me I could repay him by helping you.”
Angelo could only nod, humbled by the gesture. Leave it to O’Flaherty to do whatever he could.
“What’s with the leg? You limp.”
“It’s a childhood ailment. I can outwalk everyone I know. I always carry my own weight, Commander. You won’t need to worry about me.”
The commander laughed and sat forward in his chair. “I believe you, Father. Sounds to me like you have a guardian angel on your shoulder. Monsignor O’Flaherty told me about the massacre at Ardeatine. That won’t go unpunished. I promise you that.”
“Many good men were murdered that day,” Angelo said softly.
“Many good men have been lost in this damn war. It’s what keeps me going. I’ll do my best to help you find that girl. But I’m warning you, it’s going to be a long, hard road yet. The Germans aren’t done fighting. And as long as they’re still kicking, we have to fight too.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I can’t simply take a train into Germany and demand her release. But I can’t sit here either. I have to go. The only thing keeping me standing is the belief that she is there. And if I can just get to her in time . . . if she can hold on until I get to her, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
The commander took a deep drag off his cigarette and released the smoke slowly as he eyed Angelo. Then he nodded, as if he’d made up his mind and was at ease with his decision. “We have an army transport leaving for France in three days. You’ll be on it. We’ll find enough work to keep you busy, and you’ll probably wish you’d never signed on. The 20th Armored Division just arrived in the south of France. They’ll be working their way up quickly to the border between France and Germany. That’s the best I can do for you, Father. Godspeed.”