Tell Me Who I Am

by Julia Navarro

  Amelia reached Milan on September 5, 1940. Vittorio Leonardi, Carla’s husband, came to meet her at the station.

  “How good it is to see you here! Carla is longing to see you, you have to tell us about Rahel...”

  A chauffeur with the latest model Fiat was waiting for them at the door of the station.

  Carla was happy to have Amelia with her. Ever since she had gotten the telegram that said Amelia was coming, she had been redecorating her mansion with an eye to Amelia’s tastes.

  While the maid unpacked Amelia’s bags, the two women did not stop talking.

  Amelia explained that her relationship with Albert was going through a bad patch, and Carla said that if she did not love him then she should leave him.

  “He’s a good man, he doesn’t deserve to suffer, not even because of you, cara. He is like Vittorio, but my husband is happy like this, and Albert wants to have all your love, and if you cannot give it to him, then at least give him the chance to find love with someone else.”

  “You are right, but even if you don’t believe me, I do love him, in my fashion, but I do love him.”

  “I told you in Berlin: It’s not whether or not you love him, you need him, he’s a safe haven for you. But you do not need to take refuge in any man in order to feel safe, you have Vittorio and me, you know that we love you like our daughter. And now, tell me, why did you decide to come?”

  Carla was too intelligent to believe that Amelia had come to Italy simply to see her. She was a passionate and open woman, and she could not bear ambiguity. Amelia was sincere with her.

  “After we helped Rahel to escape from Berlin, Albert’s uncle, who works in the Admiralty, suggested that I do some work for them. I accepted. I went back to Berlin and found out via Max that there are opposition groups scattered throughout Germany; some of them are Christians, some are Socialists, Anarchists, but they have no organization among themselves, each one works alone, something that takes energy from them. But it is a relief to know that there is an opposition, even if it is small and weak, and it is vital information for the British.”

  “Churchill is an extraordinary man. I spoke to him once: He was scathing about the policy of appeasement. He will get rid of Hitler, there’s no doubt about it. If he is in charge of the war then he will win.”

  “It is a war for the future of the whole of Europe. I hope that if they get rid of Hitler, then the European powers will save us from Franco.”

  “Poor thing, how naïve you are! Come on, Amelia, Franco doesn’t bother them, they prefer to have him rather than the Popular Front. They don’t want the Russians in their back yard, they won’t let Spain be a base for the Soviet Union.”

  “I don’t want that either; I want Spain to be a democracy, like England.”

  “Good luck with that. I suppose that supporting Franco must be like us supporting Il Duce.”

  “The English say that you have contacts with the partisans...”

  “They do, do they? Well, that’s as may be. Why?”

  “Because they think that you are an anti-Fascist and that you will help anyone who fights against Fascism in Italy and against Hitler in Europe.”

  “It’s not that simple. I love my country, I wouldn’t live anywhere else in the world, this is my home and whenever I travel I think about coming back here. I will never betray Italy, but as for Il Duce... I can’t stand the man! He’s a conceited oaf, a rabble-rouser. It makes me embarrassed to think that he represents us, that he’s joined the war in such a shameful way. So I will help to get my country freed from him, and... I know that you will not like this, but I have some sympathy for the Communists, even if that would mean throwing stones against my own glass house; what would become of me if they won! But that is not what’s important now, the important thing is to get rid of Il Duce and to get Italy out of the war.”

  “Can you tell me how you got in touch with the partisans?”

  “People know me and trust me. They got in touch with me to ask for certain... favors. Nothing important, for the time being. I told you that my old singing teacher was a Communist. I owe him a great deal, all that I am. I will introduce you. His name is Mateo, Mateo Marchetti, and he is a legend among us opera singers. He asked me to hide a partisan a little while back, he was the one contact they had with people outside of the country and the police had him surrounded. I hid him in my house and managed to get him to Switzerland. I did something like I did with Rahel. And what exactly has Albert’s uncle asked of you?”

  “He wants to know what is happening with Il Duce, what his plans are and how far he intends to get involved in the war. He asked me to come; he knows that you move in the uppermost circles of high society, and he wants me to keep my eyes and ears open. I may hear something useful.”

  “So you’re a little spy now,” Carla said, laughing.

  “Don’t say it like that! I don’t feel like a spy, the only thing I’ve done up until now is to listen to people and keep an eye on what’s happening around me. I don’t even know if what I’m doing is useful.”

  “Alright, I will organize a dinner and invite some of those bigwigs I hate so much. I hope that one of them says something that is worth the trouble, because I have to say that I hate the idea of having them in my house.”

  Carla organized a party that was attended by many of her friends and a good number of her enemies. No one could resist an invitation from Carla Alessandrini, especially when it was to dine at her own house.

  The diva’s house in Milan was a luxurious, three-story palazzo. It was lit only by candlelight that night, and Carla had made sure that the only drink available was champagne.

  Vittorio Leonardi could not understand why his wife was being so extravagant, but he did not complain when Carla told him that she could not imagine giving a party if everything were not of the very best quality.

  Dressed in a red gown of silk and lace, the diva greeted her guests at the palazzo door, flanked by Amelia and Vittorio.

  “You have to be by my side, because then I can introduce you to all the guests.”

  Out of the more than two hundred invitees, Carla pointed out a couple to Amelia, indicating them with very little enthusiasm.

  “They are friends of Galeazzo Ciano, the Duce’s son-in-law. If you get on well with them then they will open the doors to Mussolini’s inner circle.”

  Amelia deployed all her charm on Guido Gallotti and his wife Cecilia.

  Guido was a diplomat and one of the advisers to Ciano, who was the Foreign Minister. He had passed forty, but his wife must have been around the same age as Amelia.

  Cecilia was the daughter of a rich textile merchant, well connected, a fanatical follower of Il Duce, who had started to make good business moves once Mussolini was in power, in particular marrying his daughter to this high-ranking diplomat; it was a marriage that was convenient to both parties. Guido Gallotti brought social status, and Cecilia brought a clean bank account that allowed them to indulge their every whim.

  “I know Spain, I was there before the Civil War. They are lucky to have a man like Franco. He’s a great statesman, like our Duce.” Guido said to Amelia.

  Amelia jerked back a little. She could not bear to hear anyone showing admiration for Franco, but Carla pinched her arm and Amelia managed to force a smile.

  “I want Guido to take me to Spain, he has promised me that. My husband is in love with your country,” Cecilia added.

  “I am so glad that you like it, and you should take your wife, I am sure that she will love it there as well,” Amelia replied.

  Carla went off to talk to her other guests, and Amelia tried to entertain the couple by telling them what Madrid was like after the war, trying to avoid making any political comments. Vittorio came up to them.

  “We love this one very much,” Vittorio said, winking at Amelia.

  Cecilia seemed to be impressed by the friendship between Amelia and the Alessandrinis. There were not many people who were so close to the diva. Carla had
a legion of admirers scattered all around the world, but she was very choosy when it came to her friends. Also, her opinion of the Mussolini regime was no secret, she didn’t even mind her words when she spoke about Il Duce himself. So the Gallottis were a little surprised to have received an invitation from Carla, especially because some of the people at the party were absolutely committed Fascists.

  “You have to visit us in Rome. You will be welcome to come to our home. Will you be in Milan for long?” Cecilia asked.

  “I don’t know, I won’t leave before the premiere of Tristan und Isolde. I wouldn’t miss Carla as Isolde at La Scala, not for anything.”

  “Marvelous! I am from Milan, my father has a factory near the city. We go there often to see my parents. We are going to go to the opera as well, we don’t want to miss Carla either. Isn’t that right, darling?”

  Guido hid his surprise with a smile. Cecilia did not much like opera, she didn’t understand it, but she was anxious to rub shoulders with people like Carla.

  “It will be a pleasure to see you, and we would be pleased to put you up in Rome.”

  Later, Amelia told Carla and Vittorio that she had managed to get an invitation to stay with the Gallottis in the capital.

  “And you accepted?”

  “Well, I haven’t promised anything yet.”

  “And you shouldn’t. Let them insist. They know that I am not a great fan of Il Duce, and even though Cecilia is as dumb as a cow, Guido is sharp as a whip.”

  “Do you really have such a bad opinion of Cecilia?”

  “She’s a social climber. Well, both of them are, I suppose, but in complementary ways: Guido brings his social contacts, and she brings the money. They are made for each other.”

  “Don’t you think that they are in love?”

  “Yes, of course. Guido is madly in love with Cecilia’s money, which allows him to spend freely with the group of friends surrounding Galeazzo Ciano, and she is in love with Guido’s social standing. You have nothing to fear from Cecilia, but he is dangerous. Don’t you forget it.”

  “What’s more, he’s an inveterate skirt-chaser,” Vittorio said, “and I don’t like how he was looking at you one bit. Neither Carla nor I want you to become another head on their trophy wall.”

  “A trophy! Don’t exaggerate, Vittorio, I’m not anyone in particular,” Amelia said, laughing.

  “You’re Carla’s friend, so Cecilia can now claim to be connected to the great diva’s inner circle of friends. As for him, I am sure that he would not mind adding you to the list of beautiful women he has sampled.”

  “I will be careful, I promise.”

  The premiere of Tristan und Isolde was set for the middle of October. Carla went to rehearsals every day, and also had two or three hours of training at home with her voice teacher, Mateo Marchetti.

  For her part, Amelia, following the advice of Carla and Vittorio, accepted various invitations from the couple’s friends. She was especially interested in Marchetti, because he seemed to be something more than just an old Communist.

  He seemed distant and mistrustful to begin with, but Carla insisted that Amelia was trustworthy, and his resistance crumbled bit by bit.

  Sometimes he stayed for dinner after his classes with the diva. They spoke about politics above all, and it was a rare occasion that Marchetti did not ask Carla for some favor or other for one of his comrades.

  Amelia was usually quiet because she did not speak Italian very fluently, and she felt uncomfortable having a conversation on important topics; Carla and Vittorio insisted that she participate without fear.

  One night, Carla surprised her teacher by speaking about the days that Amelia had spent in Moscow.

  The professor was very interested in finding out the young woman’s opinion about the revolution’s achievements, and it was hard for him to control himself when he heard her talk about what life was like under Stalin.

  “You don’t understand anything,” Marchetti told her, “you are very young and you obviously don’t know what the revolution has meant. The world will never be the same again. So there are problems? How are there not going to be problems! So things still don’t work as well as Stalin would like them to? I’m not surprised, there are still many counterrevolutionaries in Russia who are not willing to lose their privileges. You accuse Stalin of persecuting everyone who is opposed to the revolution. Of course he does! What else should he do? The Soviet Union is the beacon to which we all turn our gaze, knowing that it will illuminate a new world, a new mankind. The counterrevolutionaries must be liquidated, because of the danger they pose to the world we want to create.”

  Amelia tried to refute this harangue by offering little stories of daily life in Moscow, but Professor Marchetti was inflexible, and accused her of lacking the passion of a true revolutionary.

  “Revolution is not democracy, then?” Amelia asked.

  “What does revolution have to do with bourgeois democracy? Nothing, nothing at all! Stalin knows what he’s doing, he needs to run a country that is almost a continent, he needs to convince millions of people that they are Communists, that their birthplace doesn’t matter, that everyone is equal, that the party is the only arbiter.”

  “I have known lots of Communists, and it always surprises me that Communism with them is a dogma, and that the party is their church,” Amelia said.

  In spite of their arguments, the two of them got on well together, and, with Carla’s encouragement, Marchetti began to speak confidently in front of Amelia, so that she began to find out how the Communist Party was organized in secret and what its relationship was with the Socialists and the other great opponents of Il Duce, and especially how orders were passed from Moscow to Switzerland.

  The Tripartite Pact, signed on September 27, 1940, by Germany, Italy, and Japan, was just one more step on the path to total war.

  The rehearsals had continued without interruption until the morning of October 2, when Carla woke up with a temperature and had to miss her classes with Professor Marchetti.

  Carla was angry with herself for falling prey to what seemed at first to be nothing more than a simple cold, which caused her to lose her voice. The doctor ordered her to rest in order to speed up her recovery, but the diva was a rebellious patient, and in spite of Vittorio’s protests, she spent most of the day walking around the house dressed only in a thin silk dressing-gown. On October 8 Carla had no voice at all. Her throat was terribly inflamed, which posed a real risk to the premiere of Tristan und Isolde, scheduled for October 20.

  Marchetti advised Vittorio to call on Dr. Bianchi, an old retired throat specialist. The only problem was that he lived in Rome.

  Vittorio got in touch with him and insisted that he travel to Milan to look after Carla, but his wife was inflexible.

  “My husband is retired, he has arthritis, and I will not allow him to travel to look after anybody. The most I can offer is that he look at la Signora Alessandrini here, in our house.”

  Marchetti praised Bianchi’s abilities so highly that he ended up convincing Carla to travel to Rome.

  Carla could barely speak and still had a temperature, but she agreed to go to Rome, fearing that if she did not then the premiere of Tristan und Isolde would have to be delayed.

  On the morning of October 10 they left for Rome by car. Amelia sat with Carla in the back seat, with Vittorio driving and Marchetti sitting next to him.

  It was an exhausting journey for the patient, and her fever had gone up by the time they reached Rome.

  Amelia was surprised to see Carla’s marvelous top-floor apartment near the Piazza di Spagna. It was spacious, with the best views over the city.

  Two maids were employed year round to make sure that everything was in order, and when they arrived, Carla and her entourage found everything ready to receive them.

  Amelia and Marchetti moved into their respective guest bedrooms. The professor did not unpack, but called Dr. Bianchi immediately and told him to come and see the patient.
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  “But it is nine o’clock!” Bianchi’s wife protested at the other end of the line.

  “I don’t care if it’s four o’clock in the morning! Carla Alessandrini has come to be treated by your husband, and the journey has made her condition worse. She has a very high fever, and it will be on your head if anything should happen to her.”

  An hour later, Dr. Bianchi was examining the patient.

  “She has a serious infection of the vocal cords. She needs medicine and absolute rest, she shouldn’t even talk.”

  “Will she be able to sing on the twentieth?” Marchetti asked, afraid of what the reply might be.

  “I doubt it, she is very ill.”

  “But we came here for you to cure her!” the singing instructor complained.

  “And I will, but I cannot promise any miracles,” Dr. Bianchi replied.

  “You can work miracles, of course you can! I remember in 1920 how you cured Fabia Girolami in just three days.”

  “Yes, but what la signora Alessandrini has is not a cold that affects her voice; she has a major infection of the throat, the pharynx, the vocal cords... This will take time to clear up. I will give her a prescription for the medicine she should take, but I am worried by her temperature; if it has not gone down in a couple of hours it would be best to take her to a hospital. It was risky to bring her from Milan.”

  “But it is your fault that she came!” Marchetti shouted. “If you had come to Milan then she wouldn’t have got worse.”

  Dr. Bianchi agreed to stay with the patient for a few more hours, but he was inflexible; if her fever didn’t go down, then they would have to take her to the hospital.

  At midnight, Carla seemed to fall into a delirium. Her fever rose and Vittorio had her transferred to a hospital, where they went with Dr. Bianchi.

  He explained his diagnosis to the hospital clinicians, and, after assuring himself that Carla was in good hands, he took his leave and promised to return the next day.