Tell Me Who I Am

by Julia Navarro

  To Amelia’s and Vittorio’s surprise, Cecilia had even come to Carla’s funeral.

  On December 28, Amelia went to San Clemente and headed to the confessional where Father Müller usually sat. There was another priest there, whose face she could not see.

  “Hail Mary most pure.”

  “Conceived without sin. Are you still going to go ahead with this?”

  The priest’s phrase shocked her. It was not Marchetti’s voice. Was this a trap?

  “Yes,” she said, fearfully.

  “On the floor, to your right, is a package. Pick it up. Wait, don’t go yet, it will look like a confession that’s far too short. The pistol is small, like you asked, and there are bullets as well. Be careful they don’t arrest you on the way back home. It will fit in the pocket of your coat. Now go.”

  Amelia called Cecilia Gallotti to say that she would be going to the party.

  “Oh, my darling, how happy I am to hear it! The truth is, I didn’t think that you would come. We sent the invitation a few days before Carla... We thought that it would take Vittorio’s mind off... but now...”

  “No, he will not come, but I will.”

  “Of course, of course, you have to take your mind off things. What happened with Carla was so terrible!”

  Amelia thought about how Cecilia spoke about Carla’s murder with the euphemism “what happened with Carla.” She knew that Cecilia would be surprised to hear that she was going to the party, and that she would tell all her friends. She hoped that it would reach the ear of Colonel Jürgens and that he would be there or else would get Guido Gallotti and his wife to invite him.

  Vittorio did not get annoyed when Amelia said that she would be going to the New Year’s party.

  “Go and try to relax, it doesn’t make sense for you to stay here.”

  “When... well... You’ll soon understand why I went.”

  “Please, Amelia, don’t do anything that puts you in danger!” he replied, put on the alert by the young woman’s words.

  “I don’t want you to think that I’m just a frivolous woman, capable of going out to parties with Carla’s body scarcely in its grave.”

  “If there is anything at all that ties you to me, promise me that you will not do anything that puts you in harm’s way. I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t stop Carla from doing what she did, but I couldn’t bear to have more guilt on my head.”

  Pasqualina helped her adjust one of Carla’s cocktail dresses. She was thinner than the diva had been, and not as tall. The dresser managed to fit her fairly easily into a black dress. She was going to remain in mourning for her friend.

  Vittorio’s chauffeur took her to the Gallottis’ house. Cecilia whispered that the announcement that she would attend the party had raised a great deal of interest, and that some officers had asked to be invited to the party. Amelia pretended that this meant nothing to her.

  Guido and Cecilia introduced her to some of their friends, although Guido was quite clearly uncomfortable with Amelia’s presence. Some of his guests asked who the young Spaniard was and he had to try to avoid telling them that it was Carla who had introduced them.

  “You’ve been very careless,” he whispered to his wife, “and I’m surprised that she would have come anyway, being in mourning for her friend as she is. She’s not to be trusted, as Carla was not to be trusted.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s Spanish, a Fascist like us, and she’s as surprised by Carla’s betrayal as we are. If she has come, it’s to show us all which side she’s on, if there’s one thing about you that’s certain, it’s that you don’t know women,” Cecilia defended herself.

  After midnight, Ulrich Jürgens arrived with various SS officers. His arrival was noticeable, not just because he came late, but because of the rowdiness of his companions. They had been drinking, and they seemed euphoric.

  He lost no time in paying compliments to the hosts, and headed immediately over to where Amelia was standing.

  “I thought you’d be crying.”

  She looked at him and turned away, but he grasped her by the arm and pulled her back.

  “Come on, out with the old, in with the new. And don’t kick me like you kicked me last time. Tell me, why are you here?”

  “I don’t need to tell you why I do what I do.”

  “So little mourning for your good friend Carla Alessandrini? I see you don’t waste any time.”

  “Leave me alone.” This time she managed to break free and turned her back on him.

  “Why do you insist in going against my will? You would do better if you didn’t. I could have saved your friend if you had played nice,” he said, grabbing her again and stopping her from walking away.

  “Can you play nice with a hyena?” Amelia replied, angrily.

  “That’s how you see me? A hyena? I would have preferred another comparison.”

  “Well, look in the mirror.”

  He looked at her harshly without letting her go, but keeping her at arm’s length. She could see from his eyes that he had a surprise for her.

  “Your friend the baron should be careful of his friends.”

  She stood up straight, she didn’t understand what he had just said, but it sounded like a threat.

  “I didn’t know that you controlled the friendships of the Wehrmacht as well!” Amelia said, trying to keep the disgust she felt out of her voice.

  “There are lots of traitors around at the moment, even in the heart of Germany. People who can’t understand the Führer’s dream. Lots of the baron’s friends have been arrested by the Gestapo, didn’t you know? Hasn’t he told you? I thought he trusted you more than that.”

  No, Max had not told her anything, so as not to frighten her, she assumed, but who did Jürgens mean? Father Müller hadn’t said anything either. Did he not know, or did he not want to worry her either?

  “Stop your insinuations and let me go! You disgust me,” she said, knowing that the more disdain she showed toward him, the more eager he would be to take her.

  “It must be hard for your friends to be traitors. First of all those Poles, what was your friend’s name? Grazyna? That’s it, and then there was Ewa, do you remember them? And now Carla Alessandrini. Careful, there are too many traitors hanging around you!”

  “How can you slander these people!”

  “You could have saved your friend Carla Alessandrini, but you missed your chance and now... Well, I suppose I could distract the people who suspect the baron. Don’t go running to warn him, by the way!”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want. Do I have to spell it out? If you care so much about the baron, you shouldn’t care about sacrificing yourself for him. Or will you leave him to his fate, just as you did with Carla?”

  “You disgust me,” she said, but her tone of voice suggested that she had given in.

  “I will help you get over your repugnance.”

  “Will you leave Baron von Schumann in peace?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Your word? That means nothing. I want a document that removes the baron from all suspicion.”

  He laughed at her and twisted her arm even more.

  “You will have to accept my word or else get ready to mourn the baron. Now stop making me beg, and come with me.”

  Amelia looked down and seemed to be thinking. Then she lifted her chin high and looked defiantly at Jürgens.

  “It will not be tonight. It will be tomorrow,” she replied.

  “Alright, tomorrow. We will go out to dinner first.”

  “No, no preliminaries, nothing like that. These are not necessary between us. Tell me where to go and I will go.”

  “A woman like you is worthy of the Excelsior, don’t you think?”

  “The Excelsior?”

  “It’s where the baron stayed, you should know it well enough,” he said, laughing.

  “Alright. When?”

  “At nine o’clock. We’ll toast our business deal wi
th champagne.”

  “Send word of where I am to go, which room. In fact, I’d prefer for you to send me the key to the room so that I can go up there directly. I don’t want people to see me with you in the hotel.”

  He let her go with a cruel laugh and she hurried away to find Cecilia Gallotti and say goodbye. She had achieved her objective, or at least the one she had set herself for that night. The most difficult part was the one she would have to play tomorrow evening.

  “But the party is going well, you can’t just go!” Cecilia exclaimed, trying to get her friend to stay a little longer.

  “I don’t feel well, I shouldn’t have come, I thought that I would enjoy myself but in the end I find I can’t stop thinking of Carla, I’m sorry, and thank you very much for your hospitality.

  When she got home, Vittorio was still awake.

  “I couldn’t sleep, I was worried about you.”

  “You shouldn’t worry, I’m alright.”

  “Did they treat you well?”

  “Guido was put on edge to see me there, but Cecilia was charming.”

  “I was surprised that she came to Carla’s funeral. I always thought she was an idiot,” Vittorio said.

  “I was surprised as well. Perhaps we’ve misjudged her and she’s not such a bad person at bottom.”

  “Now I want you to tell me the truth. Why did you go to that party? I know how much you loved Carla and that you didn’t feel like having fun.”

  “No, I didn’t, but I need to do something that I cannot tell you about yet. Trust me.”

  Alone in her room she wept for a while. Colonel Jürgens’s threat against Max had been clear, there was no room for doubt: The SS suspected the baron. She also knew that whatever she did, Jürgens would not keep his word. If Max was in danger, then he should be told about it as soon as possible.

  She barely slept, going over again and again in her mind the plan to kill Jürgens. She got up very early to call Max before he went off to see the field hospitals. She knew that their communications were being intercepted, but she preferred to warn him.

  “Max, I was at Guido and Cecilia Gallotti’s house last night, and someone told me that some of your friends might have had some problems in Germany.”

  “You shouldn’t worry, I’ll tell you about it when I come back to Rome.”

  “Be careful,” she warned.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” he replied.

  She spent the day with Vittorio, trying to cheer him up and counting the hours until night fell. At eight o’clock she said that she was tired and went off to sleep.

  Amelia had got into her nightdress and was yawning while the maid pulled back the bed covers for her.

  “You must be tired. I’m not surprised, these are hard days for us all, what happened to the mistress was terrible.”

  “Yes, I’m tired. I wish I could just go to sleep!”

  She drank the glass of milk that the woman had left on her bedside table and watched her go out. Then, when the door was shut, she took her nightshirt off and started to get dressed. She had chosen a diaphanous white blouse and a black skirt. Once she was dressed, she hid the little pistol in her garter belt. It was uncomfortable, and she had to make sure that she didn’t walk like a duck, but it was the only place that no one would suspect if they stopped her in the street or at the hotel.

  Early in the afternoon Ulrich Jürgens had sent her a note, which had come with a key that seemed to be a copy of one from the Excelsior. He must have threatened the manager to get this copy made for him; he said in the note that he would be waiting for her in Room 307.

  When she had finished getting dressed and was sure that the pistol was securely fastened, she sat down and tied her hair back in a bun. Then she put on one of Carla’s theatrical wigs. It was black, with mahogany highlights. It was too big for her, and she had spent two days trying to make it fit, but even though it was difficult, she had managed. She didn’t look like herself. The dark hair made her look different, older, and if it had not been for the mahogany highlights then she could have passed almost unnoticed. But Carla had never wanted to pass unnoticed, so Amelia had to make do with the least imposing of her friend’s wigs. The smooth bangs fell down on either side of her face, and the fringe covered her forehead. Even so, she covered her head with a scarf that she knotted at her neck. The she put on a black overcoat that she had found in a wardrobe in the guest bedroom. It was a little wide, and unfashionable.

  She did not say goodbye to Vittorio, and instead left, avoiding the servants. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the doorman was not on duty that night, because it was the first night of 1944, and a holiday in spite of the war. No one saw her leave. She mingled in the streets with the people and was relieved that no one seemed to be looking at her. She walked slowly so as not to call attention to herself.

  The reception at the Excelsior was full of Wehrmacht and SS officers. She walked quickly to the elevator, but a captain cut off her path.

  “And where are you going, bella signorita? Do you have a partner for the night?”

  Amelia did not reply, and got into the elevator, worried that he would follow her. She pushed the button for the fourth floor in case anyone was watching her. Once she was on the fourth floor she went down the stairs, worried about perhaps running into a guest, or the workers on the night shift. But luck appeared to be on her side. She opened the door to Room 307 and was shocked to find it dark. She felt her heart start to beat ever faster when a hand fell on her shoulder and turned her brusquely round.

  “So you have come,” Colonel Jürgens said in a lascivious voice.

  He had been drinking. Amelia could tell from the thickened edge to his voice, and because he smelled of alcohol. She turned toward him, trying to overcome the repugnance that she felt at his presence and his smell. She could not avoid his embrace, nor stop him from kissing her. He held her tight, and after the kiss he bit her lips until she could taste blood.

  “You must love the baron a lot to have come here tonight.”

  “We have an agreement,” she replied.

  He let her go and laughed.

  “Your problem, my dear, is that you are accustomed to deal with men like the baron. But I promise you that you will not find your experience here tonight disagreeable. Take off your jacket.”

  She obeyed. Her eyes started to grow accustomed to the dark and she could see his face. It seemed more brutal than usual as he manhandled her.

  “You didn’t want me to treat you like a lady, didn’t want me to invite you to dinner, so I will treat you like what you are. What is that?”

  Jürgens pushed her against the wall when he found out that Amelia’s hair was not the same as normal.

  “I got dressed up for you, to be at the level you expect from me,” she replied.

  He went to turn on the light, but she pressed herself against him and kissed him. While Jürgens carried on trying to remove her blouse, she put one of her hands between his legs and stroked him, which seemed to arouse him like a dog in heat. With her free hand she reached between her own legs for the pistol that was hidden there.

  “Do you want me to take you now? Are you getting yourself ready for me?” he laughed when he saw that she had one hand underneath her skirt. Amelia smiled and asked him to kiss her. He was going to, but she did not give him time. It took him a second to feel the cold barrel of the pistol against his stomach and the awful pain tearing up his guts. He fell to the floor, dragging Amelia with him, pressing against her body as if he wanted to take her down with him.

  Amelia managed to pull herself free and looked for a light switch. When she turned it on, she saw Jürgens stretched out on the floor with a grimace of surprise on his features. He was holding onto his stomach where his guts were spilling out, but he had not yet died.

  “I will kill you,” he managed to say in a thin little voice.

  She was scared, thinking that he might still be able to carry out his promise, and looked for something she co
uld use to finish him off, because she was scared of firing another shot. The dry sound of the first shot could be mistaken for a bottle of champagne being opened, but she could not justify another one in case someone from the hotel staff came to see what was going on. She went to the bed and took hold of the pillow, then knelt down next to him, watching the life running out of him, and covered his face, holding the pillow down with all her strength. For a few minutes, which seemed interminable, he struggled in vain, trying to get her to remove the weight that was suffocating him. Then suddenly all his struggles ceased. When Amelia was sure that he was dead, she took the pillow off his face and looked at Jürgens’s face. She put a hand close to his mouth to see if he was still breathing. But he was dead. Then she heard some knocks on the door. She stood up and went to ask who it was, but without opening. It was a member of the hotel staff.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked. “A guest called saying that he had heard a loud noise.”

  Amelia forced herself to laugh.

  “He obviously doesn’t drink much champagne, does he, darling?” she said, addressing Jürgens’s corpse over her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Madam, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Well, you did, you did, and there are some situations that shouldn’t be interrupted.” And she laughed again.

  She heard the maid’s footsteps retreating away from the door. Then she went through the room, top to bottom. She recovered a couple of the clips she had used to hold the wig in place, then put on some gloves and cleaned everything she had touched with a clean handkerchief. Then she took the cover off the pillow and put it in her bag. She went over the room once again, until she was sure that there was nothing there that could give her away. She put the wig back on and returned the pistol to her garter belt.