“Then you should leave too. You’ll end up getting killed.”
“I’ll get killed if I desert, that’s for sure. But you should go.”
I shook my head. “I made a commitment. Maestro Molinari gave me a precious opportunity. He chose a woman to play in his orchestra. I’m the only one in the world! How would it look if I were the deserter?”
He nodded. He understood. We decided not to waste any more time talking. There were much better things for us to do.
Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor is a rousing, violent opera with sword fights, duels and stabbings. It is punctuated with powerful percussion from tympani, bass drums and tubular bells. Thus, it was not immediately unsettling when huge thunderblasts were heard during the July 19 performance.
But Maestro Molinari was startled. The score did not call for thunderous bass. The Teatro shook to its very foundation and in a few moments, it was obvious to all that something outside the building was rattling the crystals on the chandelier.
Six hundred and ninety Allied planes dropped 9,125 bombs on the San Lorenzo train yards and steel factories that night. Those sites were a stone’s throw from the Teatro. When they realized what was happening, the patrons screamed and dashed for the exits. Remarkably, the building survived intact. The remaining concerts in July were canceled.
Six days later, Mussolini was arrested by the Fascist Grand Council. The papers reported his arrest during the evening hours of July 24–25. The council voted to transfer Mussolini’s powers to King Victor Emmanuel. Later that day, the king transferred the powers of the prime minister to General Pietro Badoglio. It was the beginning of the end and everyone could see it. Especially Hitler.
SIXTY-ONE
Pienza, September 2017
GIULIA RECEIVED A CALL from Joseph at the Registrar of Titles. He was holding the three books we ordered from the archives. We made arrangements to view them in the afternoon. Meanwhile, Giulia had made an appointment with Alfredo Romitti, Matteo’s grandson. He had a photo album that contained pictures taken by his grandfather. The Pienza home had been in the Romitti family all these years.
Alfredo was a strong, barrel-chested, wide-shouldered, black-haired man with an open-collared shirt. Pictures revealed that he was a spitting image of his grandfather. He invited Catherine, Liam and Giulia into his Pienza home, the same one Friede and Ada had visited so many years ago. They sat on the couch and enjoyed a glass of cool lemonade.
“My grandfather had a new Nikon camera in the 1930s. When my wife and I moved in here there were pictures all over the house. She made me put most of them into boxes. There are pictures of my great-grandmother Naomi and my great-aunt Natalia. I remember when I was young, my grandfather would tell stories about the old days, when he ran a winery in Montepulciano.”
Catherine said, “It was our thought that if we could find pictures of your great-grandmother and her friend Friede Baumgarten, it might help us in our effort to save Gabriella’s land.”
He nodded. “This is my great-grandmother Naomi Romitti,” he said. “I did not know her. She died during the war. In late 1944, the Nazis came through and grabbed every Jew they could find. Many of them were hiding in small towns. The Jews they found were arrested and sent north. Or they just shot them. There are horror stories about small towns totally annihilated by SS troops. My great-grandmother Naomi and my great-grandfather Nico were both arrested and sent to the detention campo at Fossoli and from there, we presume, to Auschwitz.”
“I’m so sorry,” Catherine said.
Alfredo nodded and pointed to a picture. “This is my great-aunt Natalia. I never knew her either. I was told she was a partigiana. She fought with the partisans during the war. I don’t know what happened to her. Here is a picture of Naomi and her friend, I think it could be Signora Baumgarten. There are several pictures of the two of them laughing and cooking.”
At last Alfredo came to a group photo. “This might be what you’re looking for,” he said. “That is Naomi, her friend, my aunt Natalia and four other people I don’t know. They are sitting at a table with flutes of prosecco raised in celebration. There are papers on the table. Maybe that was the day Gabriella’s property was purchased.”
“Alfredo, we have to leave now. We have an appointment at the registrar’s office. May we borrow this picture?” Catherine asked.
“Of course. You may have it.”
“Liam, let’s get this picture enlarged. We may be able to read some of the words on those papers.”
* * *
AT THE REGISTRAR’S OFFICE, Joseph brought three volumes out to the counter. He picked up the first one and turned the pages until he came to the tracts owned by VinCo. “These two tracts appear to have been purchased from two different families. The registry book shows that they were deeded from the families to VinCo on May 21, 1944.”
“Would the registrar have a copy of the deeds?” Catherine asked.
“No. There were no copies made in those days. The notaio would show the deed to the clerk, who would write down the pertinent information.”
Joseph picked up the second book. “There were four tracts sold to VinCo. All of them were recorded on May 21, 1944. The same as the first book,” he said.
The third book was the same story. All of the tracts were sold and the deeds recorded from the individual families to VinCo on May 21, 1944.
“So, as I understand it,” Liam said, “VinCo became the owner of all the land it now possesses on May 21, 1944, right?”
“Yes. You are correct.”
“Just to make sure, other than what is noted in the registry books, there is no proof that any of these people ever really signed a deed to VinCo in 1944, right?”
“The book is the proof.”
“That’s what I thought. Can we have a copy made of those pages, please?”
“Certainly.”
* * *
“VERY SUSPICIOUS, DON’T YOU think?” Liam said on the drive back to the villa. “All those lots were supposedly purchased on May 21, 1944, which just happens to be three days after Quercia Company was formed.”
“Suspicious? Coincidental? Stinks like a dead fish? Say what you will, it still isn’t proof that any of those transactions weren’t valid. It’s not evidence and it won’t carry the day with Judge Riggioni,” Catherine said. “VinCo could have arranged to buy all the properties and close the sales on the same day. I’ve been involved in mass real estate closings where several units are purchased on the same day at the same time with the same closing officer. It’s not uncommon. We still don’t have any proof that VinCo, or even Quercia, illegally came into title. We’re missing the smoking gun.”
“Would you like to hear another stinky coincidence?” Giulia said.
Liam and Catherine nodded.
“I did some research on VinCo, as you asked. VinCo was organized on May 18, 1944, the very same day as Quercia, probably for the purpose of purchasing all the vineyards three days later. The sole shareholder was also a trust. The beneficiary of the trust is not disclosed. The name of the trust is Wolfsangel. And it’s a German trust.”
“Exactly the same way Quercia was organized,” Liam said.
“Exactly.”
“It’s time to go see Gunther.”
SIXTY-TWO
Rome, September 1943
On September 8, 1943, Italy’s General Badoglio formally surrendered to the Allies and signed an armistice. Italy was no longer at war. It had capitulated, which was what most Italians had wanted all along. There had recently been massive worker strikes in Milan and Turin, and there was general discontent about the scarcity of fungible goods. Coal and oil were in short supply, and reports from the south revealed that the Italian army was in disarray.
There were celebrations in many quarters of the city, but they were short-lived and brutally extinguished when the German army drove into Rome two days later. In a matter of hours, the Nazis enveloped and occupied the city. The Gestapo was now in control. They set
up headquarters with the SS on the Via Tasso, which soon became the city’s most frightening address. German trucks patrolled the streets with loudspeakers blaring. Random abuse and persecution began immediately.
The Allied bombs continued to rain down on the outskirts of the city and on the industrial areas. The buzzing sounds of airplane propellers, the whining whistle of falling bombs and the thunder of their explosions shook me to the core. Whether by tacit agreement or respect for the antiquities or because of the pleas of the pope, Rome’s city center was not bombed. Thus, it was Maestro Molinari’s decision to resume the performance schedule.
Kurt and I had made plans to meet after rehearsal. The café was across the Tiber. I stopped briefly at my apartment to drop off my instrument. My route to Trastevere, over the Garibaldi Bridge, took me through the Jewish quarter. I saw uniformed Germans everywhere. Jewish families cowered, held their children and quickly went inside. It brought to mind the Brownshirts marching through the streets of Berlin. I saw my grandfather broken and beaten. I saw my father with cuts and bruises. I understood why my mother screamed “Kleiner.”
I had taken this route many times before. The Jewish quarter was charming. Italian Jews had no reason to cower. There was no fear of brutality on the streets. But now the Nazis were here. Abject wickedness had descended upon the Eternal City. Should we expect all of the Nazi Nuremburg Laws to be imposed? Would Rome become another Berlin? Or Vienna? Or Warsaw?
Kurt was seated when I arrived, and two glasses of wine had already been set on the table. He rose to pull out my chair. It should have been a romantic late September evening, but I wasn’t feeling it. I looked at him: handsome, strong, comfortable and confident in his military uniform. It was all wrong. I had just come from the Jewish quarter where men wearing his uniform were tormenting innocent families. As much as I loved him, it turned my stomach to be in the presence of a Wehrmacht officer.
“Do you have to wear your uniform when we go out?”
“I have to wear it at all times, Ada, you know that.”
We finished our dinner with very little conversation. Kurt could sense that I was in a dark mood, and he suggested we take a walk. He reached for me, but I didn’t want to hold his hand. How could I walk by the Jewish quarter hand in hand with a Nazi? We crossed the bridge and turned toward the Coliseum. He tried to make small talk to lighten the mood, but the more we walked, the more uncomfortable I became. What was I doing walking with a Nazi?
Our path took us by the Palazzo Venezia where Mussolini had stood on his balcony to address his cheering followers. “Duce, Duce!” they yelled. How could so many have been so clueless? The Roman Forum was across the street. We stood at the railing looking down at the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire.
“Do you see the analogy?” I said. “It couldn’t be more graphic. The rise and fall of the Roman Empire? The mighty Third Reich? How long before the Nazi empire collapses as all oppressors must? It can’t be soon enough for me.”
“Please, Ada, we’re just taking a walk.”
I pointed to my right, toward the Jewish quarter. “Do you know what’s over there, Kurt?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Of course you do, we just passed it,” I said sarcastically. “That’s the Jewish community that your noble leaders want to extinguish. It’s only been there for two thousand years. The world’s oldest continuous Jewish community. Do you know what the Gestapo did last week?”
Again, he nodded solemnly. He knew, but he didn’t want to get into it with me.
“The Gestapo came in and demanded a ransom of one hundred and ten pounds of gold as the price of protecting the Ghetto. Protecting! From whom, you might ask? Why, from the Gestapo, of course! One hundred ten pounds of gold, Kurt. People sold everything they had to meet that demand.”
We walked a little farther and came upon the Arch of Titus. Then I completely lost it. “Do you see what’s carved into this arch?” I said, almost shouting. “It’s a memorial tribute to the Roman conquerors of the Jews in Palestine. Do you see the menorah stolen from the Temple in Jerusalem? Do you see the golden trumpet, the procession of slaves? Is that what you are fighting for?”
Kurt stopped me abruptly. “That’s enough, Ada. You know those are not my beliefs. You know that’s not me.”
“Do I? You’re a Nazi. Nazis are putting Jews into camps and killing them. How can you wear their uniform?”
“I wear the uniform because I was conscripted. You know I don’t agree with those policies.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know anything.”
He reached for me. “Ada, come on.”
“Don’t touch me, Kurt. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you again. I have to go.”
“Ada, wait.”
I turned and ran as fast as I could back to my apartment, where I lay on my bed and cried for the rest of the night. My heart was breaking, but I was sure I had made the right decision.
Two weeks later, Kurt appeared at my apartment. He knocked on the door. I told him to go away. He said he would, but he had something he had to tell me first. I let him in.
“Kleiner is in Rome,” he said. “I thought you should know. The Gestapo and the SS have established a headquarters and he’s working there.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll try to stay out of his way.”
“No, you need to get out of Rome. Now! Go to your mother’s and stay out of sight.”
“I can’t, Kurt, I told you. I made a commitment to the Rome Opera. To Maestro Molinari. I’m not leaving.”
“Please, Ada. You have to leave, and I’ll tell you why. Berlin sent Waffen-SS Colonel Hollman to Rome. He’s here for one purpose: to round up all the Jews in Rome and send them north. Do you understand? They’re going to clear the Jews out of Rome. He’s at Via Tasso right now with Lieutenant Kleiner. If you stay, you will be arrested with the rest of them, put on a train and sent north. No matter what you now think of me, Ada, I have always loved you. I will always love you. I’m begging you, please go.”
I was stunned. “All the Jews in Rome?”
Kurt nodded. “Ten thousand is their estimate.”
“When is this supposed to happen?”
“Next week. The date is uncertain due to ongoing negotiations with the Vatican. The High Command wants to make sure there won’t be a Vatican protest.”
“I can’t leave until next week. I can’t leave Molinari without notice. We have three concerts before the fall break. I have to play. Maybe I’ll leave then.”
He shook his head, sighed and left.
A Sunday matinee performance of Mozart’s The Magic Flute is normally played before an audience of families. Children love the characters, especially the silly Papageno, a bird catcher who is dressed up in a funny-looking feather costume. Sometimes we have to stop the music and let Papageno take a bow to the applause and laughter of the children. This Sunday, however, the Teatro was packed with uniformed Nazis. Some of them chuckled. Maybe they saw The Magic Flute in Germany when they were young. But there were no children present.
When I returned to my apartment, Kurt was waiting for me. “Ada,” he said, “Listen to me. I can’t tell you how urgent it is…”
“I know. You want me to leave Rome. But I have one more performance to do. I told Maestro Molinari that I would be leaving when the opera concluded its fall season. He is very understanding. He sees the situation just the same as you and me. I have to play tomorrow night and then I’ll make arrangements to go.”
“No, Ada, you don’t see the situation. The SS and the Gestapo are bringing hundreds of people into the office on Via Tasso. Right now. They’re interrogating everyone who might have information on the whereabouts of Jews. They’re also seeking information about the resistance. This morning they brought in the staff from the Excelsior. They questioned the concierge for over an hour. You stayed there, didn’t you?”
“Did they bring in Tomaso?”
“Who is Tomaso?”
“He worked in the Excelsior catering department. I passed him a secret envelope from Natalia.”
“Oh, Jesus. Did anyone else know that you gave him an envelope?”
“No one else saw the envelope, but the second time I was supposed to make a delivery, Tomaso didn’t show up. I asked a staff member about him. The concierge knew I asked about him.”
Kurt took me by the arm. “Grab a bag of clothes and we’ll go right now. I don’t know whether the concierge identified you, but let’s not take the chance. They could be coming right now. Let’s get to the train, and I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll go with me? You mean you’ll leave the army?”
He nodded. “I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.”
“You’d be a deserter, Kurt. They would jail you or worse. I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s not your decision, it’s mine. Get your things.”
I didn’t expect to hear this. I had misjudged Kurt. He was going to give it all up for me. “I’m sorry,” I said. My words were catching in my throat. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry for the things I said.”
He shook his head. “No, you were right to say what you said. I am the one who should be sorry. I am the one who marches blindly, the one who serves the Reich. No more. Please come with me. Let me take you to safety. Let’s follow that dream that we have.”
“I love you, Kurt, and we will follow it, but I can’t go yet. I have to play tomorrow night. I will not have Molinari say that the only woman he ever hired walked out on a performance. We’ll go after the concert.”
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