Strangers in Venice

by A W Hartoin

  She backed out of the office, pulled the door to, and whispered through the crack. “It is God’s will.” The nun closed the door and Stella had the distinct impression that Sister Claudia would never lay eyes on her again, if she could help it.

  Stella rooted through the clothes in search of socks. “God’s will,” she said to herself. “Maybe I should try that with Nicky.”

  “Mrs. Myna,” called out Father Girotti. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The Father came in and looked her over. “It is not your style, but you are dry.”

  Stella grinned at him. “Dry is better than style.”

  “I found this in the lost clothing box.” He held up a woolen coat, brown, serviceable, and extremely drab. “No one donates socks, so I brought you a pair of mine.”

  “Perfect.” Stella kissed his cheek. “I think you might be a saint. Sister Claudia, too.”

  He blushed at her affection and said, “She makes most people nervous.”

  “Why? She’s perfectly lovely.”

  The priest smiled the biggest smile at her. “You can see that? Most can’t. She’s so nervous and shy.”

  “She’s helping us. I’m hardly going to criticize, but I’d like to know why she’s doing it,” said Stella. “She was rather terrified of me.”

  “Sister Claudia is rather terrified of everyone,” he said.

  “But not the Nazis?”

  “She’s especially terrified of them and she has good reason.”

  Stella tried on the coat, big but not bad. “Why? Has she got a price on her head?”

  “As a matter of fact, she does.”

  Stella gaped at him. “That little nun? What could she possibly have done?”

  “There was a man, a social democrat. He was printing an anti-fascist newspaper and they came to arrest him so he ran. Sister Claudia hid him at her convent. Word got out and she helped several people to escape, arranging for false papers and lying to officials. The bishop found out what she was doing and ordered her out of Germany just ahead of an arrest warrant.”

  “They put a bounty on her for that?”

  “She went back.”

  “To do what?”

  “She heard that a dear friend and her husband were to be arrested. She went to take the children away to safety.”

  “Jews?”

  “Communists.”

  “Did she get the children?” asked Stella, her mouth going dry.

  He smiled. “Yes and the bishop wasn’t a happy man. She dressed as a Benedictine nun and smuggled her friend out as a fellow sister and the children as orphans going to Assisi.”

  “The husband?”

  “He died during what the Nazis called questioning. Once they realized who it was that had robbed them of their other prize, Sister Claudia got a price on her head. She will never go home again,” he said softly.

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Stella.

  “She knows it would be madness. You see, she has false papers, too.”

  “We’re all a bit mad, don’t you think?”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Some more than others, I think.”

  Chapter Nine

  NICKY LAY ON the cot, eyes closed with two bandages on his buttocks. He looked for all the world like he was having a nice rest, but, for a moment, Stella feared he’d died, he was so relaxed.

  “Ah, Mrs. Myna,” said Dr. Salvatore and Nicky’s eyes fluttered. “You’re looking…warmer.”

  “I am and my feet are feeling better, too,” she said, although it wasn’t strictly true. They were nice and cozy in Father Girotti’s socks and that was better, in a sense.

  “Sit down and I will see,” said the doctor.

  “How’s Douglas?”

  “Douglas is fine,” said Nicky. “Just a flesh wound.”

  “Really? That’s a relief,” said Stella.

  “Is it? I had the impression you didn’t care whether it was serious or not.”

  “Of course, I care.”

  “But it changes nothing,” he said.

  “Well…” Stella was struck with the worse déjà vous ever. But then she remembered. It wasn’t déjà vous. It was reality. Her parents had the same conversation about one of the brewery’s scheduled new releases and her mother’s birthday party. “It changes everything.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “I do say,” said Stella, determined that she was not her father and, more importantly, Nicky was not her long-suffering mother.

  “Good,” said Nicky. “Are we done, doc?”

  “We are,” said Dr. Salvatore. “There will be much swelling and pain, but I believe you will heal quickly.”

  “So did you…dig the bullets out?” asked Stella.

  “Out of what?” asked Nicky.

  She waved at his rear. “Your bottom.”

  The doctor chuckled. “He’s got a blighty wound.”

  Nicky rolled over and sat up. He wavered, clutching onto the cot for support. “That stuff you gave me is something else. What’s a blighty?”

  “It’s a British phrase my father taught me. It means you get to leave the trenches and go home.”

  Nicky looked at Stella and she did her best not to set her teeth and look as stubborn as she felt.

  “So I’m good to walk.” He tried to stand and failed. Stella rushed over and insisted he lie back down. Nicky agreed, giving her a loopy smile.

  “I thought he was fine?” she asked.

  “He is. I gave him the last of my Eukadol. I’m afraid you’ll have to do without, Mrs. Myna.”

  “I don’t need it.” Stella looked at Father Girotti. “Can he borrow some clothes from the donations, too?”

  “Of course.” He went out and returned with a stack of clothes and Sister Claudia, who quickly set down a basin of hot water and rushed out.

  “Was it something I said?” asked Nicky.

  “No,” said Stella. “That’s how she is.”

  “Poor little nun.”

  “She’s more than that,” said Stella softly.

  “Yes, she is,” said Father Girotti. “And she brought me some news. When will Douglas be able to walk, Dr. Salvatore?”

  “Now, if he’s careful. There was quite a bit of blood loss and, with the Eukadol, he’ll be woozy.” He looked at Stella. “I recommend he stay in bed for a minimum of three days.”

  “I want to be on a train tomorrow,” said Nicky.

  The doctor shook his head. “It will be much too painful. I’m afraid you’re stuck in Venice.”

  “I’m not stuck I’m…” Nicky trailed off mid-sentence and went to sleep.

  “What’s your news?” asked Stella.

  “Are you Irish?”

  She frowned. That was a question she’d never been asked before. “No. Why?”

  “I thought maybe you have the luck of the Irish.”

  Stella raised an eyebrow and Dr. Salvatore put her on the other cot to soak her feet. “I’m lucky? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Your SS officer has been arrested.”

  She clasped her hands together like a child waiting at a merry-go-round. “Are you sure?”

  “Is he a thin brunet, medium height, wearing a black uniform with the skull and crossbones?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “He was arrested on multiple charges after the citizens of our ancient islands captured him.”

  The Father laughed and told her the story that had come to the nuns. News traveled fast in Venice and the sisters, while being very devout, were the tiniest bit gossipy and liked to hear the latest. A washerwoman had come directly to tell them about a German officer gone wild, stealing boats and crashing them into water taxis, firing a gun randomly, and frightening everyone half to death. Several men spotted Peiper, in his distinctive uniform, leaving the church courtyard. They threw oars at him, knocking him down and grabbing his weapon. When they found out just how many boats Peiper wrecked, he may h
ave been kicked repeatedly. Venetians took boats very seriously.

  “What about us?” asked Stella before biting her lip.

  “No one saw Douglas get hit. They didn’t mention either of you.”

  “Well, we stole the first water taxi and Douglas beat up the captain. He’s sure to report it.”

  “I’m sure he will, but the officer is getting blamed for his water taxi being destroyed and the rest of the damage.”

  “Someone else must’ve seen us at the train station and what started it. Maria, for one, was there,” she said. “She signaled to Peiper when she saw him.”

  The men exchanged a look that was both dark and a touch relieved.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You understand that we’ve been assisting people who want to leave Germany and Austria?”

  “Yes, of course. So?”

  “So some of those people aren’t coming with proper papers,” said Dr. Salvatore.

  “I know. That’s why we came to you.”

  “Some are considered criminals by the Reich,” said Father Girotti.

  “What’s that got to do with Maria?” she asked.

  It had a lot to do with Maria. Some of the people Father Girotti and the Jewish community were helping made it to Venice, but no farther. They were unexpectedly arrested and sent back to Germany. No one knew why those people were found out and others weren’t.

  “Did you see her at the platform on the day you arrived?” asked Dr. Salvatore.

  “No, but it was pouring and I wasn’t looking.” She inhaled sharply. “The Goldenbergs. Bartali knows about them. Have they been arrested?”

  “No, no. We sent them to Rome yesterday, but they may have been arrested there,” said Father Girotti.

  “Will you find out?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Why did they have to get fake papers anyway?” asked Stella. “The Nazis hate them. Why don’t they just let them leave?”

  Dr. Salvatore lifted Stella’s foot out of the water and looked closely at the toes. Stella suspected it was so he didn’t have to look her in the eyes. He said nothing and after a moment, Father Girotti said softly, “It is not a question of leaving as much as where to go. They must have permission to come here or any other country.”

  “It is becoming increasingly difficult,” said Dr. Salvatore.

  Stella remembered Nicky saying that the United States wasn’t taking Jews, but, frankly, she had been more concerned about Abel at that moment. Nicky could worry about the whole situation. He could think about the politics and policies. She could only think about the individuals that she knew, the faces she couldn’t forget. The Goldenbergs were in that number now.

  “Will they arrest them for being Jewish, like in Vienna, or just for the papers?” she asked.

  “The papers are the excuse. Being Jewish is the reason,” said Father Girotti.

  “If they want to go to the States, maybe my family can help.”

  “Your family? Do they have influence?”

  Nicky’s eyes flew open. “No, no. We don’t, but we can write our congressman and ask questions.”

  “Yes…we’ll write. Maybe we can sponsor them. That helps, doesn’t it?” said Stella quickly.

  Neither man reacted to their odd interaction. Father Girotti had seen their passports. He had probably connected them to Bled Brewing, but he said nothing. The doctor didn’t know their real names and Stella meant to keep it that way, for his sake as well as theirs.

  “Don’t concern yourself at this moment, Mrs. Myna. Until we know how the Goldenbergs are, there is nothing to do.” Dr. Salvatore looked up at her, his intelligence shining through and telling her she had nothing to fear from him.

  “I’m sure they made it fine.” Nicky tossed off the blanket and struggled to sit up with Father Girotti’s help. “We should go.”

  “A few more minutes,” said Dr. Salvatore.

  “Eulalie can do another soak back at the hotel,” said Nicky. “Presumably, Dr. Davide is still coming to see her.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” said Father Girotti.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Your passports.”

  Nicky slapped his forehead. “I completely forgot.”

  “Getting shot is a pretty good excuse,” said Stella.

  “Not in our present situation.”

  No one remarked on the “present situation” and Dr. Salvatore examined Stella’s other foot. Father Girotti excused himself and Stella asked, “What are you going to do about Maria?”

  “Do about her?”

  “She’s ratting on your people. Probably for cash.”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then you have to do something.”

  Dr. Salvatore looked back questioningly at Nicky, who smiled wanly, and Stella realized how very pale he was.

  “My wife is always very keen to do something,” he said.

  “There is nothing to do,” said the doctor, placing Stella’s foot back in the water.

  “She’s a thief. Isn’t that against the law?” asked Stella.

  “Maria is many things, most of them illegal. The law isn’t concerned with her.”

  Stella crossed her arms and Nicky gave her a warning look, but she didn’t care. That woman had turned them in to the SS and for what? A few lousy lira. There had to be a way to punish her, a quick trip into a canal, at the very least.

  “Darling?” asked Nicky. “What are you thinking?”

  “I want to hurt her,” said Stella.

  “You already have.”

  “Have you?” asked Dr. Salvatore.

  Stella drummed her fingers on the cot. “No. She’s not in jail and she still has her front teeth.”

  The men chuckled and Dr. Salvatore said, “I think Maria has made an enemy for life.”

  “And she’ll pay for it,” said Nicky. “More than she already has.”

  “How has she paid for it?” demanded Stella. “How?”

  “You stole her case.”

  Father Girotti came in with a stack of clothing under his arm. “You stole something, Mrs. Myna? This must be the first time.” His eyes twinkled at her and she tilted down her chin, fluttering her eyes innocently. “Of course, Father.”

  “What did you take?” asked Dr. Salvatore as he stood up and stretched his back.

  Stella scanned the room and saw the case next to the door, where she must’ve dropped it. She didn’t remember that. She only remembered seeing Nicky’s bloody pants and the fear that went through her. “There it is. Maria grabbed…Douglas’s wallet and I took her case. She deserved it.”

  Father Girotti laid down the clothes next to Nicky and said, “Maria’s case?” He exchanged a look with the doctor. “Perhaps it can help us.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Stella. “It’s just her collection of tacky crosses and rosaries.”

  Dr. Salvatore got the case and opened it next to Stella. “They might be useful for us as well as you.” He went through the case, pulling out more than just religious items. She had simple jewelry, such as earrings and some cheap rings. He lifted up the bottom of the case and smiled at Stella.

  “What?” she asked, leaning over to see what he’d discovered.

  He held up a small black ledger.

  Nicky grinned. “Her account book. That could be extremely useful.”

  Stella didn’t see how. So she kept track of her sales. Maria was a businesswoman, of a sort, and accounts were necessary. “So we can find out how many of,” she held up a particularly garish cross, “these she sold. So what?”

  Dr. Salvatore leafed through the book. He was smiling and trying very hard not to. “You are right, Mr. Myna. This will help us, if only we are willing to use it.”

  Stella snatched the book out of his hands. “I’m willing. Let me see.” She opened the book and found as she suspected, rows of numbers, some addition, some subtraction. Her rudimentary Italian revealed that Maria was rather meticulous. She noted
everything, bread, coffees, and the occasional chocolate.

  “Please do not look at that,” said Dr. Salvatore, his gentle voice tense, and he tried to take it back.

  “Hold on now.” Stella shifted it out of his reach. “What’s so secret?”

  “Don’t worry yourself, darling,” said Nicky as he examined a pair of pants.

  “The last time you said that Vienna was about to be set ablaze, so, if you don’t mind, I will worry.”

  Father Girotti helped Nicky get dressed and Stella thumbed through the book. Numbers, numbers, addresses. Numbers, numbers, names. Initials, men presumably. On the third time through, she saw it. Just a small entry, what appeared to be a date, a V with a number and a time, 6:48. Across from that were little hashmarks, one crooked, two straight, and three small ones.

  Stella looked closer. There were more of these peculiar entries, but not many. None were exactly the same, but they had the same format and below them was another number with a plus, which seemed to correspond to the number of hashmarks. Two hashmarks equaled seventy-five. Four was 150 and so forth. But there wasn’t always a number underneath.

  “I’ve got it,” she announced, but none of the men were pleased. They were flustered and didn’t seem to know what to do with their hands. “What’s wrong with you? I said I’ve got it. What was our train number?”

  Nicky slipped on a jacket with holes in the elbows and refused to look up. “What was that?”

  “Our train. What was the number?”

  “Oh, um…2491.” He looked up finally. “Why?”

  Stella checked the ledger. Their train wasn’t listed, but fifteen days before P2701 was listed with two crooked hashmarks and below it seventy-five. “Father did you have someone come to you about two weeks ago. Two people on train 2701?”

  The priest stopped fussing over Nicky’s jacket and froze. “Yes. How did you know this?”

  “It’s in the book and I think Maria got paid seventy-five lira for them. Were they arrested?” she asked.

  He sat next to her and she showed him the entries. Then the priest stood up and walked across the room. His face changed completely, losing all its humanity and becoming dark to the point of ugliness. Nicky, for his part, looked relieved. That is, until he saw Father Girotti’s face. “They were arrested then.”