CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Elisabetta

5 September 1938

After school, Elisabetta entered the steamy kitchen at Casa Servano and hung up her purse outside the pantry, where Nonna sat at her table. Four chubby lines of soft dough sat dusted with flour, and the old woman’s silvery head was bent over them as she cut one line into small sections, leaving a row of small pasta pillows.

Elisabetta assumed Nonna was making gnocchi, but Paolo hadn’t been at the bar to play the guessing game, and she was in no mood anyway. She had worried about Sandro all day, and school had been awful, with all the students, teachers, and administration upset and angry.

“Ciao, Nonna.” Elisabetta crossed to kiss Nonna on the cheeks, breathing in her familiar smells of flour and rosewater. “Did you hear what happened today, to the Jews?”

“What do you think, I live in a cave? Mussolini turns on the Jews, bringing Trastevere to tears! Throwing children out of their schools! Teachers out of jobs! The man is a monster, a scourge! Now you!” Nonna glanced up from her work, her mouth pursed tightly. “Sit down.”

“Me? And Mussolini?” Elisabetta sat down, bewildered.

“Isn’t that my newspaper?” Nonna gestured to yesterday’s newspaper, resting on the other chair.

“Yes.”

“I’m angry with you.”

“Why?”

Nonna pressed her index and middle finger into one of the soft pillows of pasta, made a dimple in the center, then sent it skidding across the flour with a deft backhand of her fingernails. “You wrote on my newspaper?”

Elisabetta had circled some rooms to let. “I suppose so, yes. I’m sorry.”

“You’re looking for a place to stay?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” Nonna rolled another piece of pasta. “Don’t you realize how insulted I am? Didn’t you think I’d have a room for you? Don’t you know I’m a woman of means? Don’t you know I own property? I have a very nice room in one of my buildings. It even has a bathroom.”

“For me?”

“Of course for you!” Nonna scowled, exasperated.

Elisabetta didn’t understand. It sounded like an offer, if not for Nonna’s manner. “Well, thank you, then. How much is the rent?”

Nonna’s head snapped up, her hooded eyes flaring behind her spectacles. “Elisabetta, what kind of woman do you think I am?”

Elisabetta felt overwhelmed. “A room, for free? I can’t possibly accept such generosity.”

“Then I’ll fire you. Say goodbye to Casa Servano and me.”

“No!” Elisabetta rushed to say, confused.

“You mean ‘yes.’ What’s the matter with you? Can’t you say ‘yes’?”

“Yes!” Elisabetta answered, grateful to be prompted. It wasn’t a conversation, it was a minefield. “Thank you! Where is the room?”

“Via Fiorata 28.”

Elisabetta blinked. “That’s where you live, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I told you, I own it. Don’t you listen?” Nonna sent another gnocchi flying across the flour. “I am on the ground floor. You will be upstairs, with your very own bathroom.”

“Wonderful, thank you!” Elisabetta felt relief wash over her like a warm bath, but Nonna was looking up at her fiercely, with a knife in her hand.

“There is one problem. Your stupid cat.”

“How do you know about my cat?” Elisabetta swallowed hard. She would never put Rico on the street. She would rather give up the free room.

“You don’t know I see you collecting fish scraps? Or hear you talking about how smart he is? How handsome? How affectionate?”

“May I bring him?”

“Does he spray?”

“No.”

Nonna eyed her, deciding. “Then, yes.”

Elisabetta hugged her, unable to hold back.

“But if he sprays,” said Nonna, “I’ll cut off his gnocchi.”