CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN

Elisabetta

16 October 1943

Elisabetta ran through Trastevere, past Nazis on motorcycles. Jews were being rounded up throughout the neighborhood. Shutters and shops stayed closed. No one was on the street. She had to get to the Ghetto.

She kept running, splashing through puddles, finally reaching Tiber Island. She took a left turn over the Ponte Cestio and raced past Bar GiroSport. It was dark and closed. Marco and his family must already know.

Elisabetta kept going, distraught. She prayed this wasn’t a rastrellamento. She hoped she wasn’t too late. She tore up the span of the Ponte Fabricio. Rain pelted her face and soaked her dress.

She reached the crest to a horrifying scene. There was a roadblock in front of the Ghetto. Nazis were ordering men, women, and children into covered trucks, which were pulling away. She ran down the bridge, frantic. A crowd stood in front of the roadblock. She jumped up and down, hoping for a glimpse of Sandro. She didn’t see him.

She tapped an older woman, next to her. “My God, what’s going on? Is it . . . a rastrellamento?”

“Yes,” the woman answered, crestfallen. “I just saw my oldest friend loaded into a truck like an animal.”

Elisabetta felt her heart break. “No, no, it can’t be true. They’re not taking everyone, are they? They can’t!”

“I tell you, they are. I’ve been standing here all morning. They are taking every Jew they can get their hands on. They’re emptying the Ghetto.”

Elisabetta couldn’t surrender to panic. “My boyfriend, he lives on Piazza Costaguti. Have they taken from the north side already?”

“I don’t know. My advice to you, go to the Collegio Militare. That’s where the Nazis are taking them. Your boyfriend might be there already.”

Elisabetta turned around and took off.