CHAPTER 26

AUGUST WAS UNEVENTFUL EXCEPT for the knowledge that more and more troops were being sent to Eritrea and Italian Somaliland. But as the heavy rains began to peter out, the single most important subject of discussion in bars, hotels, and whorehouses was whether Mussolini was going to bomb Addis and what provisions should be taken for protection. Some people thought of seeking refuge on Mount Entoto, others rented safe houses near the Italian compound. Rutherford sent Daniele up to the roof to paint a huge American flag on it.

“Make sure it is very big and very bright,” Rutherford ordered. “Or we’ll all be cooked duck.”

The emperor set up a warning system: three shots fired from an old cannon at the Ghibbi Palace. If the people heard the cannon, they were ordered to leave town, or to take refuge in the shelters they had constructed. During the practice, the cannon exploded. As there is no word for “practice” in Amharic, the whole town panicked. Even though they heard no bombs and saw no planes, people ran to the hills and stayed there.

The foreigners were leaving. The train station at Akashi was flooded by those seeking to get out while they still could. The gay brown ladies of the night were ordered to prepare to accompany the soldiers to the front, or, if they declined, they could help the war effort by paying a fine of five silver Thalers to the imperial war chest. Most paid and stayed.

Bill, with his harmonica in his pocket, stopped by the legation to say goodbye. “I’m sorry to have to go, Miss Larson, but there won’t be much mule breeding for a long time. Time to get back to Kansas.”

“I’m sorry you’re leaving, Bill.” Ceseli smiled, holding out her hand to shake his. “Have a safe trip back, and thanks for stopping by,” she said.

Several days later, Bruno Zeri, too, was leaving. “I have some new ideas for your bible,” he said, coming abruptly into her office.

“About the Falasha Jews. You found them?”

“Finding them wasn’t the problem. There are three communities up there. They do live on land rented from other landowners. That’s true. The center of their religious life is the synagogue. The high priest is the head in each village. He is helped by lower priests. Falasha monks live alone, or in monasteries. There are no rabbis. That’s different because the rabbi is a very important person in most Jewish communities in Europe. Also, the Sabbath requirements are rigid. They observe biblical dietary laws. And the part about animal sacrifice is true. You might want to add that to your bible.”

“I will. So you’re going to write about them?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I thought that was the whole point of your trip?”

“I went there with that intention. They believe that they are descendants of Solomon and Sheba. They may even be the lost tribe of Dan, one of the ten lost tribes of Israel. One monk told me he thought that when the Red Sea opened not all the Jews crossed in time. They escaped from Egypt by going south and ended up here in Ethiopia.”

“An interesting thought.”

“But since I’ve met these people, I’ve changed my mind. If I write about them, they’ll look like something out of a circus. They are what I see as a unique tribe of Jews. History has just passed them by. I don’t want them subjected to ridicule because of me.”

Ceseli listened to what he was saying, not passing judgment, one way or the other.

“You don’t like me very much, do you, Miss Larson?”

“No,” Ceseli admitted.

“Is it because I’m a journalist or because I’m Italian? Or because I’m a Jew?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think I’m a brainwashed journalist?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But you’re not willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. You might be pleasantly surprised. Maybe you have a glorified idea of what I actually do. It’s very simple. I report what happens. The man walked down the street. The dog was shot.”

“I guess I feel that you have to do more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel that in a war you have to take sides.”

Bruno Zeri hesitated, looking at the photo of the obelisk on the wall. “You mean like the Greek gods did. Zeus. Hera. Troy.”

“The Gods decided the wars because of their petty differences. I can almost see them up on Mt. Olympus deciding the fate of the world.”

“I can see them in Geneva,” Zeri smiled. “Do you know the book, A Tale of Two Cities? Dickens?”

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . It was my father’s favorite book.”

“Your father was an intelligent man. Very true to his beliefs. I liked him for that.”

“You never said you knew him.”

“Mostly of him. He was a very respected man. I was in the Assembly Hall when he collapsed.”

“He didn’t suffer?” she blurted out.

“I think he was dead immediately. I’m sorry if I have made you relive memories,” Zeri said. Ceseli could not help noticing that there was kindness in his voice.

“A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of it, but thank you in any case.”

“You remember Madame De Farge?” Zeri asked.

“Knitting her shawl.”

“It wasn’t a shawl, was it? It was a list of names. Those who had been executed.”

“I stand corrected. But I don’t understand the connection.”

“Someday I’ll tell you. But that wasn’t the purpose of my visit. I’m leaving tomorrow. My paper needs me elsewhere.”

“Eritrea?” she asked, thinking he would lie.

“That’s right. I stopped by to thank you for your help. About the Falashas.”

“But I didn’t do anything, but give you some facts.”

“That’s what a journalist needs,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “It’ll be a dreadful war,” he said. “You should get out now.”

“I will. When the time comes.”

“Will you still go to Rome? I’m from Rome, you know. My house is near Torre Argentina. Next to the Jewish ghetto.”

“I remember where that is. The Roman columns and the stray cats.”

“The cats of Rome. That’s right. If you get to Rome, give me a call.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not asking for it carved in stone. Just maybe.”

When he had gone, she tried to analyze what she did feel. Maybe, he was a modern gladiator. She felt that he was baiting her or perhaps even sparring with her. The fact was he made her uncomfortable.

As Bruno walked back to the Imperial Hotel, he wondered why it mattered that Ceseli Larson should like him. At least respect him.