Page 7 of Daughter of Genoa
‘Don’t worry – that’s quite clear.’ Vittorio sat down at the table, a respectable distance away, and looked at me. His eyes were very green; I hadn’t noticed that before. ‘And now – may I call you Marta? Is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘Thank you. Anyway, how are you feeling? I imagine you’ve had a bad shock.’
‘I have, yes. I’ve been quite…’ I had to swallow. ‘Silvia’s been very kind. And Bernardo, though I don’t see him so much. I’ve been sleeping, mostly,’ I admitted, and Vittorio nodded.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Well, we know what we need at such moments. But you’re up and at your work now.’
‘Yes, well.’ I tried to smile, and he rewarded me with a smile back. ‘Silvia found me something to do. I know I oughtn’t to be in the way, but I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. I was just so… I was sobored. I know that’s terrible, but it’s true. I’ve been bored for years, bored and scared and tired. And I suppose I’m not so tired now, and I’m a bit less scared, so now I’m mostly bored.’ My cheeks were hot. Something about Vittorio’s steady gaze, his air of total attention, was rather unnerving. I wondered if this was what confession felt like. ‘Anyway, I’m afraid I nagged her until she gave me this ledger to look at. And now I’ve finished it, so I shall have to nag her for something else to do.’
‘Entirely reasonable. It’s very hard to do nothing if you’re someone who’s always worked. Someone who likes working, dare I say.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ I said. ‘I do like working. I like having a purpose.’
‘I understand that very well. May I see?’ Vittorio gestured to the ledger.
I didn’t know why he should want to, but I obligingly pushed it towards him and he flicked back through the pages. ‘Now look at this,’ he said. ‘You’ve done such a neat job here. It’s like darning a sock.’
I must have given him an odd look, because he went on. ‘I mean that as a compliment – don’t worry. It’s very fine repair work.’ He was studying the page in front of him. ‘I’m imagining that you were some kind of high-powered secretary, before all this.’
‘Secretary-bookkeeper, but nothing high-powered about it. Really, I was just an office girl.’ I smiled, trying to look carefree, as if it were true. As if there were nothing at all painful or troubling in talking about my old life – nothing that made my heart speed up and my hands clammy. ‘I worked for a very busy man, a shopkeeper down by the port. He had a lot to do, but he liked to keep an eye on everything himself, and so…’
‘And so he needed a skilled helper, someone he could trust to do everything he wanted in exactly the way he wanted it. Trust being a relative term.’ He laughed, a short, wry laugh. ‘I know that type. My father is that type.’
I didn’t know what to say to that. I couldn’t imagine him having a father, much less one he could be wry about.
Vittorio shut the ledger and rested one hand on it, as if he were taking an oath. His eyes were fixed on the table in front of him. He was a Jesuit again, the kind you see in the street. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’ve found something to do. Silvia and Bernardo are good people and they’ll look after you well. And if you ever need to talk about anything, you need only ask one of them and they’ll find a way to send for me. It goes without saying that whatever you tell me is confidential,’ he added. ‘That isn’t just for the confessional. It applies to anything we say to each other here. All right?’
‘All right,’ I said, but I couldn’t imagine pouring my heart out to this rather ascetic-looking priest. I didn’t know how anyone could. ‘Thank you.’
Vittorio nodded and got to his feet. ‘It’s what I am for. Good day, Marta.’
‘Wait.’ I didn’t really know what I was going to say next, but I knew I couldn’t let him go yet. ‘I do need to talk. To ask you something. If you have time, that is.’
He nodded again and sat back down, returned his gaze to the table. ‘I have a few minutes.’
‘Look, I… you don’t have to tell me what exactly you’re doing, or who you’re working with. It’s enough that I know what you want to do for me. But you’re helping other people, aren’t you, the three of you? I know it’s secret,’ I said as his mouth tightened, just a little, at the corner. ‘Believe me, I know all about confidentiality. But I’m in on the secret, too. I’m in on it simply because I’m here, being helped. And since I am here, and since I am in on it, and since we all have to trust each other… I want to contribute. I don’t know exactly what I can do, but if there is something, then I want to do it.’
Vittorio smiled, but he still didn’t look at me. ‘You are a good person,’ he said. ‘God will bless you for it.’
‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘Just tell me what I can do.’
For a moment, he was silent. His gaze drifted to the ledger and I hoped desperately that he was assessing my skills, lining up some role for me – though I really didn’t know what. ‘Why?’ he asked at last.
‘What do you mean, why?’
‘Why are you asking me this? Even assuming that Silvia and Bernardo and I were doing anything riskier than dispensing simple charity – and that’s quite risky enough on its own – why would you want to involve yourself? Don’t you think you’re in enough danger as it is?’
‘I’m in danger because of who I am. I don’t see how I can make it any worse by what I do. If the Germans find me, they’ll send me away regardless.’
Now Vittorio raised his head. His face was still, but there was something terrible in the way he looked at me. ‘Then you know they’ll send you away,’ he said.
‘Yes. I’ve gathered that much.’
‘And do you know where?’
‘No. If I were a young man, I expect they’d conscript me, send me off somewhere to fight or to die of hard work. As it is, maybe I’d end up in a factory or a labour camp.’ I could say it with a certain bravura, because the idea of it had become so horribly familiar. I’d spent whole days, entire nights thinking about it.
