Chapter 10

TEN

SEPTEMBER 1943

As the days went by Emilia noticed that the mysterious comings and goings continued. Every other morning, Signora Jorelini, or sometimes Corinna, would leave the house before dawn with a basket, only to return with that same basket overflowing with food. And every evening, she'd spy Corinna hurrying down the street with that basket. Sometimes she would see Signora De Luca, too, or one of a few other women who lived nearby, always holding a covered basket.

The longer it went on, the more curious she became. One night just before dawn, she pretended to be asleep as Corinna left the bedroom. Through the window, she watched Corinna head down the street. She stole downstairs and was waiting in the kitchen when Corinna returned.

Corinna gasped when she saw her. "What are you doing up? Go back upstairs!"

"No," Emilia told her. "I want to know what you're doing. Where are you getting all that food? And where does it go? Where do you and the other women take it, so there's only a little left for us for dinner?"

Corinna paused, then put the basket down on the countertop and motioned to Emilia to follow her upstairs. There, she closed the bedroom door firmly, and the two sat on the edge of Corinna's bed.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," Corinna said. "It's dangerous to know too much. And my mother would hate for you to feel sorry for her. The ration cards don't allow us very much food at all. But there are ways to get more if you have money. Mama has some saved up from the restaurant, but it's not enough. So there's a box in the kitchen of valuables—just small things, some old jewelry, some trinkets, some silver pieces handed down from her parents. The brooch that my father gave her long ago. My things too, birthday gifts—my pearl earrings and my silver hand mirror. Mama or I go out in the mornings and sell what we have to for vegetables and grains and meat, and then Mama trades what she won't use for other ingredients she needs."

Emilia looked at her. "She sells her jewelry? And yours, too?"

"It's not just us," Corinna said. "Others in town are doing it, too. The nice ones."

"There are people who'll buy your beautiful things?"

"There are always people willing to take valuables from others. We sell to them, and they sell to others. Alla borsa nera . It's illegal, but it goes on."

Emilia thought of her sister Giulia, who hated even lending out her hair combs or barrettes. "She's selling something almost every day?" she asked. "And you too? How can you all give up the things that you love?"

"We do what we have to," Corinna said. "I know this doesn't make sense to you now. But you will understand one day. All we have, all we own…surely you've seen these last few weeks that it's not as permanent as we let ourselves believe."

Emilia considered this. "But…but you bring back so much food in the mornings. And by the evening there's only enough for our dinner. Where does it all go?"

Corinna pursed her lips, as if deciding how to explain a complicated math problem in Emilia's workbook. "My mother has been involved in something very important with a few of the neighbors," she said. "So we're not helpless, so we can make things better. As better as we can.

"There are Jewish people in town trying to get out of Italy now that the Nazis are in power," she said. "And there's a group guiding them to safer places. Part of a whole network seeking to undermine the Nazis. The Resistance. Some of our neighbors have opened their houses, so the Jewish people have somewhere to stay until they are told where they can safely travel next. And my mother is cooking for them. Mama knows how to make meals out of few ingredients, or ingredients that normally wouldn't go together. The people coming through town would have nothing to eat without her.

"You've seen the baskets we carry?" she added. "They're just regular baskets, nothing suspicious. That's how we carry the food to the houses where Jews are staying. I made a name for what we do. I call it the Caccipulia Supper Club." She smiled.

Emilia was taken aback. She had never suspected anything like this. She had never even heard of anything like this. "But how do you know where they are?" she said.

"Mama goes to the Possano house for meetings," Corinna said. "She finds out where the Jewish people are staying and for how long. Usually it's a couple of days, maybe three. Then they get instructions on where to go next."

"And this is all secret? That's why you go out in the mornings so early?"

"And why we deliver the food when the sun has started to set," Corinna said. "There are people in town who wouldn't like what we're doing. They're scared of what the Nazis would do if they found out. Mama tells people that the meetings at the Possano house are for the women to exchange recipes or share any extra food they have. We try not to attract attention."

"So…is it dangerous?" Emilia couldn't help but ask. "Could you get in trouble?"

Corinna shrugged. "We don't think about that," she said. "Because we couldn't not do it. What kind of people would we be if we were okay letting others starve? The war will be over one day, Emilia, and we will all have to account for ourselves. We can never let the Nazis take away our humanity. What matters is what you can do for someone else, without worrying about the risks or sacrifices. If we can feed people for a day or two before they travel on…I mean, Emilia—just think. If you and your sisters were trying to leave, wouldn't we hope there'd be people to help you, as we are helping Jewish people now?

"What I'm trying to say is that we must build a world that we will want to live in, when this war is finally over," she said.

Emilia let the words echo in her mind. She hadn't even considered what would happen to her and her sisters as they set out for America. And of course, yes—they would need help, food, as the Jewish people here in Caccipulia did. But suddenly Emilia didn't want to think about herself anymore. Corinna was right—what mattered was not what you had to risk, but what you could do for others. She was safe now, and warm, and well-fed. But there were others—Jews like her father, Jews like her, too—who were not. There was loss in what Signora Jorelini and Corinna were doing, selling their possessions. And there was danger. But there was also peace. And grace. And humanity.

Which meant there was only one question left for her to ask. She could no longer think only of herself, her sisters and the shop.

"Will your mother let me help?"

Corinna nodded. "I'm sure she will."