When Noah returned to the Pensione Alfiara, he brought with him as witness the rabbi, bewildered by the unexplained urgency of this mission, out of breath at the quick pace Noah had set through the streets. Rosanna was at her desk. She looked with alarm at Noah’s grimy hands, at the streaks of dirt and sweat on his face. For the rabbi she had no greeting. This was the enemy, an unbeliever in the cause of Ezechiele Coen. She had eyes only for Noah.
“What happened?” she said. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No. Listen, Rosanna, have you told Giorgio anything about von Grubbner? About my meeting with the police commissioner?”
“No.”
“Good. Where is he now?”
“Giorgio? In the kitchen, I think. But why? What—?”
“If you come along, you’ll see why. But you’re not to say anything. Not a word, do you understand. Let me do all the talking.”
Giorgio was in the kitchen listlessly moving a mop back and forth over the floor. He stopped when he saw his visitors, and regarded them with bleary bewilderment. Now is the time, Noah thought. It must be done quickly and surely now, or it will never be done at all.
“Giorgio,” he said, “I have news for you. Good news. Your father did not betray anyone.”
Resentment flickered in the bleary eyes. “I have always known that, signore. But why is it your concern?”
“He never betrayed anyone, Giorgio. But you did.”
Rosanna gasped. Giorgio shook his head pityingly. “Listen to him! Basta, signore. Basta. I have work to do.”
“You did your work a long time ago,” Noah said relentlessly. “And when your father took away the money paid to you for it, you followed him and killed him to get it back.”
He was pleased to see that Giorgio did not reel under this wholly false accusation. Instead, he seemed to draw strength from it. This is the way, Noah thought, that the unsuspecting animal is lured closer and closer to the trap. What hurt was that Rosanna, looking back and forth from inquisitor to accused, seemed ready to collapse. The rabbi watched with the same numb horror.
Giorgio turned to them. “Do you hear this?” he demanded, and there was a distinct mockery in his voice. “Now I am a murderer. Now I killed my own father.”
“Before a witness,” Noah said softly.
“Oh, of course, before a witness. And who was that witness, signore?”
“Someone who has just told the police everything. They’ll bring him here very soon, so that he can point you out to them. A Major von Grubbner.”
“And that is the worst lie of all!” said Giorgio triumphantly. “He’s dead, that one! Dead and buried, do you hear? So all your talk—!”
There are animals which, when trapped, will fight to the death for their freedom, will gnaw away one of their own legs to release themselves. There are others which go to pieces the instant the jaws of the trap have snapped on them, become quivering lumps of flesh waiting only for the end. Giorgio, Noah saw, was one of the latter breed. His voice choked off, his jaw went slack, his face ashen. The mop, released from his nerveless grip, fell with a clatter. Rosanna took a step toward him, but Noah caught her wrist, holding her back.
“How do you know he’s dead, Giorgio?” he demanded. “Yes, he’s dead and buried — but how did you know that? No one else knew. How do you happen to be the only one?”
The man swayed, fell back against the wall.
“You killed von Grubbner and took that money,” Noah said. “When your father tried to get rid of it, the partisans held him guilty of informing and shot him while you stood by, refusing to tell them the truth. In a way, you did help kill him, didn’t you? That’s what you’ve been carrying around in you since the day he died, isn’t it?”
“Giorgio!” Rosanna cried out. “But why didn’t you tell them? Why? Why?”
“Because,” said Noah, “then they would have known the real informer. That money was a price paid to you for information, wasn’t it, Giorgio?”
The word emerged like a groan. “Yes.”
“You?” Rosanna said wonderingly, her eyes fixed on her brother. “It was you?”
“But what could I do? What could I do? He came to me, the German. He said he knew I was of the Resistance. He said if I did not tell him where the men were hidden I would be put to death. If I told, I would be saved. I would be rewarded.”
The broken hulk lurched toward Rosanna, arms held wide in appeal, but Noah barred the way. “Why did you kill von Grubbner?”
“Because he cheated me. After the men were taken, I went to him for the money, and he laughed at me. He said I must tell him about others, too. I must tell everything, and then he would pay. So I killed him. When he turned away, I picked up a stone and struck him on the head and then again and again until he was dead. And I buried him behind the gate there because only the ragazzi knew how to get through it, and no one would find him there.”
“But you took that case full of money with you.”
“Yes, but only to give to my father. And I told him everything. Everything. I swear it. I wanted him to beat me. I wanted him to kill me if that would make it all right. But he would not. All he knew was that the money must be returned. He had too much honor! That was what he died for. He was mad with honor! Who else on this earth would try to return money to a dead man?”
Giorgio’s legs gave way. He fell to his knees and remained there, striking the floor blow after blow with his fist “Who else?” he moaned “Who else?”
The rabbi looked helplessly at Noah. “He was a boy then,” he said in a voice of anguish. “Only a boy. Can we hold children guilty of the crimes we inflict on them?” And then he said with bewilderment, “But what of the blood money? What did Ezechiele Coen do with it? What became of it?”
“I think we’ll soon find out,” said Noah.
They were all there at the gates of the Teatro Marcello when Commissioner Ponziani arrived with his men. All of them and more. The rabbi and Carlo Piperno, the post-card vender, and Vito Levi, the butcher, and a host of others whose names were inscribed on the rolls of the synagogue. And tenants of the Teatro Marcello, curious as to what was going on below them, and schoolboys and passersby with time to spare.
The Commissioner knew his job, Noah saw. Not only had he brought a couple of strong young carabinieri to perform the exhumation, but other men as well to hold back the excited crowd.
Only Giorgio was not there. Giorgio was in a bed of the hospital on Isola Tiberina, his face turned to the wall. He was willing himself to die, the doctor had said, but he would not die. He would live, and, with help, make use of the years ahead. It was possible that employment in the hospital itself, work which helped the unfortunate, might restore to him a sense of his own worth. The doctor would see to that when the time came.
Noah watched as the police shattered the lock on the gates and drew them apart, their hinges groaning rustily. He put an arm around Rosanna’s waist and drew her to him as the crowd pressed close behind them. This was all her doing, he thought. Her faith had moved mountains, and with someone like this at his side, someone whose faith in him would never waver, it would not be hard to return home and face down the cynics there. It didn’t take a majority vote of confidence to sustain you; it needed only one person’s granite faith.