It began to snow. I looked out of the classroom window and watched the ground receive a thin sprinkling of what appeared to be sugar. However, I knew that, should I taste it, the snow would be bitter. I watched people huddling under arches and stairwells, with a profound fear of the forthcoming winter etched clearly across their faces. In the summer, I would look out at this same street and see men with abandoned jackets and loosened ties lounging about idly. The windows to the apartments would be thrown wide open and the curtains tied back, creating wide holes that were desperate to suck in fresh air. I imagined these same windows at dusk, after I had left school and gone home, beginning to close, one by one, a thousand eyelids slowly shutting. But today, as the snow continued to fall, they were all tightly sealed.
This morning, before I left for school, I heard Papa shout at Mama. I was lying half-asleep in bed, but I clearly heard him asking her for something that he claimed she had taken. And then I heard Mama begin to cry, and then Papa evidently discovered whatever it was that he had been looking for. There followed a quiet period in which I assumed that Papa was begging Mama for her forgiveness, which I knew she would eventually give. I rolled over. Relations between them were not good. A week earlier, they had left their two daughters and gone together to the woods. On their return, they had told their daughters that today they had buried some precious family objects beneath a large oak tree, and that Margot would have to go into hiding. Margot looked dumbfounded. Both she and I had assumed that she would be coming with us to the small apartment, and, in a peculiar way, we were both looking forward to this new enterprise. But a grim-faced Papa went on and reminded us that, these days, people were hiding in every imaginable place. People were building tunnels under hallways, widening cellars, creating hiding places inside furniture, in woodsheds, in fact anywhere. Until these ugly times passed by, it was better to be safe. In less than a week, we would have to leave the four-storey house for the apartment on the other side of town. It made sense that we should take precautions now, for after the move it might be too difficult. Luckily, Mama and Papa had found a family who would take Margot. They were still looking for a family who would take me. And then, before either daughter had a chance to protest, a tired-looking Mama and Papa left the room together.
The Mama who met me at the end of the school day seemed suddenly older. A week had passed by and nothing further had been mentioned about Margot's imminent departure. As we began to walk home, a fatigued Mama started to speak, but she spoke in a manner which suggested that she was wandering in her mind. I knew immediately that today was the day we would lose Margot. 'Remember, Eva, you are a guest in this country. And you must never speak with your hands.' Mama stopped and began to demonstrate. A man whose pride remained intact, despite his unshaven face and his unwashed skin, looked on. Only in his expensive clothes, now filthy, could I see the quality of his past. He stared, and for a brief moment his eyes met mine. Mama did not notice as she finished her demonstration. And then, without warning, she began to walk away from me. I turned from the man and chased after Mama, who by now was speaking aloud to herself. 'Eva, where in the world is the United States? Where is Russia, even? One day you are neighbours, the next day they spit on you. We are stupid for being proud to be what we are not, do you understand? Stupid.' I took Mama's hand, but she did not seem to notice. 'In this world, you do not shoot people without a reason. There has to be a reason. How is it possible to be so angry with people who have done you no wrong?' The afternoon light was prematurely fading, and the snow continued to fall.
Margot pulled on her coat and picked up her suitcase. The man took the envelope from Papa, tucked it into his pocket, and said that he would wait downstairs. 'No,' said Papa. 'There will be no farewell scenes. This is only a temporary measure.' Papa quickly kissed Margot, and then Mama hugged her eldest daughter. Over Mama's shoulder, Margot winked at me. And then she was gone. That night, I lay in bed and listened to a volley of dull thwacks as, somewhere, a restless housewife beat the dust from a hanging rug. But above this sound, and dominating the night, was the sobbing of Mama, who had now lost one daughter. Through the window I could see that it had stopped snowing, although the sill remained thickly crusted.
ON GOOD Friday 1480, the Christian faithful of Portobuffole began to congregate in large numbers at the Church of St Marie of Settimo. The altar had been carefully dusted many times over, and the crucifix was covered with a black veil. Three purple cushions had been placed on the altar steps, and the failing light at the end of the day evoked the darkness which covered the earth during the death of Jesus. As ever, the service was both austere and moving, and towards the conclusion the priest joined his hands together for prayer and exhortations. The first oration was said for 'Omnipotent God', and then six more followed.
— For the Pope.
— For the clergy, the virgins, the widows and the people of God.
— For the Most Serene Doge of Venice.
— For the catechumens.
— For the sick, the imprisoned, the travellers and the navigators.
— For the heretics and schismatics.
And then there was a brief pause, and the voice of the priest changed in tone, in order that he might fully capture the attention of the faithful.
'We also pray for the malicious Jews so that You, God, can take away the venom of their spirits so that they may come to recognize Jesus Christ.'
Before these words had time to settle, there was a call for one last oration for the salvation of these Jews.
'Eternal, omnipotent God, who does not refuse mercy to the Jews, grant us prayers that we might pray for the blindness of these Jews so that, recognizing the light of your truth in Christ, they may soon be taken from their darkness.'
At the conclusion of their Good Friday service, the Christian faithful of Portobuffole, their souls contented, spilt out on to the dark streets of the town and began to wander home, but not before casting a stern look at the houses of those who carried evil in their hearts.
Easter passed, but left trouble in its wake. The doge's representative, Andrea Dolfin, felt obliged to mention, in his periodical report to the Council of Ten, that a certain discontent had broken out in the town, but he did so in a manner designed not to raise alarm. The doge was consumed with problems in the Orient, with the Pope, and with the extension of the Most Serene Republic's business affairs inland; civil disorder in his domain was the last thing that the doge desired. However, much to Andrea Dolfin's disappointment, the ferment would not seem to pass, and the situation was further exacerbated by the fact that the frightened Jews were now refusing to open their banks. People came from surrounding regions both to pawn and to redeem their personal belongings, but, upon discovering this Jewish recalcitrance, they voiced their opinion that the Jews should respect their commitments and not be permitted to live outside the law. Andrea Dolfin ordered the civic council to meet, but, before they could do so, the Jews, fearing that they were about to suffer physical assault, returned to their work. However, the reopening of the banks failed to quell the wave of anti-Hebrew sentiment.