Free Persona Non Grata by Timothy Williams

people have been murdered. What for? People don’t get murdered just like that. They get murdered because they know something or because they are dangerous. What on earth can an old cleric … a young and athletic cleric know that would put his life in danger?”
    “I never said that my life was in danger.”
    “Then what are you worrying about?”
    “You’re forgetting about the others.”
    “You’re reading Agatha Christie when you should be reading your missal.”
    “The others, Piero.”
    “There are no others, Fra Gianni. Not after forty years.”
    “But the money is still there.”
    “Money?”
    “That’s why they killed your brother. He had witnessed Saltieri’s death—and he knew about the money.”
    “Italo had no money. He was poor. We were all poor.”
    “The gold bullion that the partisans stole from the Germans.” Fra Gianni shrugged. “Why else did they murder the Carabiniere? Why did they murder your brother? The gold bullion, Piero—somebody must have it.”
    The sky was a cloudless blue as they came to a bend. Thevillage opened up before them, like a photograph in a geography textbook.
    “Why else have they been killing off these old people—people with an old secret?”

16: Afternoon Tea
    F RA G IANNI WAITED until the housekeeper had closed the door before speaking. He sat forward. “It was probably a good thing you left Santa Maria, Piero … They used to say, ‘Five days in the hands of the partisans, two days in the hands of the Fascists.’ ”
    “A joke.”
    “A joke that wasn’t too far from the truth. There was a lot of fighting in the last months of the war and Santa Maria changed hands frequently. We would chase the Fascists and a few days later they would come back supported by the Germans and take over the town again. Then we would have to run away up into the hills and hide until the Germans had gone off. Gone off with their heavy artillery and their tanks.” Fra Gianni laughed as he began to pour tea into the three cups. “Your mother sent you to the city because she thought you’d be safer there than staying in Santa Maria. Or in the hills.”
    “The city got bombed.”
    “But by the allies—and they weren’t trying to kill. Up here it was the Fascists—Mussolini’s Fascists and they were worse than the Germans.”
    The Baronessa held up her hand—a fragile hand, of an almost translucent white. “You mustn’t be so harsh on the Germans, Gianni. There were good Germans, too.”
    The priest looked at the woman and nodded. “At least when the Germans took a partisan, they shot him quickly.”
    “And sometimes they released him.”
    “You are not completely objective, Baronessa.”
    “I married a German, I lived in Germany. I think I know better than you what the Germans are really like.”
    Fra Gianni spoke hesitantly. “I can forgive the Germans. But the Italian Fascists were different. I can find no forgiveness in my heart. How can I forgive them for what they did to their fellow Italians? They tortured their compatriots.” He stretched forward, handing a cup of tea to Trotti. “Cruel men for cruel times. Your mother did the right thing, Piero. She did not want to lose another son.”
    Trotti looked out of the window of the presbytery.
    The Baronessa said calmly, “That’s why your partisans tortured Saltieri.”
    Trotti turned. “Why?”
    “The partisans were no gentler than the Fascists. They had the same methods, the same ruthlessness. And the same mindless spilling of blood. They were no better. Don’t listen to this foolish old priest. The partisans were traitors.”
    Fra Gianni looked at her. “You must not say that, Baronessa.”
    “Communists.”
    “We weren’t all communists.”
    “And common law criminals.”
    “There are times when the Baronessa von Neumann prefers to ignore the truth.”
    “Traitors.”
    “The partisans were patriots, fighting to free Italy.”
    “We had started the war alongside our German allies—and