Free The Lost Catacomb by Shifra Hochberg Page A

deaths?
    The Ardeatine Caves, she now realized, were more than a
silent tribute to the voiceless dead, conceived and executed in colorless rock
and cold, passionless stone.   Even
the tiny pebbles that comprised the approach to this place of quiet horror now
seemed, to her heightened senses, to echo, somehow, the infinite smallness of
man in an indifferent, perhaps Godless, universe.   She understood all at once, in something
strangely akin to a religious epiphany, that the catacombs and frescoes to
which she had devoted so much of her professional life were more than static
monuments to the history of vanished people and dead nations.   There was much to learn, she realized,
from Bruno's inherently felt sense of the human element that was so
inextricably bound up with his country's archaeological heritage.
    “ By
the way, ” Bruno
said, interrupting her reverie as they stood in the shadow of the huge concrete
sculpture, “ one of
the executed men was actually betrayed to the Gestapo by a fellow Jew, a young
woman of eighteen named Celeste Di Porto, who was responsible for the deaths of
over fifty other Roman Jews.   She
had a Fascist boyfriend who arranged for her to receive a bounty for each Jew
that she turned in. ”
    “ That ’ s horrible, ” Nicola exclaimed in
disbelief.   “ Do you mean to say that she actually turned in
people she knew to the Nazis — for
money — knowing
what would happen to them? ”
    “ Yes,
as shocking as it sounds, it ’ s
true.   In the case I just mentioned,
her brother had been picked up by the Gestapo after the attack on the Via
Rassella and placed on the list of those to be executed.   The young man who wound up taking his
place left a note which was later found in his prison cell, accusing her of
denouncing him. ”
    “ How
tragic, ” she said,
her eyes glistening with unexpected tears.    “ I can ’ t
even begin to imagine how terrible it must have been to live in Rome during the
war years, for Jews or gentiles.   Thank God, my grandmother left when she did.   She was one of the lucky ones, I guess,
to have escaped it all, though I really don ’ t know any of the details.    And, thank God, your family
managed to survive.   You will tell
me about it someday, won't you? ” she begged.

 
    Chapter Twelve

 
    It was the ninth day of the Hebrew lunar month of Av, when
Jews everywhere mourned the destruction of the first and second Holy
Temples.   For Nicola it was
difficult to understand how an event that had taken place so many thousands of
years ago could still be relevant, or why anyone would bother to commemorate it
with a fast and special prayers in synagogues world-wide.
    Bruno had thought she might find it interesting to accompany
him to services at the Tempio Maggiore , the largest, most opulent
synagogue in Rome, given that their analysis of the new crypt seemed to require
close consideration of the ancient Jewish communities of Rome.   Despite her expertise in the history of
the early Empire, Nicola had to admit that she was not entirely conversant with
Jewish rituals or customs stemming from that period.
    He picked her up at the Villa Mirafiori just after sunset,
outside the heavy iron gates, in the broad cobble-stoned driveway along the
boulevard.   It was a sultry evening
typical of Rome, hot, with a slight gust blowing through the tall treetops that
lined the Via Nomentana.   As they
pulled away from the curb, a motorcyclist who had been sitting idly on a Vespa
across the street, his features obscured by a dark helmet, lurched out of his
parking space with a sudden screech.   Zigzagging through the heavy traffic, he followed them most of the way
to the ghetto, where Bruno made a sudden turn as he spotted a parking space
near the Teatro de Marcello and the Portico d'Ottavia, with its crumbling gray
fa ç ade and ruined
columns.
    Passing the stark memorial plaque to the Jews of Rome, who
were rounded up by the Nazis in the rainy predawn