the ladies in Paris is so enviable. Let’s go and talk to Foa, Sutor. We know about him. He’s got enough Jew in him to squeal on his own.”
27 JANUARY 1944
“Do you find her attractive, Major Bora?”
“I’m not sure ‘attractive’ is the right word. She doesn’t look much like a wolf. She’s more like the abstraction of a wolf, sleek and hairless except for her mane. She’s alert and threatening, I’d say. Not loving, or loving in a fierce way.”
Dollmann nodded. Alone as they were in the Fourth Room of the Capitoline Museum, he walked around the sandbaggedbronze statue, and without touching them, he passed his hand under the skinny breasts hanging from her body. “ They near the She-Wolf’s tits, and thrive / On milk never intended for them... ”
“Ovid?”
“Bravo. Still, the late addition of the Twins is much too ornate for her sternness. What would you say she actually represents?”
Bora was thinking of the animal of his nightmares, but smiled. “The tribal totem to be expected of a society of shepherds. You make a sacred symbol out of what you fear most.”
“Or a taboo. Note how her stance is firm rather than dynamic, Major. She’s surveying a danger which is at a distance or no larger than she is, straight to the side. Protecting the children entails no loving glance but a watchful gaze around for danger. Firmness, watchfulness, a worried threat. You wouldn’t get close, and though she isn’t snarling – her mouth is not contracted, nor her nose wrinkled – she could bite your hand off.”
“She did,” Bora calmly said.
Dollmann smiled. “No pun was intended, but there’s a connection between her and our being here, at some level. I used to think that ideologically we were her children.”
“Perhaps Ovid meant us – we’re the danger she’s guarding against.”
“I think we’re both. We fed at her breast and resented it and came back, grown, to worry her. We’re as uncivilized, as ungrateful as that.”
Bora brought his right hand close to the she-wolf’s mouth, fingers extended as if to feed her. “She rules in the end.”
“ Caput mundi. Head of the world.” Dollmann rocked on the balls of his feet, watching him. In civilian clothes and a bow tie, he had the groomed appearance of a British professor rather than an SS. In the lonely room of the museum, he said in English, “Kappler is not the one to watch out for. Sutor is.”
28 JANUARY 1944
On Friday, Guidi waited for Francesca in front of the stationery store. If she was surprised, she said nothing, not even when he tipped his hat and began walking alongside her.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t know if I should be doing you this favor, but it’s been twice already that I heard you go out at night.”
Her scarf was coming undone, and when he reached for it, she pulled back. “So?” She wrapped the woolen cloth around her shoulders, hardly a protection against the bitter wind. “You’re going to arrest me for breaking a dumb six-to-five curfew? Mamma mia , you must come from the moon!” And when Guidi began to answer, she squared her narrow face at him. “If I go to see my boyfriend, I’m not about to stop ’cause you say so.”
Guidi had no reason to be disappointed by her words. Still he said, tartly, “It’s because of sabotage that the Germans just took two more hours out of our day. It isn’t just the Italian police keeping an eye on things. See him during the day.”
“As if I don’t have to work during the day. Besides, he’s married.” She grinned, but it was an uncovering of lips as animals have, and there was no humor in it. It was for a moment as if her skull were showing through the skin, marring her beauty.
Guidi found himself bluffing; quoting empty police talk, because in the end there was no arguing the point. “I’m warning you. Find another way to meet him, or I’ll have to turn you in. I know where you’re really going.”
“I bet you don’t.” She tried,
27 JANUARY 1944
“Do you find her attractive, Major Bora?”
“I’m not sure ‘attractive’ is the right word. She doesn’t look much like a wolf. She’s more like the abstraction of a wolf, sleek and hairless except for her mane. She’s alert and threatening, I’d say. Not loving, or loving in a fierce way.”
Dollmann nodded. Alone as they were in the Fourth Room of the Capitoline Museum, he walked around the sandbaggedbronze statue, and without touching them, he passed his hand under the skinny breasts hanging from her body. “ They near the She-Wolf’s tits, and thrive / On milk never intended for them... ”
“Ovid?”
“Bravo. Still, the late addition of the Twins is much too ornate for her sternness. What would you say she actually represents?”
Bora was thinking of the animal of his nightmares, but smiled. “The tribal totem to be expected of a society of shepherds. You make a sacred symbol out of what you fear most.”
“Or a taboo. Note how her stance is firm rather than dynamic, Major. She’s surveying a danger which is at a distance or no larger than she is, straight to the side. Protecting the children entails no loving glance but a watchful gaze around for danger. Firmness, watchfulness, a worried threat. You wouldn’t get close, and though she isn’t snarling – her mouth is not contracted, nor her nose wrinkled – she could bite your hand off.”
“She did,” Bora calmly said.
Dollmann smiled. “No pun was intended, but there’s a connection between her and our being here, at some level. I used to think that ideologically we were her children.”
“Perhaps Ovid meant us – we’re the danger she’s guarding against.”
“I think we’re both. We fed at her breast and resented it and came back, grown, to worry her. We’re as uncivilized, as ungrateful as that.”
Bora brought his right hand close to the she-wolf’s mouth, fingers extended as if to feed her. “She rules in the end.”
“ Caput mundi. Head of the world.” Dollmann rocked on the balls of his feet, watching him. In civilian clothes and a bow tie, he had the groomed appearance of a British professor rather than an SS. In the lonely room of the museum, he said in English, “Kappler is not the one to watch out for. Sutor is.”
28 JANUARY 1944
On Friday, Guidi waited for Francesca in front of the stationery store. If she was surprised, she said nothing, not even when he tipped his hat and began walking alongside her.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t know if I should be doing you this favor, but it’s been twice already that I heard you go out at night.”
Her scarf was coming undone, and when he reached for it, she pulled back. “So?” She wrapped the woolen cloth around her shoulders, hardly a protection against the bitter wind. “You’re going to arrest me for breaking a dumb six-to-five curfew? Mamma mia , you must come from the moon!” And when Guidi began to answer, she squared her narrow face at him. “If I go to see my boyfriend, I’m not about to stop ’cause you say so.”
Guidi had no reason to be disappointed by her words. Still he said, tartly, “It’s because of sabotage that the Germans just took two more hours out of our day. It isn’t just the Italian police keeping an eye on things. See him during the day.”
“As if I don’t have to work during the day. Besides, he’s married.” She grinned, but it was an uncovering of lips as animals have, and there was no humor in it. It was for a moment as if her skull were showing through the skin, marring her beauty.
Guidi found himself bluffing; quoting empty police talk, because in the end there was no arguing the point. “I’m warning you. Find another way to meet him, or I’ll have to turn you in. I know where you’re really going.”
“I bet you don’t.” She tried,
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