Cory Holt

For the Levis – Giancarlo, Renata, Anna, and Giovanni – living in a tiny, cool, damp cellar was obviously difficult. Besides having to combat hunger, their lives were filled with endless hours of boredom and constant fear. Although Giancarlo worked exhaustively to conquer the boredom, the Levis still endured hours of it daily. Sleeping ten and often twelve hours a day, Giancarlo and Renata took ample advantage to tutor their children in their own makeshift school during the hours they were awake. Giancarlo taught language and religion, Renata taught history and mathematics. Together, they worked well. But even the enormous endeavor of educating their children left many hours of each day unfilled. Never had they known such an existence.
In the mornings, Gianni delivered his newspaper to Giancarlo, although the news was highly censored. Giancarlo skimmed the paper every day. Despite his boredom, he often found the contents absurd. He, like, all Romans, craved the truth. Sometimes at night, Gianni would listen to a few minutes of the Allied radio broadcasts from Bari and Palermo. He would always scribble a few notes to Giancarlo regarding what he had heard.
After rising around seven to the sounds of Gianni's footsteps above them, the Levis washed themselves using the bucket of water Gianni delivered daily. Renata and Anna would wash first while Giancarlo and Giovanni sat in a corner of the cellar and talked. Then the men would wash while the women sat in the corner.
Around seven-thirty, Gianni came down briefly to deliver fresh water, some coffee, a little milk, bread (when it was available), and the newspaper. The Levis ate while Giancarlo talked about the contents of the newspaper.
After Gianni departed, usually between eight and eight-thirty, the Levis began their daily tutoring. Giancarlo read several passages from the Torah while the family huddled. They always huddled. After the reading, the family said a long prayer together, with every member taking his turn, Giancarlo, Giovanni, Anna, then Renata.
After a short break during which everyone poured from the bucket of drinking water, Renata began her history lesson. Before the racial laws, Renata had been a teacher of history in a public school, but had been forced to take up sewing in order to earn a little extra money for the family after she lost her job. She usually taught from memory, but had borrowed a few books from Gianni to use for reference. The children were never tested, but listened to their mother talk, occasionally asking questions, but usually only listening.
Following another break between ten and eleven o'clock, Giancarlo began his language lesson. He normally spent one hour teaching Yiddish, training his two children to read from the Torah, the only book in the traditional Jewish language the Levis owned.
Around noon, following another short break, Renata began her mathematics lesson. Although Giancarlo had been an accountant, and therefore an expert mathematician, it was always Renata who taught this lesson. It was she who had taught professionally and not Giancarlo, who knew his wife was more patient and therefore better suited. This lesson, too, lasted around an hour. Although Anna was two years Giovanni's senior, her brother kept up well with his elder sister, especially in mathematics. Anna, an intelligent child, was not equal to her brother's capacity to learn. It was easiest to tutor them together, anyway.
By one o'clock, the day's schooling complete, the boredom began to overwhelm the family. The Levis, who were accustomed to eating their midday meal around this time, endeavored to ignore their hunger, always unsuccessfully. They knew dinner was a full six hours away. The temptation to nap was strong, but each knew that if he napped during the afternoon, he would not be able to sleep come night. The worst fate they could suffer, other than being discovered by Nazis, was a sleepless night. For then the boredom became as omnipotent as the darkness.
During the first couple of days, Renata devised a word game, mainly for the children, but after a few days even this novelty had become routine, an extension of the already pervasive boredom. Sometimes, Giancarlo read from the Torah during this stretch of the day, but even this held the interest of all for only a few minutes. Sometimes they prayed. Sometimes they simply chatted. Often they sat together in silence and contemplated, reluctantly dwelling on the horrors they would face should they ever be discovered.
Around five o'clock, the muffled sound of the front door of Gianni's tenement opening and closing was a source of rejuvenation. Knowing he was home comforted the Levis. Of course, there was always the possibility the footsteps above them did not belong to Gianni, but the Levis never really considered this.
They listened intently to every sound that came from above. It was always easy to guess Gianni's actions, the closet door in his bedroom opening, Gianni hanging his overcoat on a hangar, the closing of the closet door. The sound of running water meant he was washing his hands. The sliding sound of a drawer opening meant he was retrieving his apron. The sound of clattering pots meant dinner. This sound always evoked silent rejoicing from the Levis, for it meant there would be food to eat. Although Gianni managed to provide some sustenance every day, the Levis were always reassured when it became obvious there would indeed be food to eat. On rare occasions when the sound of sizzling penetrated the cellar, there was utter celebration, for that meant there would be meat. Although the Levi's knew the portions would be small, meat was always sacred.
Around seven in the evening, Gianni delivered dinner to the Levis. He brought four plates of carefully portioned food. The Levis placed the plates in their laps, and, despite their oppressive hunger, always ate slowly. There was typically just enough food to subdue their hunger until morning. Regardless of the size of the portions, the Levis were always grateful for whatever was brought. A half-hour later, Gianni collected the empty plates. The Levis thanked him. Gianni acknowledged the thanks, then walked slowly upstairs, never looking back. Placing the dishes in the sink, he walked back to the cellar door, replaced it, and with the door just inches from resuming its place in the floor, Gianni whispered "Good night!"
The Levis washed their hands and faces, brushed their teeth, said a prayer together, then, with nothing left to do that day, Giancarlo turned out the light so they could go to bed. In the darkness there was silence as one-by-one the Levis drifted off to sleep.