Yesterday I overheard two women talking, saying that the Germans were building a holding camp on the Lido for all the Jews. “And good riddance,” one of them said. “Never wanted them in my city in the first place, filthy foreigners.”

I rushed over to the Lido and found the contessa and Hanni sitting in the conservatory. Hanni was reading in Italian to the contessa. I imparted the awful news.

“Yes, my dear, I have heard. I feel so badly that there is nothing I can do. I can’t reason with these men. The only thing is to lie low and wait for your countrymen to come swiftly up through Italy. It can’t be long now, surely. The Germans have built a line of defence just north of Tuscany, but I don’t think they will guard the eastern shore so fiercely. I expect the Allies here very soon, then all will be well.”

“But you are living so close to the camp they are building. Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while in Dorsoduro?” I asked.

“But I like my home.” She waved an elegant hand around the room. “And I have my dear Umberto and my darling little Hanni.”

“You don’t think Hanni is in danger?”

She shrugged. “She is not on any list. She doesn’t exist. If she stays at the villa, I can see no danger.”

I prayed she was right. I observed boatloads of Jews being taken out to the Lido. The Germans have commandeered nearly all the vaporetti, so it has become almost impossible to get around. After a few days I realized I had to get out to the Lido and check on my friends to make sure they were still safe. When a fishing boat docked on the Zattere, I was bold enough to ask the fisherman if he was going back to one of the islands after he had sold his catch. The fishermen all lived out on the barrier islands. I had sketched them and their boats several times. When he told me that was his intention, I asked if he could drop me off at the Lido.

“You want a swim when the place is crawling with Germans?”

“No. I have a dear elderly friend, and I have to make sure she is all right.”

“Va bene,” he said. “Hop on board.”

And so an hour later we were crossing the lagoon. A German patrol boat pulled up beside us.

“You! Where are you going?” a German voice shouted.

“Home. I’m a fisherman. I’ve just sold my catch.”

“Do you have a permit?”

“Of course. What do you take me for?”

“And the woman. Who is she?”

I felt my heart skip. I had no identity card.

“My wife. Who else? She helps me take the money. Makes sure I don’t slip any into my pocket to buy wine.”