The Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

entire world.
    Jano and his militiamen had turned a room of the municipal building into their base of operations. Seeing Dr. Ragusa there in the town hall was a welcome surprise for them, an excellent chance to have some fun.
    â€œWell, well, Doctor, you’ve come to pay us a visit!” Ginetto said loudly as he leaned against the doorway, smoking.
    Ragusa strode past him without slowing down, followed by Saro. “Ginetto, why aren’t you in school at this hour?” the doctor scolded him, asserting his authority.
    The boy broke away from the door as if caught in the act and said uncertainly, “But I don’t go anymore. I’m big.”
    â€œBig? Don’t make me laugh.” But by now Dr. Ragusa and his son were already climbing the staircase leading to the main floor, where the offices of the mayor and the town clerk were located. At that moment, Jano intervened.
    â€œHey, Doc, where do you think you’re going?” Jano yelled after him.
    â€œI was summoned by the town clerk,” Ragusa lied, not slowing his steps. Moments later, he entered the office of Michele Fardella and stood before him at his desk.
    Fardella did not use the desk for working, since he couldn’t actually read, much less write. It was merely a pretense to justify his salary. The real work was done by the clerks on the ground floor, crammed into a large room spilling over with papers and file folders.
    â€œSignor Fardella, I won’t waste your time,” the doctor began as he took a seat. “Yesterday I heard Ninì say that we had to come down to the town hall. Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about, Doctor?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what am I talking about? Who sent Ninì around to tell the Jews that they had to report to the public records office? Was it a joke?” The doctor was beginning to lose patience. Saro gestured to his father to calm down.
    â€œOne moment.” Michele Fardella, who didn’t like being caught off guard, stood up and went to the door. “De Simone!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Then he sat down with Ragusa again, smiling, and held out a pack of Popolari , which the doctor refused. Ignoring Saro, the clerk stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, leaning back in his chair. “A little patience, and we’ll clear up the mystery.”
    Seconds later, in came De Simone, an elderly clerk who performed the work of ten people at the town hall. He was out of breath after running up the stairs. He didn’t even have the strength to introduce himself.
    â€œWhat is all this about the Jews?” Fardella asked.
    The old man caught his breath and finally said in a hoarse voice, “It’s a notice that arrived a week ago from the Ministry of the Interior. Racial laws have been enacted. Jews are no longer citizens like us Christians,” the clerk summed up.
    The doctor’s blood froze, while Saro didn’t really understand what they were talking about. Even Michele Fardella had a hard time understanding what that decision meant in actual practice.
    â€œIt’s all written there,” said De Simone, going toward a stack of documents arranged on a corner of the desk. He rapidly scanned the folders and spines, deftly slipped out a Gazzetta Ufficiale , the official journal of record, and handed it to the town clerk with the writing deliberately upside down, to make fun of him. Michele Fardella pretended to read it quickly, and then gave it back to De Simone.
    â€œWhat is it about? Tell us in so many words,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.
    â€œWell, what I said: the Jews must be entered in a register that we must then send to the ministry. They can no longer practice their professions.” He leafed through several pages of the royal decree. Then he began reading in a singsong tone: “Measures for the Defense of the Italian Race. Vittorio