Mother Tongue

by Tania Romanov

  At the bottom of the hill lay the small harbor where the fishing fleet was based. Martin had helped build a number of those boats. He knew the ones that his father had built before him were also still seaworthy. Shipbuilding was in their blood. It had been that way for generations, for the name had come with them from their old homeland of Montenegro. Marinovič, it meant “of the sea.” For all that time, since they left with the Venetian fleet, the Marinovič and Rojnič families had lived peacefully in Istria.

  And now, after all these generations, we are being forced to flee again, Martin thought as he approached the commercial shipyard. The fact that the Turks had finally been defeated in the war only added to the tragic irony of the situation. Martin knew deep inside that he had to find an acceptable alternative, and he hoped he could confirm one on this trip.

  He had considered Croatia, and even Montenegro. But there was nothing there for him. Croatia was uncomfortably close to Mussolini. Montenegro was not only politically unstable, it was very poor. Then he learned that the new commercial shipyards in Novi Sad and Petrovaradin, in Serbia, not too far from Belgrade, were hiring. This was mixed news, but held at least an opportunity for employment and for their future.

  Serbia seemed to be a safe haven of this union, although no one could guarantee how things would evolve. Unfortunately, Novi Sad was actually in a part of eastern Serbia called Vojvodina, a so-called Autonomous Region still disputed between Yugoslavia and Hungary. But Martin was running out of options. He debated the alternatives but kept returning to this one and now traveled there to check it out.

  Novi Sad, he found, was an attractive city on a wide sweep of the Danube river, not far from Belgrade. Better yet, Petrovaradin, across the river, was a village on the water, overlooked by an ancient Roman fortress, known as the Gibraltar of the Danube. Much like Medulin, it was on a hill rising above the water. Martin found a place where they could live. It was a small house on a dirt lane in Petrovaradin close to the Danube, with a vegetable garden and enough land for some pigs and goats. It was small and quiet, and he thought Katarina might eventually find peace there.

  The only negative aspect was its proximity to Hungary—who of course wanted it back—but he felt it would stay secure in Yugoslavia, as the headquarters of the Yugoslavian Royal Air Force had just been moved there. Since the area was intersected by three great navigable rivers—the Danube, Sava and Tisa—it was the home of several major shipyards, and there were many opportunities for his craft.

  Martin knew Katarina still held out a hope for staying in Medulin, but he now had an alternative if that became impossible.

  He reached Medulin to joyous news. The baby hadn’t waited long enough for her father to get home. Zora had literally burst into the world, as if she could help her parents bring in a new dawn.

  Katarina wished that a new future might be possible in their own home. Her Rojnič identity belonged with their brother Slavs. But it was not to be. There was no going back. Croatia was definitively split between Italy and Yugoslavia. It was with despair that she accepted that their part of Istria was going to Italy while the rest of the Dalmatian Coast to the south and east went to Yugoslavia.

  They were now being persecuted in their own homes. Italy's anger over not receiving the entire Dalmatian Coast that it had been promised fueled the growth of Mussolini's National Fascist Party. The man was Prime Minister in all but official title, winning because he was a rabid nationalist. The consequences were awful. Martin and Katarina’s language was soon officially banned. The commercial shipyards were closing; the naval one went to the Italians. There was no more work here for Martin. The trip he had just undertaken was to be the last from his home port. The boat he had sailed on never came back.

  Martin couldn't help but feel a near despair at thinking about wrenching his family away from all this: their home, the warm waters, his fish, their families’ lives for the past four hundred years. If there were any other way, he would have found it. But this was the end.

  When he had gone to get the paperwork to register Zora's birth he learned of the new law: Slavic names of any kind could no longer be registered.

  He quietly filled out the form. Father Carlo had suggested the Italian word for Dawn. And so, the birth of this new baby; her father Martin Marinovič, shipbuilder; her mother Katarina Marinovič, exRojnič; was duly recorded. Martin didn't want to think what country would claim his daughter. He wished Istria could be its own country. Then she could be Zora Marinovič, citizen of Istria. But there was no such place.

  “It's still a beautiful name, Martin.” Father Carlo had tried to reassure him.

  “Zora is the only name she will hear from me.” Martin put down the pen and stared at the hand that had signed the document, as if it belonged to someone else. “Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Katarina worrying about this new development.”

  It was with a heavy heart that Martin returned to his family and his new daughter. For them, her name would be Zora, or Dawn, but only God could imagine what life was dawning for them.

  That night, when the children had gone to sleep, Martin and Katarina—still tired from Zora’s birth—sat by the stove in the kitchen, grateful for some moments of silence.

  ”Ne možemo ostati, duša. We can’t stay here anymore.” Martin said, quietly reaching across the table for her hand. “The boat works are closed.”

  “What? Oj, joj, joj!”

  “Yes, the vlasti,” he said, using the all-encompassing word for the powers-that-be, “in Belgrade have quietly moved almost all the boats out. It's definite; the Italians are in charge here, and they have commercial shipbuilding facilities along their own coast. I don't have any work.”

  And on October 31, 1922, Mussolini, the de facto leader for some time, was officially elected Prime Minister of Italy.

  Mussolini quickly forced out as many of the Slavs as he could and settled Italians in their place. He fired all those who had worked for the government. The Slavic languages—both Slovenian and Croatian—were formally outlawed, the schools closed. The churches were already Catholic and the Masses said in Latin. Luckily, most of the prelates had been sent from the Vatican, and he quickly dispatched any who were Slavs back to “their own lands.” Soon there would be no lingering reminders of the presence of the Slavic barbarians.

  It didn't matter to Mussolini that the Venetians had needed them to populate the peninsula hundreds of years ago, after the plagues. For now there were Italians with no homes and no land. Mussolini needed their votes, their support, and the Slavs could go back to where they came from, or to hell itself, for all he cared.

  Martin accepted the job in the commercial ship works in Novi Sad.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Starting over

  It was the life Katarina had lived that she would miss, not the things in the house.

  They sold—virtually gave, really—the house in Medulin to Martin's cousin. Leaving it empty would just open the door for the Italians to take it, and that would be insupportable. Maybe they could return and get it back some day. They had to hold out that hope.

  Katarina nursed little Zora and thought about her life, about how she would grow up far away from all the things her mother held dear. What would that be like, to have a daughter who didn't know the home you grew up in, the family that had surrounded you, the hill you walked every day, the cemetery? What would it be like for Zora to be a stranger to this place that had been so dear to Marinovič and Rojnič for so many generations?

  Katarina determined then that she would tell her stories, repeated often, so that Zora would feel as if she knew the place. She would know how her family got there. She would know how happy they had been for generations, for hundreds of years. She would know how unfair it was that it had been stolen from them for no reason. But Katarina would also teach Zora to be open to whatever life threw at her. The world was so complicated these days, and politicians drew maps anywhere they wanted. One shouldn't get too attached, that’s what Kat
arina would teach her. It just leads to heartache.

  The day of departure finally arrived. The night before, Katarina checked the things the girls had put aside to take with them before putting out her dress for the next day. The girls owned so little. They each had a few clothes to put in their pillowcases, along with a comb, a toy, an extra pair of shoes. The older girls each had a mirror.

  And then they had to say goodbye to Bogdan and Roža.

  “Listen, brate, brother, you can still come with us, you know.” Martin couldn't just give up on them.

  “You know I can’t, Martin. Roža and I have discussed it endlessly. I can keep my job, and her whole family is here. Who would take care of her parents if we leave? We wish you all the best, Martin, but we will try to stay here, at least for now. I will write and tell you how it goes.” His voice broke and he held his brother-in-law close, not knowing when they would meet again. He moved off to get Roža and young Matte so they could all say their goodbyes.

  Katarina felt the tears flowing as she went back in the house, and wished once more that they, too, could stay. But it was too late to think about that. She went to bundle up Zora. So young, so delicate, and already a refugee, she thought as she packed a few more diapers.

  Martin came in, finally admitting to himself that the others were staying put. It was just his way of saying goodbye, of assuring himself that he had done all he could for them. There was no right or wrong, no choice was good now, but he had to make the offer. It might be the last chance for a while.

  It seemed the borders were closing, and all existing passports had been cancelled. Not that anyone other than Martin had a passport. What did they need one for?

  He knew Zora’s birth certificate said she was born in Italy. Would this new country to which Serbia now belonged recognize her? Would there even be a Serbia for long? It was all so complicated, the end of this war. They would be part of this new kingdom, this Yugoslavia. They would all be Slavs, hopefully living together in peace. It would be lovely if they could live in peace for a time.

  As the girls rushed around upstairs, Martin took a final look at the home in which he had spent his entire life. He could find every nick in the stone walls blindfolded, and had watched his father build most of the furniture. It was a strong building that had stood for hundreds of years and could survive that many more, but his daughters might never see the inside of it again. He knew that his relatives had wanted another home for their large family. This would be part of their compound, and he knew it was permanent. They were uncomfortably close to the government and the Italians, and they were as scornful of his decision to leave as he was disgusted with them for their compliance. But they acted as if everything was fine, and they were just doing his family a big favor.

  He climbed the stairs to help Katarina, taking a final look at the bed in which he had been conceived and was born: where he had first been with Katarina and where his own children had been conceived. He needed to move on before it became unbearable.

  The last ship was waiting for them in the old Navy harbor. Bogdan helped bundle everyone into the old cart and hurried the horse along the road. The harbor was eerily quiet, all of the other ships had gone.

  The girls each had their own issues. Mara, the oldest, was sad and tense for she was leaving behind Matte, a young man she was secretly in love with. The others were too young to think about what they were leaving behind, but the melancholy mood slowly infected them. Martin finally got them all down to the small stateroom they would share for the next few days. As they got themselves organized, they could feel the motors increase their speed, and the ship started moving away from the dock.

  “It's a good, strong ship,” Martin said, although he hoped it was his last time on board a military ship. He was happy he had the job at the commercial ship building facility in Petrovaradin. They needed more ships for trading, not for fighting. He didn't want to build warships or work with any country’s military ever again.

  The ship pulled out of the port and Katarina realized she might never see her village again. She couldn't stop staring. As Medulin shrank behind them, she suddenly saw it from another point of view, as a stranger might. It was so small. What would bring her daughters back, once they had lived in the bigger world? Even if the Italians left some day, it would never be the same.

  She knew, then, with finality, that after 400 years, it was over. Her daughters would live lives she had never imagined. They might marry men they hadn't grown up with. They would be part of a larger world.

  And what would it be like for her to live far from the house that was built by her grandparents’ grandparents? To cook in a kitchen where she or Martin hadn't eaten every meal of their lives? To sleep in a bed that had not held any of her seven newborn babies?

  She pulled Zora close to her breast. “Your life will be far different from mine, little one. I don't know what lies ahead for you, but I do know you'll be surrounded by love.”

  Just then little Jana ran up. “Mama, Tata says you have to come down. Mara won't stop crying. She says she misses Matte too much to go on. And Slavića is crying too, because Mara is sad. And Roža looks like she’s getting sick, Mama, but I'm not sad. I can't wait to see our new home. Tata says there is a river nearby, and he can go fishing just like he did before.”

  Katarina took one last look at the past, but really couldn't see much anymore. Only the church at the top of the hill was still visible, with the cemetery that she knew was next to it. Then Jana pulled her away into the confusion that was her brood of girls, that only she could calm, as she always had.

  During the trip, Katarina thought about Medulin again and again. She knew she had to move forward. She had to stop worrying.

  “I promise you, Katarina, we are going to a secure part of the country, and I know you will like our house there. I have a good job, and that is the most important thing,” Martin kept telling her.

  “Oh, Martin. How can I help but worry?” They had just fled one part of the country because Mussolini couldn't bear for anyone to be anything but Italian. Even without much access to news, she had heard about the fight between the Hungarians and the Serbs over their new home. They might encounter problems there, too. “Why can't we just go to the coast, or even Belgrade?”

  “Katarina, Petrovaradin is a small, pretty town, right on the Danube. Give it a chance,” Martin said. Besides, they had been worrying too long. It was time to just put their heads down and see what the future would bring.

  The Hungarians wouldn't get that part of the country, he was sure of it. The Yugoslav government wouldn't set up the shipping there if they were worried. He had heard that the King of Yugoslavia was a good man, and that the new union was powerful and growing. This time the Serbs had the right idea and would gather all the southern Slav countries together for a permanent, peaceful union.

  Katarina was sure that Martin was not as confident as he sounded, but she knew he was right. There was no point in getting the girls all worried. She and Martin would have to act as if giving everything up and diving into the unknown was not a big issue, as if everything would be all right. For now, she had to get her girls organized for the rest of the trip. The Serbs, the Croats, the Bosnians, the Italians, the Hungarians—even the Russians—they would all have to argue it out without her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Haven in Yugoslavia

  Petrovaradin was every bit as comforting as Martin promised. Their years there proved good ones. Martin was happy with his job, and it felt secure. They had two more daughters, Milena and Ljuba. Martin greeted each as if he had never been luckier. The girls all grew up speaking Serbian, went to school, and never gave a thought to their parents’ past, or to Istria.

  Their oldest daughter Mara persisted with her childhood sweetheart Matte, writing him regularly and even finding a way to visit his family one time. The result was predictable, given her determination. They married, moved into the home Matte shared with his parents in Zagreb, the capital of Croat
ia, and soon had a son, Dragan.

  In Petrovaradin, Katarina and Martin’s second daughter, Roža, met and married a transplanted Bosnian, Ivan, and they moved into a small house nearby. They had two children, a boy and a girl, and now Roža was pregnant again, with her third.

  But the outside world wasn’t sitting still. While their lives moved smoothly along, politics in Europe started getting uncomfortable once again. Mussolini and the Fascists were growing increasingly more militant. Germany had a new leader, a little Austrian with a deranged-looking face and strange hair, who wanted to recreate an old empire . . . or invent a new one. Whatever it was, Yugoslavia, too, was getting nervous. The shipbuilding work Martin so enjoyed was shifting back to military work, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

  And then it was 1938 and it all seemed to be starting again. The Hungarian fascists threatened the area around Novi Sad. Martin decided they had to leave. Katarina was reluctant, for she kept thinking one of those Hungarian soldiers could turn out to be her son. But deep inside she knew they had to move out of danger.

  A family friend from Istria had settled in Zagreb, back in Croatia, and started a machine shop. He asked Martin to come join him and help develop business with other parts of the country. The possibility of working with an old friend and moving out of range of the Hungarian military finally convinced them to make the move to Zagreb. There, Katarina was closer to Mara and her family, but she missed Roža and her children, who had stayed behind. It seemed they might never all be together again.

  Their daughter Slavića struggled with the shift. The oldest one still at home, she found a job, but never seemed as happy after the move. Zora and her other sisters, however, merged into the new environment quickly, focusing on school and adapting as if they had always lived in Croatia. At sixteen, Zora loved going to school, read whenever she could, and helped her mother in the kitchen and her sisters with their schoolwork.