The Breach

by Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

  “Who’s been arrested?” Susi asked.

  “Father,” Chiara exclaimed.

  Why was she making a scene?

  “As soon as Nicolo returns, we will attend to it. Your father will most likely be home before tomorrow. Any charges will be dropped, Chiara,” he finished gently.

  “What charges, Angelo?” Her voice was steady, demanding.

  Treason would be the worst. “There aren’t any yet, but if there are, I promise you, they’ll be dropped. For now, he’s just being held for questioning.”

  There was a clicking sound. Michael lit a cigarette for Susi, then himself. “Yes, Chiara,” the dark-haired reporter said. “Whatever charges they invent will be dropped, but tomorrow your father will no longer be minister. Tomorrow, we’ll have a new one.” Behind the haze of smoke, Michael narrowed his eyes at Angelo.

  “Who?” Peter asked. “You were with him, Angelo. Who are they thinking to make the new minister? The Fascists will want one from the party, no?”

  When Angelo looked at her, Chiara was waiting, the rims of her lips white. When he still said nothing, she said, “Michael said he saw you, but I told him he was wrong. My husband would never be a member of the Blackshirts. Never. But you are, aren’t you? You’re a Fascist.” She whirled to the others, and this time there was no emotion in her voice. “Tell them. Go ahead. Tell them how my own husband and his father have conspired behind Minister d’Oro’s back.”

  “Oh my.” Susi touched the back of her turban, and her earrings made the softest tinkling sound.

  “Your father has known about this for months,” Angelo said. “He knows it’s inevitable. The German League also made him false promises. They would have ousted him, and you know damned well that the Fascists won’t put up with having a Tyrolean sympathizer as the head of the department.”

  Chiara nodded stiffly, her eyes fastened to his. “And you did nothing to stop it, did you? Instead, you joined the Blackshirts to your own advantage.”

  “I didn’t want this,” Angelo said. “But I have to take the position, Chiara. It’s either me or someone much worse. I, at least, have the Tyrolean people’s interests at heart and will do my best to make certain our developments are fair.”

  She scoffed and faced Michael. “I can’t do this.” To the rest she said, “I beg you to excuse me.”

  She was gone before Angelo could stop her. He stared at Michael. What could Chiara not do? He wanted to knock the smug look off the journalist’s face.

  Peter turned to his brother, rubbing a hand over his thinning hair. “Du musst ihnen helfen, Michael. For Angelo’s and Chiara’s sake, you get the Tyrolean peoples to accept him as the new minister. Remember, he saved me at that fair.”

  “Peter’s right,” Susi said. “The Tyroleans and the pro-German activists should not make Minister d’Oro into a martyr.”

  Michael squinted, took a long drag on his cigarette, and stubbed out the rest. He stood and picked up his coat and hat. Susi started to follow him but stopped at Angelo’s side. Tobacco and a spicy perfume wafted from her.

  “You poor boy. This is not easy. Not for anyone. You’ll do the right thing. I’m sure of it.”

  Michael helped the countess get her cape on. “Herr Minister,” he said, touching his hat. “A good night to you.”

  At Angelo’s shoulder, Peter whispered, “I will talk to Michael. Susi and I will talk to him.”

  Angelo watched the door close behind them, relieved they were gone. As the prime candidate, he could no longer afford to have these people in his home. He would have to deal with Chiara later. Beatrice, however, was the next person he had to inform. He took in a deep breath before going downstairs to his mother-in-law.

  Chapter 3

  Graun, December 1922

  T he sugar biscuits for the Advent party were almost finished. Jutta put the final touches on the batch before her and checked the ones that Lisl and Sara were finishing off.

  “We’re almost done, aren’t we?”

  As if Jutta had just released a trap, Sara turned and dusted her hands.

  “Where are you off to?” Jutta threw Lisl a knowing look, but before Sara could answer her, Katharina came through the back door with Annamarie and a package under her arm. She was breathless, and her swollen belly protruded beneath her heavy wool wrap.

  Jutta took the parcel from Katharina and led Annamarie inside. “Did you walk all the way down like that? Your Opa’s here, Katharina. He’s in the Stube with Herr Federspiel from the bank.”

  “I know.” Katharina sank into a kitchen chair. “It smells wonderful in here. Sugar and butter.”

  Sara was halfway out the door.

  “You going to that construction site again?” Jutta called to her.

  “No, ma’am. It’s time to get Alois from school.”

  When she’d gone, Jutta turned to Katharina, about to explain what Sara was up to with the Italian construction workers, but at the sight of Annamarie, it would be best to keep her mouth shut. “Come here, child, and I’ll give you a biscuit.”

  “Look at you, Katharina,” Lisl said. “The way you’re carrying, you’re going to have a boy. You can be sure of that.”

  “He can’t come soon enough then.” Katharina took the mug of tea from her.

  Jutta handed Annamarie a couple of spoons to drum with on the empty sugar pot. “So what are you doing down here? What’s in the parcel?”

  “Do you remember the doctor tourist from Meran? The one who was here this past summer? He ordered a jewellery box for Christmas. Florian has just finished it. I needed to get some fresh air anyway.” She took another sip of tea. “Speaking of doctors, Dr Hanny is not the only one with a motorcar anymore. Did you see that Klaus Blech has one now? I saw it in his stable. What is he going to do with that thing in the winter? Certainly he won’t be able to drive it around here once the snow really comes.”

  “It’s a bit silly, I guess,” Lisl said, “but it’s Frederick who is worrying me. Jutta and I were just talking about how much he’s withdrawn.”

  Jutta glanced at her, then back at Katharina. “We don’t think he’s ever really recovered from Fritz’s death. He’s distanced himself from me, which I can understand, I suppose, but from Lisl? She’s his sister, for heaven’s sake. Worst of all, the Blechs have really taken up with the Italians. You know why Klaus has gotten that automobile, don’t you?” She waited, satisfied that she’d be the one to tell her the news. “The Blechs are now called the Foglio family. They changed their names just last week, and now there’s a House Repairs Committee fixing their roof and installing new windows. And they’re not the only ones.” She looked at Lisl.

  “You changed your name?” Katharina asked. “Tell me that’s not true.”

  Lisl shook her head. “Georg turned the Italians down when they suggested we change it to Russo. When he found out that it meant Russian in Italian, he got very upset.”

  “Lisl Russo,” Jutta said, making a face.

  “No, thank you. I’ll keep Roeschen.”

  “How is Georg?” Katharina asked. “I mean, after Captain Rioba took over as podestà…”

  Lisl bent her head over the last tray of biscuits. “Quiet. Georg’s been quiet.”

  Jutta patted Katharina’s hand and gave her a don’t ask look. “He’s getting in her way, isn’t he, Lisl? Always underfoot. He needs to find something to do.”

  “And what should that be, Jutta?” Lisl asked. “They’ve disbanded the fire brigade. What should he do now?” Lisl picked up a plateful of biscuits and carried them into the pantry.

  In conversation these days, Jutta noted, they always referred to the Walscher, the Italians.

  “Ever since Emilio Rioba’s taken over as prefect,” she whispered to Katharina, “Georg spends his whole day locked up in his little library. It’s not good. Between him and Frederick, I don’t know what to think. And some of our people keep surprising me how quickly they sell out. There’s a good group of them in the valley getting subsi
dies in one form or the other, and the rest of us, who are holding on to our dignity, just get trouble from the authorities.”

  “Like what, Jutta?”

  She looked disgustedly out the window. “Rioba threatened Georg with a fine if he didn’t call him by his Italian title, for example.”

  “Podestà? He has to call him podestà or he’ll get fined? That’s ludicrous.”

  Lisl came back in and sat down with them. Jutta changed the subject. “Your Opa’s in the Stube, Katharina, with Anton Federspiel. They seem quite serious. Is there something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s about the loan Opa had to take out last year.”

  “They’ll figure it out,” Lisl said. “Anton is fair—you know that.”

  “He and Hans came to new terms,” Jutta added. “At least Hans has managed to make arrangements that will give him another season.” She handed Annamarie another biscuit from the counter, searching the child’s features for the Italian in her, something that hinted at her real father, but aside from the dark hair and brown eyes, the girl was almost the spitting image of her mother, and with Florian’s dark-brown hair, it was easy to accept that she was his.

  Katharina placed her mug on the table. “Jutta, when you’re ready, can I get the package mailed? I still have to get to Klaus before he closes. Our sausages should be ready. Maybe Opa is ready to go too. He could walk back with us.”

  More news to share. Jutta slid the package from the counter, saying, “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  In the hallway, they halted between the doors to Jutta’s apartment and that of the new post office.

  Katharina pointed at the freshly installed door. “What’s this?”

  “I’m no longer the postmistress. That, like everything else around here, has been taken care of by Podestà Rioba.” She opened the door. “Good afternoon, Eric.”

  “Enrico. Mi chiamo Enrico,” the postman said.

  A hint of garlic wafted in the air, and the postman reminded Jutta of a rat, with a long, thin nose and beady black eyes. His long strands of greasy hair had been arranged to mask the bald patch at the top of his head, but unsuccessfully. Under the green scarf and faded brown pullover, Jutta could still see how scrawny he was. She’d never seen an uglier man, and she had certainly encountered her fair share.

  “Katharina, meet Eric. Your new postman.”

  “When did this happen?” Katharina asked.

  Jutta crossed her arms. “Yesterday. Podestà Rioba had my deed in one hand and the decree in the other. The builders marched right in here, blocked off the door that led from my apartment into the post office, and built the rest of this thing in a day. When they really want to be, those Italian workers can be very efficient.” Loudly, she said to the rat-faced postman, “Then the podestà sent him over. Welcome to Tyrol, Eric.” She touched the keys on her chain, their tone now changed due to the missing key. “Captain Rioba insisted that Eric live in one of the rooms upstairs. Lord knows for how long. Isn’t that right, Eric? Are you enjoying your stay in this fine guesthouse?”

  “Enrico. Mi chiamo Enrico.”

  “Apparently that’s all he can say,” Jutta said and shoved the package at him.

  He studied the address.

  “Merano.” He sighed, pushing it back to her. “Deve scrivere Merano.”

  “He wants me to write something else,” Katharina said. She turned to the rat man. “Do I need to change something on the address?”

  “Signora, deve scrivere Merano.” He pointed to the package.

  Jutta watched over Katharina’s shoulder as she took the box and pen Enrico handed to her and added an o to Meran. He told Katharina how many lire she had to pay.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jutta muttered. “As if he or anyone else couldn’t figure out what Meran is.”

  “That one is easy,” Katharina whispered.

  “It might make sense.” Jutta made no effort to hide her annoyance. “But how they got Cure on Venesta out of Graun, I’ll never know.”

  “Curon Venosta,” Eric said, his right hand moving in emphasis.

  Jutta shot him a look she hoped would physically pierce him and walked out of the cramped space.

  Behind her, Katharina spoke loudly and slowly. “C’è tutta la posta for Florian Steinhauser? Katharina Thaler? Or Johannes Thaler?”

  Jutta gaped at Katharina’s profile as Eric rummaged in his hole before handing Katharina a stack of newspapers and an envelope.

  Katharina said something more in Italian, then finished with, “Thank you. Grazie.”

  He gestured a dismissal, flashed Jutta a smug look, and slammed the window of his counter shut.

  “You’ve become awfully fluent, Katharina.”

  She seemed to brush the comment off as she read the top of the envelope in her hand. “Look, a letter for Florian, from Germany,” she said, her tone worried. She smiled slyly and pressed her thumb to her first two fingers before moving her hand up and down. “Germania, Signora. Germania!” she said in a deep voice.

  Jutta was not amused but gestured for the letter. There was an attorney’s name and an address from Nuremberg on the back. If she were still the postmistress, she would have already known whether the letter contained good news or bad news.

  She followed Katharina down the hall towards the Stube, but Alois burst out of the kitchen, sobbing and blubbering, with Lisl right behind him.

  “What is it?” Jutta dropped down next to him and wiped his nose, searching for bruises or cuts. “What’s happened to you?” She looked up at Lisl. “Where’s Sara?”

  Lisl threw her arms up in mock surrender. “She delivered him to the back door and left again.”

  Jutta would deal with Sara later. She looked Alois over to see whether he had been roughed up. That hadn’t happened in a long time, but that didn’t mean the bullies hadn’t gotten bored. “What happened, Alois?”

  “I can’t go to school anymore,” he shouted.

  “That’s nonsense. It’s just the Christmas break, that’s all. You’ll be in school again in a few weeks.”

  But Alois howled, inconsolable, and then Annamarie toddled over to them, a tear forming.

  Jutta looked at the other two women. “I don’t know why he’s so upset. He knows very well that the Christmas break is not the end of school.”

  Alois pushed himself off her and stamped his feet, his glasses askew. “Mistress Iris said I can’t come back. She said I can’t because I non parlo italiano!” Then, as if to emphasize his anger, he screamed again. “Non parlo italiano!”

  “What on earth are you talking about, child?” Jutta shouted back.

  Alois pulled something out of his satchel and pushed a piece of paper into her hands, sobbing. “I’m not dumb, Mother. You tell me so.”

  “Did that stupid cow—” Sternly, she said, “You’re not dumb, Alois.” With shaking hands, she unfolded the paper. After her name, everything was in Italian. There were two signatures, and from what Jutta could make of it, one was from the headmaster, the other that of the new Italian schoolmistress, Iris Bianchi.

  “I don’t understand a word here,” she said.

  Lisl looked over her shoulder. “We need a translator.”

  Jutta turned to her son. “What did she tell you exactly, Alois?”

  “I can’t go to school,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t go to school anymore.”

  Jutta took her boy into her arms. “He’s been attending that school for how many years? He’s slow. Not retarded. And I am certain they are calling him that. The Italian teacher is the one who’s—”

  “It must be a misunderstanding,” Katharina said. “Maybe if you talk to—”

  “Misunderstanding, my—” Instead of letting the curse words out, Jutta threw the letter on the ground and stood to crush it with her heel. A lump hardened in her throat. How could she talk to anyone about this, much less to those school people? For instance, Mrs Blech-turned-Foglio.

  “I’m not
going to waste my time on idiots,” she spat.

  Johannes Thaler came out of the Stube. “What’s all this noise about?”

  “Let me talk to the schoolmistress,” Katharina said.

  Jutta was about to say she didn’t need Katharina fighting her battles, but Lisl spoke first.

  “That would be a good idea, Jutta. You can’t take Alois with you like this. And I need to get home. Otherwise I’d stay and watch him. Let Katharina go talk to her.”

  “It’ll be a waste of time,” she snapped.

  Alois sobbed and Annamarie whined.

  “But if you have nothing better to do, Katharina, I guess it can’t hurt.”

  Katharina placed her items on the small table next to the post office door and asked her grandfather to stop at the butcher shop. “Jutta needs my help. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  Jutta took the children’s hands in hers and gave Katharina a warning look. “That teacher had better explain herself real well, or I’ll march down there myself and make sure she regrets ever coming near my son.”

  ***

  S nowflakes drifted lightly, the breeze whipping them up in swirls, when Katharina left the inn with Lisl.

  Lisl pulled her chequered shawl tighter around her neck and shoulders. “She’s embarrassed, Katharina.”

  “About what? Alois?”

  “About not being able to talk with that schoolteacher. Ever since that Italian took over the class, well, Jutta never went down there to make, you know, arrangements?”

  Katharina stopped. They had reached the Roeschen home. Lisl’s garden, normally lush and colourful, looked drab in the late winter, with the lack of snow.

  “Nobody from the school tried to talk to her about it? Not even Mrs Blech?”

  “You mean Mrs Foglio. Especially with her, no.”

  “That’s awful. I’m surprised at Jutta.”

  Lisl shrugged. “You know her pride. It can get in the way. Sometimes.”

  Katharina smiled a little. “That’s why I volunteered, I think.” She glanced in the direction of the inn. “I always think of Jutta as the centre of this valley. I mean, she protects everyone here in a way, but since the Italians got here, she reminds me of a hedgehog.”