She walks into the downpour of Mrs Cardiff’s voice. ‘Oh, Miss Stuart! Miss Stuart. What a terrible, terrible business. A disgrace, no less. Good ness knows we’ve been expecting the worst since Austria. And with all this carry-on with Czechoslovakia we might well get the war we’ve been expecting. But these laws? They have come as a bolt, a complete and utter - you remember Miss Norris, of course.’
‘Yes, of course, Miss Norris,’ Bella says.
‘What are we to make of it, Miss Stuart?’ Miss Norris asks.
‘I’ve only just found out actually,’ Bella says. ‘I mean, I’m not even sure what to think. Mrs Cardiff, you’ll have to excuse me but I need to find Alec. I don’t want him hearing this from anyone else.’
‘But Alec is at home, my dear. Edward fetched him as soon as he heard the news. We met them at the beach. He already knows.’
‘Was he all right?’
‘Well, you know Alec, dear - but yes, he seemed fine. Those two chums of his were quite hysterical though, they had so been looking forward to going to their new school, it seems. Of course now? Anyway, I thought we should have to call the doctor at one point. Particularly the one with the shorter hair. Little…’
‘Martha? Oh the poor girls.’
‘Their father came and took them away. They are leaving the hotel, if they’ve not already left.’
‘Oh surely not - they’ve only just started their holiday!’
‘Well, Jews, you see,’ Miss Norris says with a wise nod of the head. ‘They say before long they won’t be allowed to share the same resort.’
‘Where have you heard such a thing?’ Bella demands.
‘Um. I can’t remember now.’
Mrs Cardiff takes Bella’s arm. ‘Why don’t we sit for a minute, you’re looking a little peaky, dear. In fact, why don’t you join us for coffee - do.’
‘No, thank you. I really should—’
‘Edward has everything in hand. And if you don’t mind my saying it would be better for Alec if you were to compose yourself a little before seeing him - am I not right, Miss Norris?’
‘Oh dear me, yes,’ Miss Norris agrees.
‘Do come with us - shall we go to Concetti’s? At least in there we can talk in peace, no one will understand a word we say.’
A few minutes later they are in Concetti’s, a bar Bella knows only by the view through its ever-opened doors. A girl, not much older than Alec, ushers them past a group of hairy-capped fishermen, behind a curtain to a small room at the side. Mrs Cardiff orders caffe corretto, insisting a shot of brandy will do them all good.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind a little nibble,’ Miss Norris says. ‘I missed lunch, you see, on account of all the excitement.’
‘Of course,’ Mrs Cardiff says and asks the girl to bring some panini.
‘I knew there had to be something up,’ Miss Norris says then, ‘when they issued us with that magazine! You know, the Defence of the Race thing - have you seen it, Miss Stuart?’
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
‘Oh, what an appalling thing it is. All against the Jews. Not one good word to say about them. I mean everyone has their good points, after all. A copy was sent to all educationalists - teachers, librarians, and so forth - with instructions to read and promote its opinions. That was a few weeks ago, the start of August in fact, and I remember saying to myself at the time, well, what’s all this really about I wonder?’
‘Miss Norris, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,’ Bella says. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude but…’
‘Oh, you don’t! And even if you did I’d never blame you, Miss Stuart. You’re bound to be more upset than most.’
Bella looks at her.
‘Mrs Cardiff has been telling me about your Signora being…’ she takes a quick look around and speaks the word like an unsavoury secret, ‘of the Jewish persuasion. Well, your job could be in jeopardy, after all. And even if it’s not - how is she going to pay you? She won’t be allowed to own land, you know, or businesses or anything like that. They’ll take all her lolly too.’
‘Oh, now really, Miss Norris,’ Mrs Cardiff says. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
‘Well,’ says Miss Norris, ‘of course, not yet. But sooner than later, they’ll be as poor as the rest of us - I mean some of the rest of us.’
‘Do you have a newspaper?’ Bella asks Mrs Cardiff. ‘I want to read these laws, I simply cannot believe them until I do. I need to see them with my own eyes.’
‘You need to go back to London, that’s what you need, my dear. And I tell you that as your sincerest friend. Go now. Today, if you can.’
‘But that’s ridiculous, Mrs Cardiff, what about Alec? The Signora? I can’t just… I wouldn’t want to.’
‘Yes, I do understand the fix you’re in, but just the same.’
‘Good job she’s not a foreign one.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Norris?’ Bella asks.
The girl comes back under the curtain with the coffee and a plate of panini and lays them on the table.
’Grazie,’ Mrs Cardiff says.
’Prego, Signora.’
As soon as she leaves Miss Norris continues. ‘They’re expelling all foreign Jews.’ Then she picks up a panino and looks inside. ‘I do miss butter, they’re so terribly dry without, don’t you think?’
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Cardiff agrees. ‘Why not go and ask for some, Miss Norris?’
‘Ought I?’
‘By all means. And have her fetch you a nice cake. The cakes are always good here. And would you mind terribly if I asked you to bring some water back? Ice too? Am I being a terrific nuisance?’
‘Of course not. You leave it up to me.’
*
Mrs Cardiff waits a moment. ‘Of course, you probably don’t know, dear, but indeed they are going to expel all foreign Jews. I didn’t like to say in front of Miss Norris, but…?’
‘The Signora is German.’
‘Quite.’
‘They can’t just give her the boot - surely?’
‘It seems they can. Well, she’ll have six months to clear the decks. And she will, you know, otherwise she can kiss goodbye to her money. James says there’ll be a terrible job getting funds out in any event. Mussolini won’t want that sort of cash drain leaving the country. The flight of hard currency, they’re calling it.’
‘James?’ Bella asks.
‘Yes, dear, my brother - he works in the bank? The manager.’
‘Of course. I’m not thinking.’
‘Well, apparently a few weeks ago the department of finance requested information on all Jewish accounts. I mean to say - really!’
‘You never told me that.’
‘I didn’t know until this morning! Anyway, the General Director instructed the banks not to break client confidentiality. But how long will they get away with that - I ask you? Finish your coffee, dear. Alec is an Italian citizen of course, so for the moment he is safe but, well, she’ll hardly leave him behind?’
‘But his father is a Catholic. He is—’
‘It won’t make any difference, it appears.’
‘But this can’t be happening,’ Bella says. ‘How can it be?’
‘Oh, my dear girl - now you’re as white as. Here, eat one of these ghastly things.’ She lifts the plate of panini to Bella and leans into her. ‘I am sorry I let slip about the Signora. Caught unawares, I’m afraid. Probably best not to say too much more to her. Australian - did you know?’
‘I’m glad you sent her out, I felt like slapping her.’
‘Of course you did.’ Mrs Cardiff sighs. ‘I’m going to smoke, dear. Do you mind?’
Bella waits for Mrs Cardiff to fish around her wool and needles and to pull out a pack of cigarettes. ‘Now,’ she continues as she lights one, ‘you must put a call through to your father, that’s what you must do at once. Tell him you want to go home. But say nothing else, give him no information whatsoever over the telephone. He’ll think it’
s to do with all this fuss with Czechoslovakia and that, understandably you’re afraid of war. You can spill all the beans you like as soon as you arrive in London. Trust me. That’s my advice and it’s coming from a good source, let me tell you. I’m to leave tomorrow. James will have to stay on at the bank for a bit but—’
‘Tomorrow? Already - is that really necessary?’
‘Of course it is! Don’t you see what’s happening? He’s doing this to appease that Hitler thug. And let me say this, Anabelle, Hitler at least waited a few years before he took his diabolic ideas out on Jewish children. They weren’t pulled out of school immediately, you know. Whereas Mussolini has plunged straight at them. If you saw those two little girls today. And the Italians supposed to be so fond of children!’
Mrs Cardiff finishes her cigarette and, coughing a little, looks at Bella through watered eyes. ‘It will ruin Mussolini in the eyes of every civilized country. But he doesn’t care and why should he? He has his chum. They’re going in together, you mark these words, Miss Stuart. Nazism is on the doorstep.’
‘Oh, but Mrs Cardiff. This is not Germany. This is Italy.’
Mrs Cardiff sighs and pats Bella’s hand. ‘Anabelle, this may be the last chance we have to speak, so I’ll be frank. I know you, like most people, think that rules in Italy are made, if not to be broken, then certainly bent. But not this time. And please don’t presume that Bordighera is Italy because it’s not.’
‘It’s hardly Timbuktu!’
‘Bordighera is a pretty seaside resort, an all-year resort, where people start to believe they are on endless holiday. If you want to see the real Italy, go to Rome, Bologna or Trieste indeed, where you can be sure there will be those gloating at today’s news and eyeing up all they have envied for so long: Jewish homes, jobs, land. I wish you well, my dear, whatever your decision. I will contact your father - no, even if you tell me I mustn’t - I will as soon as I get back to London. One last word of advice, change all your money to sterling. Go to James, he’ll sort you out, that way at least when you come to your senses you’ll be prepared because the lira will be of no use soon enough - shhh now, here she is - ah, Miss Norris! There you are, at last. We were beginning to wonder. Unfortunately, Miss Stuart is just about to leave. You have the butter I see. Well done.’
*
When she gets home Alec is in the bath. Elida, crossing the landing with an armful of towels, pauses to throw a complaint over the banisters - Edward has brought the poor child home from the beach, coated in sand ‘like he is a cotoletta alla milanese.’ It is clear by Elida’s face that she hasn’t yet heard the news.
‘Hadn’t time to dry him,’ Edward mutters then pushes her into the kitchen where he makes tea and begins to tell her what happened.
He’d been wrestling with the crib half the morning and ended up having to carry it, piece by piece, into the Signora’s bedroom, the size of the bloody thing like a garden shed. He’d decided to wait for Cesare to give him a hand and so went out onto the terrace to have a smoke and see if there was any sign of him. Edward never got to light the smoke because when he looked down the old man was there already, and he knew at once that something was off. Cesare was standing, hands hanging, back to the garden, nose to the wall.
Edward called to him - no response. Then after a moment sent down a whistle. Cesare turned, looked at him for a moment, then nodded. Edward nodded back. ‘It was,’ he tells Bella, ‘like an acknowledgement of some sort between us.’
When Edward came down Cesare pulled the newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to him. ‘Siamo fottuti,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’ Bella asks.
‘Literally?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re fucked.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Edward continues. ‘Down on the beach the news spread, I suppose like it always does, from group to group - if you remember how we heard about Spain? Or Vienna? - and I must have arrived just after it had. At least, when I came out of the sottopassaggio there was the usual noise - you know, that manic seaside quacking - but as I began to walk along the passeggiata the silence seemed to roll ahead of me.
‘By the time I got to the Parigi all I could hear were the gulls and the sea. I stood at the railing scouring the beach for Alec. Bit by bit people started to talk again. Amongst themselves first, but then they began to break from their groups, get up and cross the beach to speak to each other. By now the newspapers had come through and paperboys were running up and down the promenade or trudging over the sand shouting, “La Difesa della razza!“And something about new racial laws.
‘I don’t think anyone knew what to do or how to take it. Most were shocked, I’d say. Naturally, this being Italy it didn’t take too long for opinions to form. From what I could pick up the general consensus seemed to be - if he’s doing this to the Jews he’s rowing in with Hitler, and if he’s rowing in with Hitler we’re headed for war.
‘I finally spotted Alec and the girls. They were standing a few feet away from a family group, listening to a man reading aloud from the paper. As I got near I could hear his voice, full of approval, announcing the law to ban Jewish children from school. Lina was standing with a ball wedged between her ankles listening to him. Then she began to sob. The other one…?’
‘Martha.’
‘Martha, she skipped the tears and went straight into screaming.’
‘And Alec?’
‘Alec just stood there looking at them.’
‘He said nothing?’
‘Not a squeak. Then Mrs Cardiff came along and that fat lump she sometimes has with her.’
‘Miss Norris.’
‘Yes. They scooped up his beach things, handed them to me and shooed the pair of us off. I took him home while they looked after the girls. And well, here we are, I suppose.’
*
It takes an age to get Alec settled that night. He neither eats nor says much during dinner and only agrees to go to bed at all after Edward telephones the station and puts the capo on to personally confirm there will be no more trains before morning. He can then stop waiting for his mother and new baby sister to arrive.
For a time they hear him up in his room, playing his harmonica. At first he plays in a non-stop tuneless block, then gaps begin to appear that gradually expand into silence.
Bella goes up to his room, prises the harmonica out of his hand, shakes the spit out and wipes it dry. Then she folds Alec’s legs, stiffened with sleep, under the covers. She sits on the side of the bed for a few moments and watches him. His lips roughened by overuse of the instrument, his limbs longer and bonier than they seemed to be yesterday. Ironically, now that all the baby softness and cuteness has gone from his body he seems vulnerable. Even in his sleep, he looks awkward and incompetent for an eleven-year-old boy.
Bella stands up, checks everything on his bedside table is as he likes it: flask of water, flash lamp should he waken frightened, the tennis ball autographed by the Italian champion six months ago in Monte Carlo that Alec has been carrying around as his portafortuna ever since. Behind all this stands a framed photograph taken in the garden this time last year, with the Almansi girls prancing about in bare feet. There is a postcard, stuck in the bottom corner of the frame, sent by his mother when he first started school, telling him how handsome he had looked in his new uniform. Finally, an old pair of gold spectacles once belonging to Signor Lami and which Alec has recently taken to keeping near his bed so ‘Papa can watch over me’. A notion Bella finds just a little disconcerting.
She pulls a jar of petroleum jelly from a shelf over the bed, dips her little finger in and gently dabs it along the chapped rim of his lips.
Later, just as she is going upstairs to bed, the sound of the telephone smashes into the house. Bella watches from the stairs while Elida approaches the phone as if she’s expecting a bite from it. She tries to catch the gist of the call by the shift of expressions on Elida’s face; now alarmed, now puzzled, finally annoyed. ‘Da Vien
na,’ she tuts, holding the receiver to Bella as she comes down the last few stairs.
’Vienna?‘ she says. ‘The Signora’s in Vienna?’
But Elida has already gone to the house phone to call Edward up from the mews.
It turns out to be a drunken Amelia. Bella can hardly understand what she’s saying. It’s as if she’s speaking with her mouth full of toffee. In the background there are the hysterical strains of an orchestrina that’s asking too much of itself, and the surge and fall of drunken voices, possibly German.
‘I can’t hear you, Amelia,’ she shouts down the phone. ‘I’m sorry I just can’t—’
The noise suddenly cuts. ‘Forgota close door.’
‘Yes, that’s better.’
‘Look, the thing is, well. I’m in a - you know - fix. The problem. The problem is I can’t get out of Vienna.’ Amelia starts to laugh.
‘I thought you were supposed to be in Berlin?’
‘Well, I would be! I would be! Let me tell you right now. I would, if I could be, if I could. But they won’t let me back in. I’m not kidding. This place is. Gonetahell. That’s what. Last time with Grace, it was so. Now. It’s a tragedy, that’s what. Poor old Vienna. Can’t see the buildings for swastikas hanging from every window. The whole damn town overrun with German soldiers. People shrieking “Heil Hitler” at each other like maniacs in the streets, every shop you go into, every bar, even the babies are doing it. All over. I mean, shrie-eeeking. It’s more Nazi than Berlin, for chrissake! I want. I want out of here, Miss Stuart. But they won’t allow it! Not unless someone whaddayacall vouches for me. They won’t even let me home to the States. I mean, come on! Anyway who cares? I don’t wanna go to the States, much rather come visit with you instead. That’d be OK. Wouldn’t that be OK? It’d be fun. Like it used to be fun. You, me, Edward, whatshisname Alec. Trouble is, I need Aunt Lami to - you know, whatever. To vouch for me - I thought maybe with that special thing going on between Germany and Italy. If that husband of hers, that Tassi husband lawyer guy, could - you know? And she’s got her share of contacts, you can bet on that, Miss Stuart. How are you anyhow? How is Bordighera?’
‘Well, I’m—’
Last Train from Liguria (2010) Page 26