Last Train from Liguria (2010)

by Christine Dwyer Hickey

  ’Certo, Padre,’ Bella agrees, not knowing how to refuse his kind eyes.

  The schoolboys duck under the priest’s arm, throw a Roman salute her way and sit down beside Alec. As they sit, Alec rises. He takes a place next to Bella.

  The priest stays out in the corridor, opens his newspaper and leans against the glass in the compartment door. One of the boys takes out a book and opens it - Il primo libro del fascista. He begins reading aloud: ‘Guidelines for the Treatment of Jews’. He reads each rule then closes his eyes and repeats it until he knows it off by heart. The other boy pushes his finger along the lines in the book and whispers the words disconnectedly as if he hasn’t a clue what they’re supposed to mean. So this is their homework. She feels Alec fidget beside her. He takes out his harmonica and mashes it into his lips.

  Bella looks away. Out in the corridor, the priest catches her eye and smiles. She nods and makes an effort to smile back. He turns to the side, leaving the front page in her sight. She reads a headline: ‘FRANCIA E INGHILTERRA RICHIAMANO TRUPPE’. France and England recall troops.

  He shakes the paper out, turns it so the back page is now on view and she can see what appear to be columns of advertisements from Italians denying they are Jews. ‘LA FAMIGLIA TREVISI NON E CONTAMINATA! - the Trevesi family is not contaminated!

  She abandons all thoughts of getting off at Bordighera.

  *

  Taggia station. The boys thank her on the way out and salute again. The priest steps in to say goodbye, leans into the Moses basket to lay his hand on the baby’s head and then moves to touch Alec. Alec folds himself into the corner.

  ’E timido, Padre, scusi,’ she says.

  *

  Now San Remo. Smartly dressed women appear through the steam; travelling suits, hats and high heels. Anxious faces - obviously in a hurry to get away. Around them hotel porters fuss. Men in sports jackets carrying bags of fruit and magazines come and go from the Informazioni window.

  A good twenty minutes’ delay. The compartment is beginning to feel like they’re being cooked inside a casserole dish. Alec takes off his jacket and begins whinging for his portafortuna.

  She sees a group of middle-aged women, stout shoes and sketch pads under-elbow, form an orderly queue behind a drawing master and climb onto the train. Bella recognizes them as English Dots, making a point of not being flustered or feeling compelled to go anywhere. She tells Alec to pull down the reserved blind on the door of their compartment so they can remain alone and undisturbed.

  The early start is beginning to show in his eyes. She tells him the portafortuna will keep the bag safe, then tells him to lie down. ‘No!’ he argues, but they have barely left the station when his head and his eyelids begin to yoyo in time with the train. He slides down, lays his head on the seat and sleeps. Bella stands for a moment and stretches out her back.

  *

  Ospedaletti. Just one stop away from Bordighera. She hopes Alec will stay asleep as far as the checkpoint at least. But then a bicker of English voices breaks out in the corridor. One high-pitched woman: ‘And not even a bloody seat to be had. Honestly, Peter, you’re such a bore, we might have stayed one more night, it’s not as if rotten Hitler is going to come and personally drag us out of our beds, after all we did pay for it and how! It’s supposed to be our honeymoon. If this is what—’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, Audrey. Your voice is piercing my head!’

  ’Well, I can’t believe—’

  The voices are cut by the shudder and slam of the connecting door to the neighbouring carriage. Alec’s eyes open and he sits back up. Bordighera. He stays with his forehead butted into the window, gazing out through the blurts of steam.

  ’Ricorda-ti, Alberto?‘ she warns. ‘Silencio.’

  He nods tiredly against the glass and for a moment it looks as if he’s about to slip back down into sleep. But then he’s jumping up and down and gasping out the window. His head jerks around and looks at her. She signals for him to be quiet and stay out of sight. But he looks back to the window, craning his neck, pressing his face against the glass. Any second she expects him to start shouting that this is Bordighera and they are home.

  She sees the English Dots follow their drawing master out of the station. Bella stands up and pulls him away from the window. Alec’s face is flushed, his eyes wide awake. ‘L’ho visto! L’ho visto!’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s Bordighera, now for goodness sake sit down and be quiet.’

  Alec looks shocked. ‘Hai parlato in Inglese!‘ he chides, which surprises her, as she had felt sure he had forgotten their little game. The door of the carriage opens behind her.

  ’Si, si,’ Alec shouts. ‘L’ho visto, l’ho visto!’

  Bella looks around as Edward steps into the carriage. ‘Sorry I’m late, dear,’ he says.

  She can’t bring herself to look at him and turns her face away to the window. Her heart is so loud she feels sure he can hear it. Edward nudges her.

  ‘Look at me,’ he says.

  ‘No.’ She can see the imprint of his face behind hers on the glass of the window, the side of her face resting under his beard.

  ‘Look at me, Bella.’

  ‘No.’

  She waits until the train begins to warm up.

  ‘Will you be getting off at Menton?’ she asks after a moment.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Monte Carlo then?’

  ‘No. Not Monte Carlo.’

  ‘Oh? How far are you going?’

  He says, ‘All the way - if I’m allowed.’

  Edward is beside her. She tries not to remember last night, what she said or almost did. Her feelings switch one second to the next; now shame, now regret, now not giving the slightest damn beyond wondering how soon they can do it again, this time to the finish. Then elation because he has risked so much for them, followed by - for the very same reason - fear.

  ‘The thing is—’ he begins, but she puts her hand up to stop him.

  ‘Let’s just get through today, Edward.’

  ‘You’re right. Of course.’ He throws his knapsack onto the rack. ‘How’s the baby?’

  ‘Edda - you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Edda.’

  ‘Drugged, actually.’ Bella turns around but doesn’t quite look at him yet.

  ‘Scandalous!’ he says. ‘What have you done to her?’

  ‘Not me, Sorella Ursula. Just to give me a start, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, I can help you now. If you show me how.’

  ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind a stretch. My back has been at me.’

  ‘Off you go.’

  ‘Do you want to come with me, Alec?’

  ‘No!’ Alec pouts.

  ‘What’s the matter, Allo?’ Edward asks him.

  ‘You ruin our game. We won’t get the surprise now. Because you make us speak English.’

  ’Ah, scusa mi, Allo, sono un papa stupido,’ Edward says.

  ‘You’re not my Papa.’

  ‘Only for the game, Al. After that I’ll just be your friend again.’

  ‘And you fight last night with Signora Bella and I don’t love you now any more.’

  ‘She fought with me! She’s quite rough you know. I’m badly bruised. Ought to be a law against it.’

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ Bella mutters and ducks out.

  She sways up the corridor clutching on to the rail, bumping past or dancing against oncoming passengers. Finally she finds herself alone outside the lavatory on a clanking floor between carriages. A sweet cool breeze crosses from the open windows on both sides. She dips her head out the sea-side window. The start of the promenade ambles by; just a distant glimpse of the roof on the Kursaal now, and a clumsy glint from the one-man band as he totters down to his usual post. She comes back to the middle.

  Now leaving Bordighera, really leaving it. The sea on her left, the last stretch of town on her right, the hillside rising behind it. Between its rocks and its olive groves, its light, numerous balconies, there is always that d
ark green hillside. She looks down through the gap in the floor, watches Italy slip away under her feet.

  When she comes back to the carriage Alec is standing face to the window, his reflection like a little ghost looking back at her. Edward has taken off his coat and, sleeves rolled up, is turning a penknife over the peel of an orange.

  ‘See, Allo,’ he says, ‘not a nick.’ He holds the bare orange up and drops the twirl of peel onto a handkerchief.

  Alec turns around. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Near Ventimiglia, the frontier.’

  Out in the corridor the voice of a conductor is pacing. ‘Documenti!‘ it calls. ‘Documenti!’

  Bella takes the envelope from the side pocket of the baby bag. She pulls out the papers and quickly arranges them. The papers that will take them out of Italy first: certificate of family status, passports, workbook for her husband, the carpenter Marco Magrini. Beneath them the papers that will take them into France: carte de tourisme, visas. Between the two lots she places the letter to the hotel, which may be useful in both cases. She knows it’s unlikely that the Sorella would have forgotten anything, but checks it all again anyway, then hands the papers to Edward, so he can do all the showing and talking.

  ‘I think we should put the reserved blinds back up,’ he says, ‘or they might think we have something to hide.’

  ‘As if!’ Bella says, releasing the cord, revealing an empty corridor.

  He parts the segments of the orange and lays them on top of the curled peel on the hanky, then puts it carefully on the seat beside Alec. The train begins to slow down.

  ‘Well, here goes,’ Edward says.

  Alec picks up his harmonica.

  Blackshirts all over the platform. Polizia di frontiera with guns to their shoulders. Small groups of people being led this way and that. There is a long, low, flat-roofed building parallel to the train where officials pass in and out. Through one of its windows she sees the open mouth of a suitcase, hands rummaging through. Further down the building a queue bends through an open door.

  The train comes to a complete stop and a line of officials approaches, then divides into shorter lines to stand before each door. Bella feels the carriage rock as they climb on.

  The capotreno comes back to clip their tickets. ‘Ahh il marito!‘ he begins when he sees Edward, but as two officials push in behind him, he hands the tickets back without another word.

  The first official is all chat, looking in at the baby, asking her name and going, ‘Ah che bella.’ The other official just stands there. Out in the corridor soldiers pass by.

  Bella notices Alec’s eyes are beginning to flutter. He runs the harmonica over his lips, backwards and forwards, again and again.

  The official goes through the papers, pausing to ask a question or make a comment at each one: ‘Vacanze? Bellissimo. A Nizza? Mi piace Nizza. Solo per una settimana?’

  ’Si.’ Edward smiles.

  ’Un po d’aria fresca per i bambini, eh?’

  Edward agrees.

  The official hands back the papers, then his eye catches sight of Alec gnawing his lips on the harmonica. He puts a hand to his ear and says, ‘Allora, Maestro? Non posso sentire la musica.’ He laughs, delighted with his joke.

  Alec drops the harmonica with fright. Bella is horrified to see squirts of blood along his chapped lips. She pulls a hanky from her sleeve. ‘Vieni qui, a Mamma,’ she says.

  But Alec won’t move.

  The custom official looks at him for a moment then picks up the harmonica and hands it to him.

  Alec puts his hands behind his back and shakes his head.

  Bella stands up and takes it instead.’Grazie, Signore. E molto timido.’

  The customs official nods, then sullenly wishes them buon viaggio and closes the door behind him.

  ‘Jesus,’ Edward says.

  Alec starts crying. ‘Mi scappa cacca.’

  ‘Oh, Alec, I asked you if you wanted to go just a little while ago. Can’t you wait?’

  ’E diarrea. Penso.’

  ‘Diarrhoea! Oh no, Alec.’

  ’Mi dispiace.’

  ‘It’s all right, Alec,’ she says. ‘Be a big boy now, we just have to think.’

  ‘I’ll take him,’ Edward says.

  ‘No. He can’t go while the train is stationary, the toilets are all locked. Wait till the train moves again.’

  ‘He can’t wait - look at him. They’ve checked us already, Bella. We’ll be fine. Listen, they’ve already moved on to the next carriage. We’re through. I can’t bloody believe it, but we’re through. Ventimiglia station is only down the way, we’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  ‘Yes, but what if they don’t let you back on?’

  ‘Of course they will. Tell you what, I’ll bring our tickets, just in case.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so,’ Bella agrees.

  Edward removes their tickets from the stack and hands the French visas and carte de tourisme back to Bella.

  ‘Come on, Al, lets go.’

  Alec shakes his head and looks at Bella.

  ‘It’s all right, Alec,’ Edward says. ‘It’s safe now.’ He lays one hand on top of Alec’s head and guides him through the door. The other hand he places on the top of Bella’s arm. ‘Fra poco, Bella,’ he says.

  Bella looks out the window. Everything outside appears to be moving at a faster pace now. The queue at the door to the customs office is considerably shorter, the crowd on the platform greatly diminished. She can think of only one reason for this spurt of rare Italian efficiency - a glance at her watch confirms it - almost time for lunch. Out in the corridor she sees first-class passengers who have been already cleared beginning to stream along the corridor to the restaurant car. They speak lightly to each other as they go, in the easy manner of the English upper-crust tourist.

  Her head turns back towards the window of the train; her gaze falls upon the soldier standing at the door of the room where earlier she had seen the hands rummaging through a suitcase. Inside the room, an official is talking to a man sitting in the shadows. She sees papers being passed one to the other.

  The next time she looks at her watch, ten minutes has gone by. She reminds herself that Alec’s nervy bouts of diarrhoea can take quite a while. She watches a man get off the train and go to the newspaper stand. A woman walks up the platform fixing her skirt as if she’s just come back from the station lavatory. She stops, opens a compact and bares her teeth.

  Bella presumes Edward is still in the main station building. Maybe he slipped in for a coffee there, but she can’t believe he would delay in these circumstances. The man comes back from the newspaper stand, flipping the paper under his arm, and jumps back onto the train. The woman closes the compact and also climbs on a little further down. Fifteen minutes - where are they? By now the stream of people in the corridor for the restaurant car has slowed to a queue.

  The baby distracts her with a whimper. ‘Shh, shhh,’ Bella soothes and sits down beside her, watching the little mouth open and close. Bella lowers her face into the deep sour smell of a dirty nappy. She decides to be prepared, going through the baby bag: nappies, pins, petroleum jelly, olive oil packed to one side. On the other side there’s a tin of dried baby milk, two empty feeding bottles, two more already made up. She pulls the smaller bottle out just in case, along with a few things she’ll need to change the nappy.

  As she lifts her head from the bag her eye falls on the soldier at the door again. He is beckoning at someone further up the platform to hurry along. The soldier takes a few steps forward, beckons again a little more forcefully; this time he leaves the door unattended for a few seconds. A gap. For a terrible moment she thinks she might have seen Alec in the room. Bella stands and goes to the window, but the soldier has returned to his place now and no matter how much she tries, she can’t see behind him.

  The baby whimpers again. Then falls quiet again. Bella turns to look at her. When she comes back to the window she sees the soldier moving aside to allow two men
into the office. One man is the porter from earlier on, the other a soldier. The porter is carrying her mother’s green alligator travel bag.

  For a few seconds she dies. Her heart, mind, body, everything stops. Until Alec comes into sight to take a seat at the table. The bag lands in front of him. She sees an official sit down beside Alec, laughing and jok ing, tossing his hair. The official stands then to open the bag. Alec’s hand goes in and pulls out his portafortuna, holding it up for the official to see.

  Bella tries not to panic. Her hands hit off each other as she goes back to the Moses basket, slides it off the seat, in her hurry knocking the baby bag onto the floor. There’s a tumble of clothes and the thud of a jar; the tin of baby food rolls, then stops. The envelope with the false English papers flops out on the floor. The envelope with the money follows. The baby starts crying.

  ‘Sshh,’ Bella says. ‘Oh God. Don’t do that. Don’t cry. Don’t. Not now.’

  She lifts the baby out of the basket and into her arms, rocking her a little. This only seems to make the baby worse. Bella stoops to the floor to pick up the envelopes, the baby balanced over one knee. She is aware that she’s beginning to attract attention from the queue for the restaurant car. She begins stuffing things back into the bag with her free hand.

  The train rumbles beneath her. Bella throws the bag onto the seat, unsteadily gets a hold of the baby in her arms, then gets herself back onto her feet. She can feel the engines struggle and fuss. She grabs the baby bag and makes a rush for the door.

  She hears the stutter of the warning bell, the lengthy screech of a whistle. ‘No!’ she shouts out and turns to look out the window. The platform is moving. She jumps at the window, bangs her fist against the glass, shouting for Edward and Alec, for the soldier in the doorway, for the old man passing by, pushing a bicycle, for the woman closing up the newsstand. Anyone who might heed her. She rushes back to the door of the compartment, begins tugging on the door handle. The whistle screeches again. She knows she is sobbing now and that her behaviour is startling people in the queue who are avoiding her eyes and looking at each other instead.