Last Train from Liguria

by Christine Dwyer Hickey

  Rosa shakes her head but doesn't reply.

  'Are you ill, Rosa?'

  Rosa shakes her head again.

  'Is everything all right? Your sons, they are—?'

  Rosa nods, biting her lip.

  Bella stands waiting. Now and then she throws a deliberate glance at the neighbour to let Rosa know they're not alone.

  'Won't you let me in, Rosa?' she whispers after a moment. 'Nothing can be that bad, surely?'

  Rosa opens the door. As soon as Bella is in, she closes it again. The neighbour shouts on the other side, words Bella can't make out.

  'Zitta.' Rosa snarls back through the keyhole. 'Puttana pelata.'

  'Excuse me, Signora,' Rosa says, angelically, as if she has not just called her neighbour a bald-headed whore.

  The air in the apartment feels tight and hot like a greenhouse. Bella sees this is because Rosa has been ironing and all the windows are closed. There is a pillar of white shirts stacked on the table and in the little room that leads off the kitchen, rows of black uniforms hang from rails. There is a dry musty odour of pressed cloth, and an acrid waft of old sweat on warmed cotton. Bella notes the electric iron she gave to Rosa when Signora Lami brought the latest model from Switzerland and declared this one to be obsolete.

  'Rosa – may I ask you for a glass of water? It's so warm.'

  'Oh scusa, Signora. I'm so sorry. Of course, one moment. One moment.' On the way to the water jug, Rosa goes around and opens all the windows.

  The room where the uniforms hang is small, the size of the pantry in Villa Lami, kept dark to protect cloth from the sun. The rails that cross it from wall to wall are from a time when Rosa's husband was a travelling salesman of men's suits. Military uniforms now fidget and sway in the new breeze the opened windows have admitted. She can see the black shapes of shoulders, arms, legs. The glint of a button or epaulette when they give a slight turn like headless soldiers at ease.

  Rosa hands Bella a glass of water then removes a stack of shirts from a chair for Bella to sit down.

  'I've been worried about you, Rosa,' she begins.

  'Yes.' 'I just wanted to see if—'

  'I know. I'm sorry. They are all in the centre for lunch after the parade so I have nothing but fruit to offer. Please excuse me.'

  'Rosa, really, I didn't expect lunch. To be honest I should have been here an hour ago but I stopped in the pine garden and, well, fell asleep.'

  Rosa gives a small smile, then goes to the sideboard and pulls out a bowl of apricots and grapes. 'I have some cheese, Signora – if you like?'

  'No, I'm fine, the fruit is plenty, it's too hot to eat, really.'

  Rosa comes back and sits down beside her. 'I did not know what to do, Signora Stuart. So instead I do nothing. But now you are here.'

  'Yes. I am.'

  'It's my son, Signora. Alberto – you know, who works for the Ministry of the Interior?'

  'Has something happened to Alberto?'

  'No. He is well. But he has the new promotion I tell you about? Now he works for Demorazza – I think it's the name.'

  'Demorazza?'

  'The new department for the problems of race.'

  'Oh.'

  'He says no more I cannot work for the Lami house.'

  'Why does he say that?'

  'Signora, you must know this already.'

  'I don't.'

  'But it is in all the newspapers, on the radio news too. Please, Signora, don't make me say it.'

  'Edward didn't get the papers today, they were late. I'm supposed to bring them back. And I haven't heard the news, I've been out.'

  'My son, he know this for many weeks. He say first wait, things could change. I try to tell you before.'

  'Yes, but you only said there could be problems, nothing definite.'

  'Now is definite. So I must not go again to Villa Lami.'

  'I still don't understand.'

  Rosa begins to cry.

  'Oh Rosa,' Bella says. 'Tell me. We're friends – are we not friends?'

  Rosa nods. 'The race laws. They have come true, Signora.'

  'The race laws? Oh God. I thought they were just another rumour because of the manifesto.'

  'Alberto says the manifesto is the scientific proof these laws are necessary. Now they are here. They are the law.'

  'I see.'

  'Alberto says it better to stop working for the Lami family before the law comes to the public. I write a letter to the Signora and tell her already.'

  'There will be a way around these silly laws, Rosa, wait and see. They'll all be forgotten by this time next month.'

  'No, Signora.'

  Bella plucks an apricot from its pile and begins to roll it between her palms. She waits for Rosa to explain.

  'She is a Jew. I am an Aryan. It is the law, Signora. No Aryan can work as the servant of a Jew. Alberto says. Only the other way around from now on.'

  'So is Alberto suggesting that Signora Tassi should come and work for you then?' Bella snaps.

  Rosa glances at her, then looks away. 'I don't want to leave Villa Lami,' she continues. 'I need the work. Because Alberto is promoted he goes to Roma, he is the only one who brings real money to the house. And the Signora is always good to me.'

  'Yes. I see how it is now. Do you know, Rosa, what the other laws are?'

  'You must read for yourself.'

  'Do you have the paper?'

  'No. My son Dario, he take it.'

  'Please tell me. The newspaper kiosks will be closed now.'

  'I remember the one for schools because I am thinking of Alessandro. No more Jews teaching in schools and universities. No more Jewish influence over Aryan children.' Rosa pauses and looks down at her hands. 'Or no more going to school, Signora. Alessandro will not be allowed in the school.'

  'But that's absurd. Apart from anything else he's Catholic, like his father.'

  'Only bloodlines will be important now, Signora. And the Jew it comes from the side of the mother. Alberto say is called contamination.'

  'But to take a child's education! It's too much. It can't be right. You must be mistaken.' Bella stands up. Rosa pulls at her wrist to make her sit down again.

  'There is no mistake. I swear that to you.'

  'After all he said about protecting the Jews! He'll never get away with it, surely not?'

  'He is il Duce, Signora.'

  Bella looks down at the apricot in her hand, then replaces it in the punnet. 'He is a monster, ' she says.

  'Please don't speak that way, Signora,' Rosa quietly says. 'If anyone hear.' She waits for a moment. 'There are other laws also, I don't remember now. There will be more ones after. They will keep coming. My son is certain.'

  'Yes, yes. That's all right. I can't hear any more now. I can't. Please. I must go.'

  'I try to tell you. You would not listen, Signora, you would not.'

  'Even if I had listened, Rosa, what difference would it make now?' Bella says.

  Rosa comes with her to the door and puts her hand over Bella's. Her eyes are hazy from crying. 'We are still friends, Signora?'

  'I have to find Alec,' she says.

  Bella runs, the sound of her footsteps over the empty piazza like slow sardonic applause. She tells herself to think only of Alec. Nothing of what Rosa has said, either now or before. Nothing that has been said by anyone, anywhere, over the past months or weeks. Half-heard rumours, or words almost read. Nothing. She cannot allow her mind to go beyond Alec. Not five minutes into the future. Until he is beside her, holding her hand, until the door of the Villa Lami is shut firmly behind them. Alec.

  She turns into the long, vaulted carruggio of via Bastoni. The light of dusk inside. From the eaves the constant smug gurgle of pigeons then a frenzied implosion as Bella rushes inside. Something swoops down through the darkness and skims past her ears. She can feel the agitation of the air on her face as it whips by. Bella screams and folds herself down. Then turning she catches a glimpse of the bird bursting through an arch of sunligh
t.

  She comes out at the porta Sottana, stands for a moment and looks down all the scales of its steps. Beyond the Roman palms, the cobbled roofscape below, the tower of Santa Teresa, the beneficent sea.

  Behind her, on the far side of the old town wall, she hears the tinkle and bleat of goats browsing. A washing line over her head purrs on the afternoon breeze. There is a tin plate of cat food outside a door, a bluebottle nosing around the rim. A woman's voice calls out, 'Mimi! Mi-mi!' and a young black cat pounces from a ground-floor window.

  'It is nothing,' she says to herself, pressing her hand into her heart to slow down the beats. A lot of hot air. Of course it will pass. What was I thinking of, getting myself all worked up like this? Bella gives a short dismissive laugh, then begins her return down the steps.

  Back on via Pineta she sees Mrs Cardiff rounding the bend, the Australian teacher whose name she can't recall, waddling by her side. Mrs Cardiff begins speaking to her while still yards away and although Bella can't yet hear, she can tell by the bluster of movement that all the reassurances she's been feeding herself on the way down the steps have been in vain. Bella knows her stoic friend is not easily given to the excessive gesture or word.

  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 caffè 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.'