Last Train from Liguria

by Christine Dwyer Hickey

  He still doesn't reply and she turns again.

  'Edward? Won't you say something?'

  'Such as?'

  'Anything – I don't care what. But please talk to me.'

  'Woof woof,' he says and almost smiles.

  The young monk brings in a tray rattling with coffee, plates of focaccia and apple fried cake, and they sit politely over it like children in a strange house. They don't say much about anything; a comment on the saltiness of the focaccia, the overwhelming sweetness of the cake. Sometimes they point out sounds to each other. Voices in a nearby room that for some reason they decide can't belong to the monks. Bella thinks she hears a cat. Edward says it's a baby.

  'How would you know?' she asks him.

  'Where I come from, the one thing you were always certain to hear, day or night, was a baby bawling.'

  'Where was that, Edward?'

  'Oh, in the centre of the city. My father was a publican. I suppose you could say we lived over the shop.'

  'So he wasn't a music teacher?'

  'No, that was just a story for the Lamis, you know?'

  'Did you have brothers and sisters?'

  'One sister but she died.'

  'Oh, that must have been awful for you.'

  'We didn't get on. Didn't like each other much, if at all. I don't remember her well.'

  'Do you know what I remember most about Dublin?' she says.

  'What?'

  'Ducks. Ducks and the smell of coffee – a softer coffee smell than you get here. Once a week my father would take me out and we always went to feed the ducks in Stephen's Green, then into a café.'

  'I think of – I don't know; the markets, I suppose. The smell of fish. The river, the Four Courts, prisoners shouting down to relatives on the street from the Bridewell cells.'

  It's so rare to have a conversation like this, the two of them talking about their respective pasts. Even more unusual for Edward to mention anything of his former life. She would give anything to have it continue, but the monk is back by now, picking up the tray and beckoning them to follow.

  In another room there is a fire in the grate, a table laid with linen and silver, and the remnants of what appears to have been a substantial meal is being cleared away by two elderly monks. Sorella Ursula stands to greet them. Through the half-open door of an anteroom come the voices of men. A few seconds later another nun enters, with a baby in her arms. Edward nudges Bella.

  'Is the Signora here?' she asks.

  Sorella Ursula shakes her head. 'We won't be seeing the Signora today. Please take a seat.'

  'Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that,' Bella says. 'I wish you'd tell us where she is. Can't you please at least tell us that?'

  'Please, Signora Stuart,' Sorella Ursula says. 'Signor Tassi is here now.'

  Tassi comes in from the anteroom followed by another, much taller man. He hardly looks like the Tassi they know, the holiday Tassi of bright clothes and beaming demeanour. He's dressed in a dark business suit and his expression is sombre. He shakes hands with them both, but doesn't kiss them, and this is unusual too. 'Vi presento introdurre un avvocato Inglese – che parlerà per me.'

  'Perchè parlerà per Lei?' Edward asks him.

  The English lawyer answers. 'I am not speaking for him, but instead of him. This is a very complicated business and we don't want any misunderstandings. I am Signora Tassi's lawyer and I act solely on her behalf, as I have done since she was Signora Lami. It's best if I don't introduce myself fully – beyond how do you do – please do sit down.'

  Out of a large attaché case the lawyer begins pulling files and brown packets and pressing them down on the table. He pauses to brush a few crumbs from the linen cloth, then begins to arrange his papers.

  Bella turns to Sorella Ursula then Tassi, but it's clear that neither of them intends to look at her. She takes her seat; Edward sits a few feet away from her. 'No,' she blurts out then. 'No. I don't like this.' She turns directly to Gino Tassi. 'Signor Tassi – Dov'è la signora?' she asks him. 'Dov'è la madre di Alessandro?'

  The lawyer sighs through his nose. 'Miss Stuart, you do better to speak directly to me. I can assure you the Signora is safe. I have instructions from her, for you and your colleague – Mr King – isn't it?'

  'Yes,' Edward confirms.

  'These instructions are to be handed over only if you agree to help her. Do you understand? I will go through everything with you first, then you may decide. If you find yourselves unable to help the Signora, you may go, and she asks only that you keep this meeting to yourselves. If you do agree, then I will take you through the steps in greater detail. Don't worry, all will be clear soon enough. Now if I may begin – Miss Stuart? Mr King?'

  He waits for them to agree.

  'Very well then. As you know the Signora is in a somewhat precarious situation at the moment. Not just here in Italy but also in Germany where she has many business interests. I understand you are already aware that the Signora is not an Italian citizen and is also of the Jewish persuasion. In light of the recent race laws, along with other events, it has become clear to the Signora that she can no longer remain in Italy. She has already been given notice to leave. Measures have also been taken to seize certain assets as well as to prevent her from taking money out of the country. What concerns the Signora is the safety and well-being of her children.

  'You mean the safety and well-being of her money!' Edward says and Bella is shocked at this unexpected outburst.

  'You are of course entitled to your opinion, Mr King, but without money she can hardly take care of her children, not in this climate for certain. If I may continue—'

  'Yes,' Bella says. 'But what about loopholes, you know, all the Discriminato business?'

  'There has been talk of loopholes through use of the Discriminato clause, and certainly the Vatican is bringing pressure regarding the children of mixed marriages. But by and large these loopholes are all too vague and open to constant change, not to mention corruption and blackmail – something the Signora does not intend to involve herself in. The fact remains she will not be allowed Discriminato status in any event, and even if her children are, they will still be regarded as second-class citizens and have very few rights. Besides, as we now know, the situation in Germany regarding Jews makes no exceptions and the Signora is naturally concerned that Italy may well follow Hitler's example in due course, particularly if there is a war.'

  Gino Tassi comes out of his corner and walks to the nun who is holding his baby. He goes to lift the child from her arms, and Bella notes the nun won't let go until Sorella Ursula nods her permission. Then Tassi lifts the baby and goes back to the corner, the bundle in his arms close to his face.

  The lawyer continues. 'What the Signora would like you to do, that is, both of you to do, is to take the children with you to London.'

  'London!' Edward asks. 'Is she mad?'

  'She would like you to take them to your father's house, Miss Stuart, and keep them there for her, until she is in a position to follow.'

  'Well, I don't think that sounds like such a bad idea, Edward,' Bella says. 'I think we should listen, at least. I'm probably going to be turfed out after the hearing next week at the federal secretary's office – so?'

  Edward ignores her and addresses the lawyer. 'How are we supposed to do that? I mean, with all these travel restrictions and regulations – how the hell are we supposed to smuggle two Italian children out of Italy?'

  'I'm coming to that, Mr King. The Signora has it all arranged.'

  'Yes, well, she would have!'

  The lawyer puts his hand under the first package and raises it slightly. 'This envelope first. You will travel as a family, husband, wife, son and new baby. There are papers in here for an Italian family of that description taking a holiday in Nice.'

  'Nice?' Edward says. 'France is far too risky, I know – we live close to the border, we see people being dragged back every day of the week. Why not just Genoa and sail straight to Southampton?'

>   'Even riskier, I'm afraid. You will be travelling on false papers, Mr King. To leave Italy as an Italian family bound for England will cause suspicion. There's a far better chance of success the other way. And we have looked into all the possibilities on your behalf, you know.'

  'Oh, how kind,' Edward sneers and Bella says, 'Edward! Will you please just listen?'

  'Thank you, Miss Stuart,' the lawyer says and continues. 'There are two sets of papers. One presenting you as an Italian family going for a holiday to Nice. I repeat, all the visas, documentation, passports, etc. have been taken care of – although we still need to take your photographs, but that's a small matter which can be organized here. You are booked into an hotel for one week.'

  'A week in Nice? Why waste all that time?'

  'Of course, you won't stay for the week, Mr King. You will have in your possession a letter confirming your reservation for a week. This can be shown at the border and can be verified with a telephone call. When you get to the hotel you will indeed register. Then the next day, as if you are simply going on an outing – you leave Nice. Leave a suitcase in the hotel, clothes in the cupboard and so forth, so as not to arouse suspicion. Then discard, better still burn, whatever Italian documentation you have. Go to the train station and catch the train to Paris and from there to Calais. Now you will be using this envelope.' He lifts up the next package.

  'This time an English family, returning from holiday in France. There is a receipt from the Bristol Hotel in Nice, showing an English address, which corresponds with that on your papers. To be perfectly honest, the second set of papers is unlikely to pass muster in England nor would they on an English ship – they are certainly not as authentic as I would have liked, but no matter, once you are on English soil, all that can be sorted out. Your father, Miss Stuart, may be called on to identify you. I will give you a telephone number where a colleague of mine may be contacted, should the need arise.

  'So that's the bones of it. The important thing is that we get you into France. Once there it will be easy to travel as an English family, the French being sympathetic to the English just now and the next few days will see so much confusion at train stations with everyone trying to bolt, you shouldn't stand out too much. Should you agree, there are several details to go over.'

  'Hold on a second,' Edward begins. 'I have a question, ifyou don't mind.'

  'That's what I'm here for, Mr King.'

  'What happens if we're caught?'

  'Well, that depends on where you're caught.'

  'I mean here, in Italy.'

  'The answer is, I don't know. The Italian papers are authentic – that is, they are not forgeries but were purchased from an actual family. However, you will be committing a serious crime and will be treated accordingly. My information is that the government is setting up internment centres until they decide what to do with those detained at the frontiers. There is also the possibility of being sent to a confino, that is sent off to live in the remotest of areas for a long period of time, where there are very few comforts, if any.'

  'Yes, thank you,' Edward says, 'I know what a confino means.'

  'Naturally, we would do all we could to get you out, but these laws are at an early stage, and who knows how far Mussolini tends to take them. As I've already said, if you are caught in England, the matter is not so serious; the worst that will happen is a few days' detention while the authorities ascertain your real identity and are satisfied that you are not a spy, or some such.'

  'I see,' Edward says.

  'I should add that it will mean leaving Italy tomorrow. I will give you some time now to talk matters over and make your decision.'

  'How long?' Edward asks.

  'Half an hour. I'm afraid I need to know before returning to Berlin, which I must do as soon as possible.' Edward abruptly stands up. The lawyer ignores him. 'And there is something else. The Signora would like me to ask you to carry a sum of money, along with some jewellery. This is not my idea, nor do I particularly advise it, but she feels it may come in handy for your own use, or indeed for her use when she arrives in London. At the moment they are carrying out random searches at the border, but this time next week it will be a fine toothcomb for anyone leaving the country. So it's your risk to take, and your decision to make.' The lawyer begins to repack his attaché case.

  Bella is quietly weeping. After a moment Sorella Ursula hands her a hanky. 'I'm sorry, sister,' she says.

  'It's very understandable. Naturally, you are afraid.'

  'No, it's not so much that. Not even that. I don't want to go simply. I just never really saw myself leaving Italy, not like this. Not ever, I suppose.'

  Edward looks over at Tassi. 'E Lei? Non ha niente da dire?' he asks.

  Gino Tassi makes no reply, kisses his baby and places her back in the arms of the nun. He lightly squeezes Bella's shoulder as he passes for the door.

  *

  They get back towards evening. The priest drops them on the far side of Bordighera leaving a good half-hour walk back to Villa Lami.

  Sorella Ursula explains, 'It is better if you walk from here, as if you are on an evening stroll. Tomorrow morning at half past six, I will come for you. Miss Stuart, please have Alec ready, and remember – prepare the baggage to seem like an authentic holiday. But for no more than one week.'

  'Yes, sister, I know. You told me.'

  'Yes, I did. Bring a bucket and spade, that sort of thing. And I know I told you that too, but I want to be certain – you understand?'

  'Yes.'

  'You will not be taking the train from Bordighera where you are certain to be recognized, but we will drive you to a station further up the coast near where your papers say you live. This means of course that the train will travel back through Bordighera so be sure Alec makes no comment and keep him away from the window in case he is recognized. I will bring the baby tomorrow along with all her needs, also your documents and photographs which will be ready by then. I think that's everything now. Yes, I am certain. Oh, and don't forget your wedding rings. The steel band for Italy like a good fascist wife. Later the gold.

  'Yes, sister.'

  'The gold was the Signora's from her first marriage – I told you that, yes. She thinks it will bring you luck.'

  'I don't know the first thing about looking after a baby,' Bella says.

  'You will learn and improve as you go along. Like all new mothers – eh? Like I have done in fact this past fortnight. Oh, and most important – your own papers. If you will both leave them in an envelope in the house for me, perhaps in your room, Miss Stuart. I will fetch them in a few days and send them on to you in due course. In case you are searched – you understand. You don't want to have to explain who are Mr King and Miss Stuart on top of everything else. Goodness, no!'

  They get out of the car and Sorella Ursula rolls down the window. 'By the way, you must say nothing to Elida.'

  'Not even goodbye?'

  'No.'

  'Please, sister. She's my friend.'

  'I'm sorry, Miss Stuart, but it must be the way. In these times we can trust no one. Not even our best friend.'

  They walk in silence towards San Ampeglio. Early evening and an indolent sea. Edward keeps his face turned away. Bella decides it's probably best anyhow if they don't speak for a while. Her mind could do with a pause. All they're expected to remember. All they still have to do. And here's Edward meanwhile, quietly sulking, as he seems to have been doing for so much of the day.

  They cross the road and the church shows its head over the coast wall, roof peak and belfry. Behind it the ornate slab of the casino stretches towards the promenade. She can see the copper sway of the church bell but the ocean has sucked away any sound of its ringing. Down on the shingle beach: evening bathers on the rocks. A fishing line shimmers. The head of a diver smashes a hole in the water, leaving a deep white ruffle behind.

  Bella looks across to the other side of the road. The plinth for the long-disputed statue of Queen Margherita has finally been p
ut in place. A shrine of flowers set out around it. She wonders how many more squabbles there will be before the statue itself arrives, then with a shock realizes she may never know, or even get to see it. She is about to say as much to Edward but then decides not to bother.

  Edward so angry with the lawyer; hurling obstacles and objections at every word that came out of his mouth. As if he'd been determined from the start to knock the plan flat out. And then so quiet over lunch. Mostly smoking. For once she'd eaten more than he – tiny white beans, knuckles of soft dark meat, cake made of chestnuts squelching with sugar. Even if she can't seem to hold on to the details on her phoney papers, she can remember all this. The address somewhere in Imperia. Oneglia – is it? Or is that the name of the road, via Oneglia? The children's names – Alberto and Edda, good fascist names. Edda after Edda Mussolini. Alberto is at least convenient for Alec.

  As for the English identity papers? All she can remember now is her name is Rose, her husband is James and that they're supposed to be a family from Bournemouth – spelled incorrectly as Burnmouth.

  Edward so rude to Sorella Ursula. After they had finally given their answer and she had taken them downstairs and led them through cloisters and an ambulatory into the monastery barber. A proper barber chair where one pinkish head, freshly tonsured, was being merrily spanked with cologne. Nearby a beaming monk whipped up a bowl of froth and cast an eye over Edward's beard. But Edward had refused him the pleasure.

  'I think it would be best,' Sister Ursula had advised.

  'What difference does it make?' Edward snapped at her.

  'It will attract less attention. It's less…'

  'Less what?'

  'Less Jewish, I suppose is what I mean,' she had quietly replied.

  Edward had turned on his heels. 'We either get this photograph taken as I am, or not at all.' He had stomped off then, back through the cloisters, Sorella Ursula trotting meekly behind him.

  So much for not getting riled! Bella glances at his face again as they cross the road towards the centre of Bordighera. Back to himself – back to nothing.