The Breach

by Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

  Lisl was half-smiling, half-frowning. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, she curls up into herself when she feels threatened. I’ve never seen her so at a loss, not even with Fritz.”

  “All of us have a weak point, and it could be seemingly the smallest thing that breaks it.” Lisl patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck then.”

  Katharina pondered Lisl’s reference to weakness, especially relating to what Jutta had said about Georg. She could not picture their community leader sullen and withdrawn. Breaking points. What might make her break?

  When she was within sight of the schoolhouse, she saw the Italian schoolmistress shaking hands with Martin Noggler’s son Thomas. He laughed and said something, then walked off towards home, turning once to wave goodbye to the schoolteacher.

  “Miss Bianchi?” Katharina called.

  “Sì?”

  Katharina felt nervous about trying her Italian on the teacher. In German, she said, “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t speak much Italian.”

  The woman smiled and beckoned Katharina into the schoolhouse. Inside her classroom, she stoked the fire, took a teapot off the hob, then moved behind her desk. She indicated to a students’ bench across from her. Katharina was about to sit down, but she spotted the portrait of Benito Mussolini hanging above the teacher’s head, his face slightly turned and chin raised, as if to challenge the future. Next to him, in the left hand corner on the wall, were some sentences painted in Italian. She read, tedesco. German. And there were negations, but she did not understand what they meant. She decided to stand.

  Miss Bianchi smiled and looked at the portrait behind her. “Italy’s papa,” she said.

  Katharina could swear she heard a touch of sarcasm.

  “Un po’ di té?” Miss Bianchi then asked, and poured two cups.

  She accepted one. “Grazie.”

  “What is your name?”

  “You speak our language?”

  “Sì. I study some before I came. But I am not so good. Excuse my mistakes, please.” She stood up and moved from her desk to the bench and sat down. “Please. Seat yourself. We talk.”

  The schoolmistress was almost as tall as Katharina, with delicate features and long black hair that she wore in a loose bun. Her face was young, and her large brown eyes showed kindness and a hint of mischief. This did not seem like someone who would write a mean letter of expulsion.

  “You a mother to child here?” Miss Bianchi asked.

  “Yes. I mean, I am a mother, but she is too young to be in school yet.”

  “Ah. That is nice. And you expect another?” She turned an open palm towards Katharina’s belly.

  “Yes. I mean, sì.”

  “How can I help you?” the teacher asked.

  “I am a friend of Jutta Hanny’s.”

  “From the albergo?”

  “The inn. Yes. She is like a mother to me. Her son—”

  “Alois? You are here about Alois?” Miss Bianchi sighed and put her cup down. “Signora, what is your name?”

  “I’m sorry. Katharina Steinhauser. I live in the hamlet of Arlund.”

  “I am Iris Bianchi. You call me Iris. Bene? Signora Steinhauser, about the Alois. He is sweet child, sì? But the direttore, he say Alois is—” She pointed a finger to her head and made a pitiful expression. “Ritardo. He learn nothing in Italian. I must to teach in Italian. He make it difficult for all here. He cry sometime when he not understand.” She shrugged. “I think he old enough to work now.”

  “He is only eleven years old,” Katharina said. “And we all know that he is slow, not mentally retarded, and he’s been attending this school for years. He’s always had a place here.”

  “Nothing. I can do nothing. The direttore, he here, he see class, he send me letter and tell me to sign. I sign. I can do nothing. It make me sad.” Iris sighed.

  “Please, Signora Steinhauser, believe me. I sad too. Alois is good boy. A good boy. But some children, they not kind to him. It make problem for me. Some children like him. They help him when the others want to fight them.”

  “All the more reason for him to stay on,” Katharina said. “Don’t you see? It’s the one thing that makes sense to him. He does have friends here. Here, he has a place in the community.”

  Iris lifted her hands up and shook her head. “Per favore, Signora… You are too fast.”

  “Katharina, please. Call me Katharina.”

  Iris dropped her hands into her lap and smiled sadly. “You are kind. You are first person here to invite me to be friend.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Sì. I know the feelings of Alois. He want to be with friends. I look for friends too.” The schoolmistress gazed out the window. “Here, winter make it even more…” She turned to Katharina and flashed her a smile. “Come si dice, desolato in German?”

  Katharina shrugged, and Iris stood and pointed out the window.

  “Grey. Snow. Cold. Cosi inospitale.” She stopped and smiled, the question still on her face.

  “Maybe you mean dull?”

  “How you say?”

  “Dull.”

  Iris came back to the bench and sat down again. “You teach me German. I teach you italiano. Sì? Desolato. Dull.”

  Katharina repeated the words.

  “Brava. Very good, Katharina.”

  She stood up. “What shall I tell Mrs Hanny?”

  Iris looked thoughtful before taking Katharina’s hand in hers. “I tell you not what to do, but Alois not to learn Italian because his mother not want to learn Italian, capisce? You understand? Children know because they feel. You must say nothing to the children. Tell Signora Hanny she need to start by doing her best too. Then, Alois, he follow.”

  Jutta would be as easy to melt as a glacier when it came to things Italian. Katharina could not tell Iris this. Instead, she pointed to the wall.

  “What does that say there?”

  Iris looked cautious. “It says, no speaking of German and no spitting on floor.”

  “I won’t be telling Jutta that either.”

  The teacher smiled knowingly and patted Katharina’s hand. “I talk to direttore again. I see if he change mind.” She put a hand on Katharina’s arm, and her eyes showed something mischievous. “I glad you come, not Signora Hanny.”

  “Why?”

  “I know she not like me, and I afraid Signora Hanny come here when Alois go home. I glad it is you who come.”

  Katharina laughed a little. “Jutta can sometimes be difficult to deal with, this is true. But she’s an important ally.”

  “Ally?”

  “Someone you want on your side. A comrade.”

  “Compagno! Sì. With Signora Hanny, you must be on right side of fight.”

  “Don’t worry, Iris. I will make certain you stay on the correct side.”

  ***

  J utta held Florian’s envelope in her hand and put it up to the steaming pot, then slid her finger beneath the fold. Luck or trouble? That was all she wanted to know. She stopped and dropped the letter to her side.

  “What is wrong with me?” she muttered, and stuffed the envelope into her apron pocket.

  She heard Eric-Enrico locking up the post office and stepped out of the kitchen to watch him slither up to his room. She sighed when he was out of sight, and greeted the Widow Winkler coming down the stairs.

  “Disgusting man,” the old woman grumbled in passing. “Put him out on the street.”

  “Not very Christian of you, Widow,” Jutta reprimanded.

  The widow peered at her, opened her mouth, closed it, then hobbled out the door without a further word. When Jutta checked on Alois, he was sleeping on the sofa, his glasses halfway up his head, his nose crusted with dried snot. What was she going to do with her child if he could not go back to school? She couldn’t have Alois at the inn with the guests all the time. And obviously she couldn’t count on Sara. She hung her apron on the hook on the door and went to the credenza to pull out the letter from her old school
colleague. On the other side of the border, in Austria, maybe, maybe there was an alternative. She read the lines again.

  There is a place here, Jutta, for children like Alois. It’s not like the institutions you fear. The people are kind and care for them.

  It was tempting. The money she had been saving up for her son, even when Fritz was still around, had grown, but with the inflation and exchange rate, it had lost much of its value. Besides, the institution was on the other side of the border now, and there was very restricted travel. No. There had to be a better way.

  The bell rang in the hallway, and Alois stirred. Jutta glanced at him and stuffed her letter back into the drawer. Maybe the school here would take him back. When she stepped out, Katharina was brushing off the snow from her wrap.

  “It’s really coming down now, but I don’t think it will last. The foehn wind has already started up again.”

  Jutta took Katharina’s wrap and led her into the kitchen. “And?”

  Katharina looked regretful. “I think it’s a final decision, though she said she would talk to the director again.”

  “And you believe her? She wants Alois back in that class as much as she wants to stay here.”

  “Do you know where she’s from?” Katharina asked. “I forgot to ask her.”

  “No, and I don’t care.”

  “Jutta, if Alois learns a little Italian so that he can follow—”

  “Learn Italian? Most of our children don’t even know how to speak the book German correctly, not that I have a problem with that. Especially now, we have to preserve our dialect.”

  “Jutta, if they remain illiterate, then the Italians will be able to do what they want with us. We have to help the children prepare to deal with them, and that will only happen if they know the language.”

  Her ears felt hot. “If the Viennese help us like they say they will, the Italians won’t be here long enough for that to happen. I can understand you feel obligated to teach Annamarie Italian. Maybe she should know who her real father is someday, but Alois, he won’t be confused. He will know that he comes from, and must function, in a German society, Katharina. German.”

  Katharina’s face had flushed. “How could you? Florian is her father. Why should Annamarie know anything about Angelo Grimani?”

  “Secrets always get out,” Jutta said. “Always.”

  Katharina looked alarmed, and Jutta drew a finger over her lips.

  “Not from me.” This reminded Jutta of Florian’s letter. “Wait here. I’ve got the letter for Florian in the apartment.”

  She left to fetch the envelope from her apron. In the kitchen again, she found Katharina dressed and ready to go. Jutta glanced at the envelope and wondered whether Katharina suspected what Jutta’s intention had been with it.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you with what I’ve said,” Jutta said. “I didn’t mean to bring Angelo up.”

  “Mr Grimani.”

  Jutta nodded stiffly. “Mr Grimani, I mean.”

  Katharina took Florian’s letter and put it into her own pocket. “I should know better. I know how strongly you feel about the Italians but—”

  “Listen to me, Katharina. Those who make themselves sheep will be eaten by the wolf. You mark my words.”

  The girl studied her. “I am just trying to find my way here, and do my best. You’d do anything to protect those you love, I know that, but what if someone doesn’t need your protection? Remember how you felt when you found out Dr Hanny knew about Fritz all along.” She bit her lip and rushed to Jutta. Her embrace was brief, almost desperate.

  She was out the door before Jutta had an answer.

  Chapter 4

  Arlund, December 1922

  O n the way home, Katharina tried to shake off her bad feeling. She did not want to believe that Jutta’s comment had been a threat, but there was something about her that she could no longer understand, and ostracizing Annamarie by revealing who her real father was might not be beyond Jutta.

  Jutta was not the only one who was turning spiteful. Resentment towards the Italians was growing all too common. To a certain extent, Katharina could understand. The Italians made their lives miserable, and either they had to work with them or they would have to stand up to them and deal with the repercussions. Yet not all the incoming Italians were bad. There were those who came from the poorer parts of Italy and were simply trying to make their living. Others were sent here by the government, like the postman or the schoolteacher. Miss Bianchi seemed to be a nice woman, and lonely. Besides, the way Jutta and others like her were behaving was really no better than the Italians, who held something against them just because they were Tyrolean. Katharina bit her lip. Calling the kettle black was not going to bring her any further with Jutta either.

  Hund loped out of the stable, and Katharina petted her.

  “Hi, you old thing.”

  She threw her a snow-encrusted stick, which the dog half-heartedly pounced on. The foehn was already coming. By tomorrow, the new snow would be gone. Inside, the house was quiet. She pulled off her wrap and boots and went to the tiled oven. It was still warm, and she rested her hands on its sides. Where was everyone?

  On the table was one of Opa’s newspapers, folded so as to frame a story in the middle column. She read the headline: Captain Angelo Grimani Named New Minister of Civil Engineering. She froze.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Opa’s voice made her jump. He was standing at the top of the stairs. She stared at the headline again.

  “Angelo Grimani.” His voice was flat. “That was his name, wasn’t it?”

  There was no photograph, no sketch. Feeling nauseated, Katharina dropped onto the bench. “Where’s Florian?”

  “In the barn with Annamarie.” Opa came down the stairs, stood at the table, and with an index finger, pushed the article towards her.

  When she realised that she was reading only to find personal information about Angelo—whether he had a wife or children—she flattened her right palm over the words and stared at the back of her hand. The skin was cracked from the cold.

  Opa sat down across from her. His look grazed her, and he pulled the newspaper to him. “He’s a Fascist, Katharina. He’s leading those projects further south where the communities have been uprooted to make room for dams and industry. In Glurns they filed petitions and objections, even hired attorneys, but all those attorneys did was convince each of the folks to sell out. Grimani won’t get that far with us.” He cleared his throat. “Not if you write to him.”

  She answered without thinking. “Why would I do that?”

  Outside, Hund barked, and she heard Annamarie squealing, followed by Florian’s laugh.

  “He’ll be involved if they go ahead with damming up the Reschen and Graun Lakes, Katharina. He’ll be back here, one way or another. And he owes us. He owes you.” His voice softened at the end.

  “For what?” She shivered.

  “For saving his life, for one.”

  “Then Dr Hanny should write to him. He speaks Italian.”

  Opa pressed his hand on top of hers. When she glanced up, his eyes bored into her. She looked past him.

  “Katharina, it was Fritz Hanny who robbed and beat him. Grimani didn’t come back up here to make trouble when the police arrested Dr Hanny’s brother, but he could have. I doubt he wants to see us as much as you want to see him. Imagine he gets a letter from Dr Hanny with the same last name as the person who nearly killed him. No. You plead to his good sense of honour and making good on something he… On something he got from you.”

  A horrible silence followed until, from outside the window, she heard Florian and Annamarie again. With some effort, she pulled her hand out from underneath Opa’s. She looked out to where her husband and her daughter were making snowballs and tossing them for Hund to catch.

  “Mr Grimani got nothing from any of us but having his life saved,” she said.

  Opa braced himself on the table and leaned towards her, like a schoo
lmaster willing a schoolgirl to correct herself. She turned away and just as quickly faced him again, but he had dropped his glare.

  “If you say so, girl,” he muttered. “If you say so.”

  She swallowed a stone.

  When he spoke again, he was begging. “I met with Federspiel today.”

  “I know.” It took every effort to keep her voice steady. “What did he say?”

  “He’ll help us out. But it’s what he didn’t say…”

  Katharina jerked her chin at him.

  “The new Italian bank owners are demanding repayments on all loans. Federspiel can’t do much more for us here. He’s got little leverage left. Then there’s the threat of foreclosures on a number of the farms in the valley.”

  “How much do we owe?”

  “Enough.”

  Enough to worry. Enough to foreclose the farm? God forbid. She didn’t care if the Thalerhof was in her name or not—this was her home. This was her land. And if things turned really bad, Florian would have too good of an excuse to pick them all up and move them to a house he owned. In Germany.

  “Not as bad as Hans,” Opa finally said. “If I could just help him…”

  Hans too, then.

  “Katharina, they build that reservoir and there’ll be hundreds of families without a home. Write to him.”

  “To Federspiel?” She was testing him with her insolence.

  Opa patiently indicated the newspaper between them.

  From outside she could hear her daughter and her husband stamping their boots. “I can’t.”

  Opa sat straight and raised his chin. “He owes us. You could reason with him.”

  His voice shook with anger, or with pain, or with both. She had caused that pain.

  “You seemed to have been able to communicate quite well with him when he was under our roof.”

  He sounded like Dr Hanny on her wedding day. The stone in her throat slid past her heart, bruised it, and fell into the pit of her stomach. And Opa did not stop, no. He was picking up speed as the sounds of her family outside grew louder. She stared at her fingernails, growing white where she clutched the table’s edge.