The Breach

by Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

  “How dare you!”

  He made a slight hand gesture, and his two dogs abandoned the kitchen through the back door. “Rules are rules; orders are orders,” he said. “In italiano we have a saying—I said it when we started—the melody has changed, but the song remains the same. Signora Hanny, it is time you learn that song.”

  He straightened his fez and followed his men out.

  ***

  “W hat on earth happened?”

  Kneeling amidst the debris, Jutta looked up to see Katharina shift Bernd in her arms and Florian leading Annamarie away from the shards.

  “Rioba” was all Jutta managed.

  Wordlessly, Katharina and Florian helped her sweep and pick up the shattered crockery and porcelain, the noise as grating as fingernails on a blackboard. Jutta put her mother’s water pitcher into an empty apple crate. Three chunks formed a good half of the pitcher with “Cold Water” painted in her mother’s hand whilst the rest was a shattered garden of yellow, blue, and red flowers. Katharina kneeled next to her, and Jutta kept her head down, raising her hand to wipe her brow so as to catch the tears.

  Sometime later, Florian said, “We’re finished here.”

  Jutta had barely moved from the spot where they had found her. When she looked around, the kitchen looked in good order save for the empty dish racks.

  Katharina led her into the Stube, where Florian was now opening a bottle of wine. She dropped her face into her hands. Annamarie whined about something to her mother.

  “Is she hungry?” Jutta asked behind her palms. “There are some rolls in the kitchen.”

  When she heard a glass placed before her, she took her hands away from her face to drink. “I’m glad you came.”

  “This is worse than what they did to you in the summer,” Florian said.

  Her voice shook as she told them the details. “They’re hounding me. They think they can suppress me, but they’re wrong. I’ve survived a lot worse than them.”

  “What will you do about the dishes?” Katharina asked. “There isn’t a single plate left for tomorrow.”

  Jutta shrugged. “I’ll borrow some from the Adler’s guesthouse or hang a sign on the door for everyone to bring their own.” She was the only one who smiled. “Forget about me. How’s Hans? You’ll be bringing the livestock down from the Vorsäß soon?”

  Florian nodded. “Next week, we think. The weather’s been holding up fine.”

  “And he’ll be living with you then?”

  “It will take some adjusting for Hans, more than for us,” he said.

  Katharina nodded. “He’s grieving. It’s only natural.”

  “It’s a shame,” Jutta said. “A horrible, horrible shame. I should have been more insistent about taking the money.” She had never told anyone about Hans’s marriage proposal in exchange, that marrying her would have been the only way he’d have accepted her savings.

  Katharina patted her hand. “Don’t blame yourself. You did what was right for you, and there is nothing to regret there. You helped Father Wilhelm when he needed it. If you hadn’t paid that fine, he may have been taken to the prison in Bolzano.”

  “But the bishop repaid me, you know that. The church would have taken care of him. Hans was the one who could have used that money to save his farm.” She should have accepted his terms.

  “God has his ways,” Katharina insisted. “You were saving it for Alois, and now you have it back for Alois. Hans will be fine with us. We extended the barn for the animals he’s got left. He’ll just start over. Like we have.”

  Katharina glanced at Florian. “Besides, it’s good timing to have Hans with us. The little that he can pay us in rent and the rent we’re getting from Florian’s mother’s house will help us to pay off the bank. And then we can get the deed. Right, Florian?”

  He nodded, but his mouth was drawn.

  “So you have decided not to sell the house in Nuremberg,” Jutta said.

  “I can’t. With Germany’s inflation, I’d lose money. Besides, we might need the house someday.”

  Katharina frowned and picked at something on Annamarie’s dress.

  It was the thorn in Katharina’s side, Florian’s talk about moving to Germany. “It’s better than losing the Thalerhof,” Jutta said.

  Florian shrugged. “That’s relative.”

  “For you,” Katharina said sharply. “Tell her, Florian. Tell them what the bank offered for the farm.”

  Jutta stared at both of them in turn. “You wouldn’t sell the Thalerhof, would you? What would Hans do then?”

  “No,” Florian said. “I won’t. The offer was low, and Dr Hanny warned me not to do anything rash.”

  “Now you don’t have to,” Jutta scoffed. “With Hans’s help, you should be fine.” Her anger towards Rioba and the two carabinieri flared again. “Whatever these Italians try next, I’m done being agreeable with them. It’s time we give them a taste of their own medicine. We stick together from here on out. If we do that, we can beat them. It’s them or it’s us. Not like Frederick.”

  “What do you mean, not like Frederick?” Katharina’s tone was challenging.

  “With his engagement to that schoolmistress,” Jutta cried.

  Katharina bounced the baby, looking annoyed. “Iris is a lovely person.”

  “She signed the document that blocks my son from getting an education.”

  “Where is Alois, by the way?” Florian asked.

  “With David Roeschen. They took the goats up to the pastures this morning.” To Katharina, she continued, “That schoolteacher has blinded Frederick. That’s all part of their plan, Katharina. Marry our people and start reproducing Italians.” She looked at Annamarie. The girl was watching her. Jutta picked up her glass and drank.

  Bernd began to cry, and Katharina stood up, her face stony. “Jutta, you really don’t see it, do you? There’s a better way. There is.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me again that we should all learn Italian.”

  Katharina looked at Florian once more, but he was studying the ceiling. “We have to protect ourselves,” she said, “and in order to do so, we have to learn the language. We can’t ask or demand things if we can’t communicate and reason with them. It’s the only way any of us are going to keep our land.”

  Jutta sat up straight. “My dear child. What has got into you? Your grandfather’s Opa fought with Andreas Hofer for our self-determination, Katharina. Take this law now, with having to tie up your dogs. Hund’s a cattle dog, for heaven’s sake. First they threaten to shoot our dogs, and then it will be us. Do you want to be like Hund, Katharina? Tied to the lead of the Walscher?”

  She waited, but both Katharina and Florian were mute. “You two, of all people, owe that to Opa. You owe it to the Thaler heritage, to Tyrol, for heaven’s sake, to stand against the people who are taking away everything that makes us who we are.” She slapped a palm on the table, the sting satisfying. “You don’t reason with tyrants and the devil. You fight them.”

  “All right.” Katharina’s voice was strained. “Then remain ignorant and let the authorities pull the land right out from under you. This inn”—she jabbed her finger on the tabletop—“that you fought so hard to own. For heaven’s sake, Jutta, if I even had a chance…”

  “Katharina,” Florian warned.

  “What? It doesn’t bother you that we don’t have a deed yet, because you have a house in Nuremberg. What about me? It was supposed to be my farm.”

  Florian took in a deep breath, and Jutta looked from one to the next.

  Katharina sat back down, staring at the table while Bernd bounced more furiously on her knee. When she looked at Jutta again, she was glaring. “And if you think the attorneys are going to help any of us, well, Frederick—the brother-in-law you feel you must renounce—is the one who warned us that our own people are pocketing bribes, then turning around and convincing their neighbours and supposed friends to sell out. If we don’t understand the contracts and allow the Italians
to do what they want to us, we will have nothing left to defend and nobody to blame but ourselves. We won’t be able to blame Mussolini, not Rioba, and certainly not the Ministry of Civil Engineering when they decide it’s time to flood our neighbours’ fields.”

  Jutta jerked back. “What did you write to Angelo Grimani? You know something, don’t you?”

  Katharina shot out of her chair, and Bernd exploded into shrill cries. She grabbed her daughter’s hand. “I’m going to get those rolls for the children.” She threw Jutta a cold, hard look before dragging Annamarie towards the kitchen.

  Jutta slumped into her chair. She wouldn’t be able to take back what she’d said. Not this time.

  Florian’s question was on his face. “What has Katharina got to do with the Ministry of Civil Engineering? It keeps cropping up. Who’s Angelo Grimani?”

  She was imagining what Katharina might have written, remembered that Katharina had gone to Iris with the letter, but not to her. “Johannes Thaler and the others were talking about writing to the ministry personally.”

  “So what’s Katharina got do with it?”

  She shrugged and glanced at the Stube door. “No idea. I assume she just knows about it.” She gasped then. “Wait a moment. There’s a soil testing team, arrived from Munich two days ago. Said the ministry ordered them together with a testing team from Bozen. If the German geologists can confirm the original tests, then certainly the ministry will foresee the problems with the soil.”

  Florian pursed his lips. “I guess.”

  If so, then maybe it was Katharina who was responsible. Maybe this Grimani was a valuable asset.

  Jutta finished her wine and stood up to get the bottle from the bar. She returned to pour Florian a glass.

  “I have another question,” he said as she poured.

  She looked up.

  “Who was the man Katharina was in love with? Before I came along? Was he from around here? Because she has nothing left to keep her here that I can think of, and yet she resists the idea of moving to Germany with all she can muster.”

  Jutta steeled herself. She handed him the glass and sat down, her eyes steady on his. “She has the Thalerhof, Florian. And her kin buried here.”

  “And Annamarie’s father. Who was he, Jutta?”

  Her heart tripped in her chest. “I didn’t know him. He was just passing through, stole Katharina’s heart, and now he’s long gone.” She wasn’t lying.

  “Was he an Italian? Admit it—if you look at Annamarie, she could be Italian.”

  “Florian, let sleeping dogs lie. I mean it.”

  “I would,” he muttered, “if it weren’t for the fact that people always meet twice.”

  “That won’t happen, Florian.” God forbid. “He was nobody. Nothing to her.”

  “And the man that was stabbed by Fritz? There was a connection, wasn’t there?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  Florian looked off, shaking his head. “I’m taking my family to Germany, Jutta. This Hitler and the NSDAP, they make sense. They have good ideas about how to improve the economy.” He shrugged, “After all, I have a homeland too.”

  “Your mother was Tyrolean. Florian, we need you here.”

  His smile was sad, and there was an edge to his voice. “Jutta, you once told me I’d never get to the bottom of all the secrets in this valley. You said there’d be a lot more to cover up before I could dig up what’s underneath already. I’m not interested in secrets, and this valley seems to thrive on them. I’ve been forthcoming with you folks. I want to be a part of something where I know whom I’m dealing with. These Italians are bringing out the worst in us instead of the best.”

  He stopped, and she felt as if she could cry.

  “Who is this Grimani, Jutta?”

  “It’s not my secret to tell, Florian.”

  “I saw Katharina’s face, Jutta. You already did.”

  Chapter 10

  Gleno Dam, November 1923

  A ngelo and his men drove through the countryside, entering the scattered villages of stone huts, all swept clean and decent in anticipation of the king’s envoy. Each time the locals heard the car, they waved and cheered, only to be visibly disappointed that it was just Angelo and his crew within. It kept his men amused on the long road to the Gleno Dam.

  The pylons that marched from the mountains down into the valley reminded him of huge giants with outstretched arms. Angelo remembered a game he’d played as a young man, where he and his friends would create two fronts—arms linked, one team standing opposite the other. They would chant a verse and call a name from the opposite team, and that person had to run with all his strength into the opposite line with the goal to break them apart. That was what the pylons reminded him of now, a team of giants waiting for their opposition.

  When the car breached the ridge after Bueggio, he leaned forward to take in the dam’s arches. He could imagine the king’s speech already, referring to it as a monument to Roman culture, Roman tradition, Roman strength. Even from this distance he could see the walkway had been decorated in red, green, and white banners and streamers, with the black flags of the Fascist party.

  “The roads are good, Minister,” his driver said. “His Majesty should have no trouble getting to the ceremony.”

  Angelo had his eye on the wall, but when the water appeared behind it and he saw its level, he turned to his chief engineer in the back. “Stefano.”

  “I see it,” the man said. “Heavy rains from five weeks ago.”

  “See to it that you talk to the watchman. I want those levels checked.”

  Stefano nodded, and Angelo turned back just as they approached the gate. The guards let them through, and Angelo stepped out of the vehicle, the Colonel on his way to them. The board members of Grimani Electrical and the politicos were already being served glasses of prosecco.

  He pointed out Barbarasso to Stefano. “Ask him to find the watchman for you.”

  Just as the Angelo’s father approached, Stefano made his way over to the former lumber baron, now the Colonel’s right hand.

  “Angelo.” His father formally extended his hand, then pulled him in for a kiss.

  “Congratulations, Father. Sorry we’re late.”

  His father grimaced, glancing over Angelo’s shoulder. “We? Need I remind you that attending these events without your family is not going to help your political career? Why aren’t Chiara and Marco with you?”

  “You didn’t really expect them.”

  “Never mind,” the Colonel grumbled. “His Majesty and the Queen are delayed by an hour or so.”

  “Hurry up and wait,” Angelo muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” He was already moving along the dam’s walk to see the water for himself and removed his hat to bend over the rail, when he heard Gina Conti’s laugh.

  She and the general were just leaving their car, Gina already being greeted by one of the board members. Since the last time Angelo had seen him, General Conti’s hair had thinned and greyed, and his posture bent forward as if he were caving in on himself. Next to him, Gina stood out in a wine-coloured cloche and a fox coat. He suspected that style was less important to her than the colours she wore: always bold, always resplendent like ripened summer fruits or Christmas ornaments. Either way, it was a far cry from her sombre Fascist outfit the first time he had seen her, or her military-like manner on the day she’d called women to join the party.

  Whereas the general seemed to stay where he was, Gina was on the move again. She attracted the Grimani Electrical board members like iron filings to a magnet, while repelling their wives, as they often took a step or two back when she came near. She hovered over one man then the next, leaning on one arm, touching another, and always laughing. Drunk on ability.

  He thought of the day they’d had martinis at the Laurin. Angelo felt a stirring, like a near slip off a cliff. For her, he might just jump, save for the fact that Gina would be a woman he would never b
e able to get rid of. The aftermath of his affair in Arlund had been nothing like that. Which might have been his salvation thus far.

  The general had drifted to the railing on the reservoir side, and Angelo wondered what the Contis’ home life was like. Perhaps it was her husband who grounded Gina after an exhausting day of weaving intrigue. Angelo could picture her, calm, not talking, not smiling, not beguiling. For General Conti would not notice anyway, and Gina was not one to waste her energy on useless matters. On the contrary, at the dinner table, adjacent to the general, she’d be accessible, even vulnerable. She might coax him to take a spoonful of soup, but with that same motion, she would be plotting her next move.

  She was now at Luigi Barbarasso’s elbow, who may have dominated her in both height and girth, but looked the fool with his wolflike grin and obvious fixation with her. She outranked him in poise and composure. Since Angelo had become minister, he’d been privy to her affairs, the details of which dribbled out with other secret agendas after a long night of wine and spirits. One thing was certain—Gina Conti could either help a man or hurt one, and she used the same network to accomplish either.

  She moved to the Colonel, but her eyes were suddenly on Angelo, and the way she smiled and the way her eyebrows tilted up signalled that she’d caught him watching her.

  Stefano moved between them, having returned with a tall, humble-looking man in tow, and introduced the watchman.

  “If you are on the first shift,” Angelo said to the man, “the king will hand the keys to you after he’s cut the ribbon.”

  The watchman thanked him for the honour, but looked nervous. Stefano encouraged him with a slight nod.

  “Minister,” the watchman said, “I have been meaning to talk to someone at your agency. I warned Signor Barbarasso about the heavy rains. The reservoir is almost filled up completely, yet he insists that we open the gates tonight.”

  “We will have a word with the Colonel.”