“Enrico. Mi chiamo Enrico.”
“Apparently that’s all he can say,” Jutta said and shoved the package at him.
He studied the address.
“Merano.” He sighed, pushing it back to her. “Deve scrivere Merano.”
“He wants me to write something else,” Katharina said. She turned to the rat man. “Do I need to change something on the address?”
“Signora, deve scrivere Merano.” He pointed to the package.
Jutta watched over Katharina’s shoulder as she took the box and pen Enrico handed to her and added an o to Meran. He told Katharina how many lire she had to pay.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jutta muttered. “As if he or anyone else couldn’t figure out what Meran is.”
“That one is easy,” Katharina whispered.
“It might make sense.” Jutta made no effort to hide her annoyance. “But how they got Cure on Venesta out of Graun, I’ll never know.”
“Curon Venosta,” Eric said, his right hand moving in emphasis.
Jutta shot him a look she hoped would physically pierce him and walked out of the cramped space.
Behind her, Katharina spoke loudly and slowly. “C’è tutta la posta for Florian Steinhauser? Katharina Thaler? Or Johannes Thaler?”
Jutta gaped at Katharina’s profile as Eric rummaged in his hole before handing Katharina a stack of newspapers and an envelope.
Katharina said something more in Italian, then finished with, “Thank you. Grazie.”
He gestured a dismissal, flashed Jutta a smug look, and slammed the window of his counter shut.
“You’ve become awfully fluent, Katharina.”
She seemed to brush the comment off as she read the top of the envelope in her hand. “Look, a letter for Florian, from Germany,” she said, her tone worried. She smiled slyly and pressed her thumb to her first two fingers before moving her hand up and down. “Germania, Signora. Germania!” she said in a deep voice.
Jutta was not amused but gestured for the letter. There was an attorney’s name and an address from Nuremberg on the back. If she were still the postmistress, she would have already known whether the letter contained good news or bad news.
She followed Katharina down the hall towards the Stube, but Alois burst out of the kitchen, sobbing and blubbering, with Lisl right behind him.
“What is it?” Jutta dropped down next to him and wiped his nose, searching for bruises or cuts. “What’s happened to you?” She looked up at Lisl. “Where’s Sara?”
Lisl threw her arms up in mock surrender. “She delivered him to the back door and left again.”
Jutta would deal with Sara later. She looked Alois over to see whether he had been roughed up. That hadn’t happened in a long time, but that didn’t mean the bullies hadn’t gotten bored. “What happened, Alois?”
“I can’t go to school anymore,” he shouted.
“That’s nonsense. It’s just the Christmas break, that’s all. You’ll be in school again in a few weeks.”
But Alois howled, inconsolable, and then Annamarie toddled over to them, a tear forming.
Jutta looked at the other two women. “I don’t know why he’s so upset. He knows very well that the Christmas break is not the end of school.”
Alois pushed himself off her and stamped his feet, his glasses askew. “Mistress Iris said I can’t come back. She said I can’t because I non parlo italiano!” Then, as if to emphasize his anger, he screamed again. “Non parlo italiano!”
“What on earth are you talking about, child?” Jutta shouted back.
Alois pulled something out of his satchel and pushed a piece of paper into her hands, sobbing. “I’m not dumb, Mother. You tell me so.”
“Did that stupid cow—” Sternly, she said, “You’re not dumb, Alois.” With shaking hands, she unfolded the paper. After her name, everything was in Italian. There were two signatures, and from what Jutta could make of it, one was from the headmaster, the other that of the new Italian schoolmistress, Iris Bianchi.
“I don’t understand a word here,” she said.
Lisl looked over her shoulder. “We need a translator.”
Jutta turned to her son. “What did she tell you exactly, Alois?”
“I can’t go to school,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t go to school anymore.”
Jutta took her boy into her arms. “He’s been attending that school for how many years? He’s slow. Not retarded. And I am certain they are calling him that. The Italian teacher is the one who’s—”
“It must be a misunderstanding,” Katharina said. “Maybe if you talk to—”
“Misunderstanding, my—” Instead of letting the curse words out, Jutta threw the letter on the ground and stood to crush it with her heel. A lump hardened in her throat. How could she talk to anyone about this, much less to those school people? For instance, Mrs Blech-turned-Foglio.
“I’m not going to waste my time on idiots,” she spat.
Johannes Thaler came out of the Stube. “What’s all this noise about?”
“Let me talk to the schoolmistress,” Katharina said.
Jutta was about to say she didn’t need Katharina fighting her battles, but Lisl spoke first.
“That would be a good idea, Jutta. You can’t take Alois with you like this. And I need to get home. Otherwise I’d stay and watch him. Let Katharina go talk to her.”
“It’ll be a waste of time,” she snapped.
Alois sobbed and Annamarie whined.
“But if you have nothing better to do, Katharina, I guess it can’t hurt.”
Katharina placed her items on the small table next to the post office door and asked her grandfather to stop at the butcher shop. “Jutta needs my help. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Jutta took the children’s hands in hers and gave Katharina a warning look. “That teacher had better explain herself real well,
