“Well, that’s it. Did you see what happened today? Do you all see what has become of us?” He turned to Katharina. “Your idea to unite against MFE, that’s not going to work as long as we’re tearing each other’s heads off. Our own people. It’s a real disgrace.”
Florian nodded. “You’re right, Father. Georg? You know he’s right.”
Georg Roeschen looked abashed, and Katharina bit her lip until she tasted hot, sticky blood. She felt terribly tired.
“She’s over there. If there’s a war, we’ll never get to her,” she whispered to Florian.
The rest of the table fell into a stupor, a silence. Now they had heard her, and understood.
To Katharina’s relief, Florian declined the invitation to stay for supper. She wanted to get home. No, she wanted to go across the border and get Annamarie back. There was Bernd too, to look after. Dr Hanny had already gone and spoken to the police commander. Florian would have to come back for Bernd tomorrow. More fines to pay. Right now, the police had said, they wanted the boys to cool off. Toni was with them too, and Katharina hated that thought—her Bernd spending the night in the same cell as that man.
She and Florian said their goodbyes and stepped outside. Sundays were generally quiet anywhere in the valley, but tonight it seemed that everyone had locked themselves up.
Jutta followed them out the door and stood on the front stoop and raised her eyes to the sky. “They may as well just build a wall right down the middle of this valley.”
Katharina eyed her. Their own differences had caused their friendship to splinter before. “That’s how they’ve gotten to us,” she said. “Split up as we are, we can’t work against them.”
It was dark when Katharina climbed the road up to Arlund with what was left of her family. At the wayward cross, she stopped, an orange light on a mountain catching her attention. Fire. Someone—or many—had lit fires all along the slopes, just like they did when they celebrated the solstice. This was a message though. Aimed at the Italians. Maybe even at people like her, like the three of them standing there.
All around the valley, the bonfires were set in the shape of swastikas. Beyond them, to the north, her daughter was lost to them.
Chapter 21
Bolzano / Reschen Valley, March 1938
T he moment Angelo saw the Colonel sitting across from Miss Medici, he knew his father had come to deliver the news himself. MFE had won the bid for the Reschen Valley project.
“Sorry,” Angelo said. “I was in a meeting.”
“I didn’t have an appointment,” his father said and rose as Angelo walked past him to his office door.
He ushered the Colonel in before informing Miss Medici they were not to be disturbed.
“All right,” Angelo said. He was not going to allow the Colonel the pleasure of announcing it himself. He beckoned for the large, thick envelope the Colonel held and took it. He tossed it on top of the pile in the middle of his desk. “I offer you my congratulations. Now, let’s get down to business and talk about the procedures.”
His father did not sit down. He looked to where the model of the Reschen Valley sat on the table on the far end of the room. “We’ve got permission for all three lakes.”
“They’ve denied my request for surveillances?”
“That’s right.”
Angelo closed his eyes. He’d expected nothing less, but it still hurt. “Then it is time we send the notices.”
“No rush. They’ll have their standard time to make any further appeals. We ignore them and move on.”
“I still need thirty days,” Angelo said.
“Fourteen. The senate is writing legislation to shorten it. Should pass this week.”
Another Fascist initiative. Angelo’s anger pushed to the surface. He had lobbied against that for weeks.
The Colonel turned from the model and frowned. “Angelo, the only thing you can do is help pave the way and make everyone happy. It’s just politics from here. The fact is”—he lowered himself into one of the armchairs—“there should be no more opposition.”
“And if there is?”
“From what I’ve heard, our man’s done a good job at pacifying them.”
“Barbarasso?”
“Our man,” he stressed. “Stefano.”
“Accosi?” Angelo froze. “What does he have to do with this at all?”
“You have most certainly put him to good use,” the Colonel said. “He’s done his job. The valley is so divided, there will be no organised resistance.”
Angelo began to protest, but… Of course, it all makes sense! The watch. The expensive bottle of wine by the phonograph. The shoes. The cufflinks.
He deflated.
The Colonel cocked his head as if listening in on Angelo’s thoughts. “Come, Angelo. He’s a paid man. He’s been getting money from the party since we moved him. He’s got a family to take care of.”
“His job was to show the advantages…”
The Colonel eyed him and then sighed before placing both hands flat on his knees. “The first rule of negotiation is to make sure your counterpart knows what they have to lose. Stefano discovered that the Tyroleans had a lot to lose. So he offered what he could to extinguish their fears.”
Angelo turned to stare out the window. Words failed him. His mind—blank. Behind him, his father shifted in the leather armchair.
“We’ll talk more later,” Angelo finally said, his back still to the Colonel.
He heard his father rise and move to the door. He heard it open, heard his father say farewell to Miss Medici. And there was another voice.
Angelo whirled away from the window. “Stefano, come in here.”
The Judas walked in.
“Close the door.”
“What’s going on, Boss?”
