“Well, I have some news too,” Jutta announced. Her key ring, which she always carried around her waist, jingled, and Annamarie’s attention was back on the discussion at the table. “According to our esteemed local dictator, the Il Dante is booked out and I am to take in lodgers from Bozen.”
The men shifted in their seats, and Annamarie, ears perked, wished she could see all their faces. Jutta was certainly referring to the prefect Rioba as the local dictator.
“That’s it then,” Mayor Roeschen said. “There’s no way to put a stop to this. They’re going to take our land, and we will have no say in this whatsoever. Just as we feared.”
Everyone was quiet, and Alois pushed himself off the post. When he started heading towards where Annamarie hid, she ducked back into the kitchen, but he did not come in after her. Instead, she heard a click on the wall behind the bar and then Alois shuffling to the Stammtisch. When Annamarie was at the door again, she saw the lightbulbs in the room flickering before they finally burned steadily. She cracked open the door, and Jutta was pointing at the ceiling with a newspaper in her hand.
“That’s what this Innerhofer is writing about,” Jutta said, slamming the paper down. “The Fascists call the reservoir a means for modern improvements, and at the same time, they sabotage our old generators to make them unreliable.”
She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her, arms crossed over her chest. Her thick upper arms bulged beneath the navy-blue wool, and Annamarie knew, from the many hugs she’d received from Tante Jutta, they were firm, like overstuffed cushions.
Kaspar Ritsch leaned towards Annamarie’s father. “Florian, we could get that journalist over here, this Michael Innerhofer. He’s got connections, a network in Germany, in Austria. Get him interested in our story and in our cause. He’ll help the Walschers understand what they’re up against if they try to take our lands away.”
Annamarie’s father nodded slowly, his face smoothing out. She knew that expression of his. He nodded like that when he was weighing all his options. Mother always said he had a way of putting himself into other people’s shoes, of trying to figure them out and where they stood before saying what he thought.
“He sure sounds like the man we want on our side,” her father said. “Innerhofer’s the same one who persuaded the Fascists to put the German-language papers back into business. Same one who was allowed to cover the stories on the Rome and Berlin act.”
Jutta slapped her lap under the table. “Now don’t you get started with that Hitler-Mussolini hogwash, Florian. Those two are like a couple of tomcats in a freshly mown field.”
Annamarie’s father looked amused. “How do you mean?”
“Only time cats cooperate is when the hay’s been raked away and the mice beneath are left exposed.”
Annamarie’s father chuckled, and the men grumbled in agreement. Except Kaspar Ritsch, who shook his head.
“It’s not hogwash,” Annamarie’s neighbour said. “Austria will join Hitler when the time is right, and when they do, they will redraw our border at Trent again. We’ll be Austrian again,” he declared forcefully. “Back with our people, and all thanks to Adolf Hitler.”
Annamarie saw her father look up at the ceiling before resting his chin on steepled hands. Hans Glockner sat heavily back, the wooden chair protesting. They both seemed to want to avoid telling Kaspar Ritsch some bad news.
Jutta spoke first. “I’d have to disagree with you there, Kaspar. Before the Versailles Treaty, we were autonomous. Hitler hasn’t forgotten that. The way he’s been going on about Germany’s future, he’s not about to hand back our autonomy. That article in last week’s paper, remember? He said he won’t mix into the South Tyrolean question. Called us too Catholic for the National Social Party.”
Kaspar started to protest, but Thomas Noggler interrupted him. “If we join Germany, we’d only be moving from the hangman’s noose to the axe.”
Kaspar jerked his head at Thomas, and Annamarie imagined the old man’s cold stare since she couldn’t see it. It was the stare he gave her whenever he was of the opinion she had spoken out of turn. Children should be seen, not heard. That was his favourite line.
Thomas dropped his head and looked down at the table, but Mayor Roeschen shrugged and opened his hands.
“The boy’s right,” he said. “Hitler’s shown no interest in us. And in my opinion, our struggle is not about joining Germany. Regaining our autonomy comes first.”
Thomas scoffed.
Kaspar Ritsch leapt out of his chair. He grabbed Thomas Noggler by the front of his shirt, and Thomas hit at Kaspar Ritsch’s arm. Just as quickly, Hans stood up and put out his arms between them.
Annamarie’s father said loudly, hands in the air, “Do you want to know what I think? Sit down. I’ll tell you my plan.”
The men froze. Only Kaspar Ritsch seemed to still be itching to get at Thomas. Annamarie’s father waited, his face patient.
She smiled to herself. Papa had broken up fights with her brothers like this more than once. The three men all sank slowly onto their chairs.
Alois moved away from the table, his face screwed up as if he was about to cry. Jutta turned to him just then and said something that sent Alois towards the door where Annamarie hid. Her father continued speaking.
“Hitler’s and Mussolini’s alliance might be a chance for us,” he said. “The diplomats in Tyrol and Vienna have made their cases on an international level. They’re still fighting for us. And if Hitler—”
“Forget about Hitler,” Jutta cried. “Austria would just be
