Port of No Return

Chapter 3

Chapter twoJanuary 1944

Farmhouse, outskirts of Fiume, Italy

The Coletta family lived at the foot of a hill on the outskirts of Fiume, a short walk from the end of the tramline. They had a farmhouse with chickens and goats, as well as a productive beehive and vines of luscious tomatoes.

In the past, their cellar had held the fruits of their labours: cheeses and cream made from goats’ milk, jars of honey and stewed tomatoes and cartons of eggs - until the Germans took over the city. Soldiers quickly became regular, uninvited visitors, demanding they hand over their stores to feed the troops.

‘You want to support the war effort, don’t you?’ they challenged. ‘Come on then. Make a contribution and make it generous.’

Even after their generous contribution, the Germans would help themselves to three or four of their precious chickens as well.

The last time the soldiers visited there were only two sickly chickens to be found.

‘They are all we have left,’ Lisa told them mournfully.

They took them anyway. In truth, Lisa’s husband had staked a lookout for the Germans. On seeing them approach, he had walked three strong goats up into the hills and carted away a large crate of healthy chickens. He had stayed hidden until the Germans were long gone.

‘It worked,’ Lisa told him happily on his return. ‘They searched the cellar and didn’t find anything. They searched the storage house—nothing again. They didn’t like the look of those chickens and I told them they were our last.’

‘Good. Hopefully they’ll take us off their list and leave us alone.’

The soldiers returned one more time, but again, they hid their chickens and goats up the hill and the Germans left empty-handed. That had been four months ago.

It was mid-afternoon, and Lisa was sitting outside, plucking the feathers of a large waterfowl bird that her husband had caught by chance that morning. Head bowed in concentration, she was surprised to hear the front gate squeak, followed by the scraping of light footsteps. The knock on the front door was not the usual brisk, hard sound of the Germans’ pounding so she did not believe she had soldiers on her doorstep, but she was not expecting guests. She was nervous, but intrigued.

Could it be a telegram? Her nineteen-year-old son, Marco, was away fighting, and a tragic delivery was always a possibility. But she had heard several footsteps.

Could it be her youngest son, Cappi, with comrades? He had run off with the Yugoslav Partisans, deciding it was better than being called up to fight for the Germans. When the Germans took over Fiume, they had rounded up all the young Italian men not yet at war, and sent them straight to the front line and almost certain death. Fearing such a fate, her son had fled into the hills and left it to his family to spread the false tale that he had become a commercial fisherman and left for sea. He had returned once, looking for food and warmer clothes.

Her husband, Dino, was at the markets and their sixteen-year-old daughter Lena was at work in the city and not expected back until dark.

Lisa took a deep breath and walked down the side of the house to peer around the corner suspiciously. Two women and a few children were huddled on the doorstep, a bedraggled lot, with tousled hair and long dusty coats.

‘Can I help you?’ she called, no longer harbouring any fear of her guests.

The younger woman turned and Lisa recognised her instantly—Contessa Saforo.

‘Contessa!’ Lisa cried, hurrying towards her friend, who only managed to return a wan smile in greeting. The sad-eyed woman held a baby, and around her were three tired children and her formidable mother.

‘What has happened?’ she asked, her voice thick with concern. Because of the war, she had not seen her friend in over a year.

Contessa, even with a grubby face and tangled hair and in obvious distress, was still a picture of loveliness, as she had always been.

Lisa envied her friend her gentle beauty and grace. Unlike Contessa, Lisa was somewhat brisk and bustling in her manner. At thirty-five, she was six years older than Contessa, but had started her family much earlier, giving birth to her first child at age sixteen. A strong, buxom woman, she had worked hard on their farm, especially during the war. Although the hard labour, hot sun and deep angst over her sons at war had toughened her skin, beneath it still laid a soft heart.

When her friend hesitated, Lisa waved her hand. ‘Please come in.’

The dazed family shuffled inside and Lisa stifled an urge to wrap her arms around them all. ‘Come sit down.’

She ushered them into a spacious room, which featured stone walls and floor, and a high ceiling with exposed oak beams. Black cloth hung from the windows for use as blackout curtains; the windows were taped up—a necessary precaution given the bombings. Along the left wall was a massive stone hearth. The children sat before it on a large, woven rug and Contessa and Nonna sat on a soft, but rather worn yellow sofa.

‘It was the bombing …’ Contessa began, wanting to explain their uninvited intrusion.

‘Ettore … is he all right? He is not with you?’

‘He is safe. He is at work.’ She hesitated. ‘But everything else, the house, our life, it is gone,’ she said, tears in her eyes. She paused to compose herself, and then continued. ‘We have nowhere to go. My sister is in Bergamo. We have no other family here. My mother, as you know, lives with us. We lost everything.’

Lisa’s heart went out to her. ‘You did right to come to us. We have plenty of room. Please don’t worry. You are all welcome to stay … until the war is over.’

Her last words revealed a generosity of such magnitude that Contessa could no longer contain her emotion. ‘Oh no, Lisa. You are much too kind,’ she said, wiping at tears that kept flowing. ‘We couldn’t stay long,’ she sniffled. ‘I only came to ask for one night’s stay.’

‘One night—and then what? Ask another friend and another? Moving your children and baby from house to house so as not to overstay your welcome? Don’t be crazy! You must stay here until you have a real plan.’

‘But we are a big family …’

‘Which is why you must accept my offer.’ Lisa was adamant.

Contessa felt Marietta tugging on her dress and looked down.

‘Please Mama. I like it here. They have goats.’

Lisa smiled broadly. ‘You remember my goats. Bless you child but it’s been a year and many months since you last visited. They must have made an impression on you. We still have three.’

‘Do you have the one called Milksha?’ the girl asked, flicking her black curls out of her eyes.

‘Yes. She is the playful one. Why don’t you children go out in the yard and see? Just remember to keep the gate shut.’

Marietta danced towards the door. ‘Come on,’ she said to her brothers.

Taddeo looked up at his mother. ‘Is it all right if we go outside?’ he asked solemnly. The boys had been quiet and troubled since the bombing.

‘Of course. Go see what else you can find,’ their mother urged, wiping her damp hands on her dress, rimmed with ash from the burnt-out rubble.

‘There are chickens. But keep away from the bees,’ Lisa advised.

‘I remember the bees,’ Taddeo said with a smirk, having been stung at the last visit after venturing too close on a dare from his brother.

‘They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.’

‘I won’t,’ Taddeo assured her.

Marietta bounded outside while her brothers followed slowly.

‘The boys are feeling the shock, but Marietta is too young to understand,’ Nonna said, once the children were out of earshot.

‘War is no place for children,’ Lisa said, understanding. ‘The boys are young and strong. They will recover in time. Let them stay here. There is the small stone house out back …’

‘But that is for your stores,’ Contessa said, not wanting to cause any disruption.

Lisa shook her head and lowered her voice. ‘Up until two weeks ago, we were hiding a Jewish family in there,’ she confided.

‘Jews!’ Nonna gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘You took such a risk!’

‘They were our friends and we couldn’t let them be loaded on the trains. There was a risk, but the Germans have been leaving us alone and we always had someone on lookout. They’ve now escaped, heading for southern Italy. I pray they got there. So, the point is—the house is ready and comfortable. It has a fireplace, which you can use for warmth and cooking. We have plenty of firewood.’

Contessa looked to Nonna who nodded her head.

‘We would love to stay,’ Contessa said, and her heart lifted with relief.

‘It is only right that you do. I could never turn you away. Now come and I will show you the house. It’s small, but it has two rooms and is clean and dry.’

The women inspected the house and were very pleased with its simple but comfortable furnishings. As they looked over the cups and plates in a small cupboard, Martino started to cry.

‘We have only one baby bottle,’ Contessa said.

Nonna held up the empty glass bottle that she had been carrying in her coat pocket since they left the house the day before.

‘He does not take the breast?’ Lisa inquired, knowing that her friend had breast-fed all her previous children.

‘He won’t take milk,’ Contessa said, in a sigh that revealed some of her exasperation.

‘Tomato soup …’ Nonna cut in.

Lisa smiled. ‘Tomato soup! Mercy! This baby likes it sweet, hey? Luckily, we’ve plenty of tomatoes—though the jars are hidden.’

‘The Germans …?’

Lisa nodded. ‘Let’s get that hungry baby fed,’ she said as Martino’s cries increased in volume.

Contessa nursed the baby to keep his cries under control while the other two went to work in the kitchen. Soon, they had enough tomato soup to keep the baby fed for two days. Martino was silenced. Peace had returned. With the highest priority sorted, they then turned their attention to freshening up the storehouse and helping Lisa prepare that night’s meal. Nonna put her talents in the kitchen to good use. Excited to be working with more ingredients than she had seen in a long while, the older woman set about making stuffing for the bird and preparing a tomato-flavoured gravy to accompany it.

When Lisa came into the kitchen, she was pleasantly surprised.

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ she enthused, inhaling the savoury aroma. ‘Look at that! I can’t wait to serve this up to Dino.’

‘How is your husband? It has been—what, four years since we last saw him?’ Nonna inquired.

Their families used to get together regularly, but once the war had broken out, they had not socialised—night curfews, blackouts, raids, food shortages and late work shifts had not made it practical to make the journey across town for a dinner party. Lisa and Contessa had still managed to meet up during the day but even those visits had become less frequent.

‘He is well. Tired of the war, but well enough.’

‘That is good to hear. I would change for dinner but we have only the clothes we have arrived in. The children have only their coats and bed clothes.’

‘I can lend you some clothes for now. Though tomorrow we should visit the local church. I know they are helping families to replace clothes and other things,’ Lisa said. ‘It’s a short walk from here.’

‘Thank you. I think we’ll have to ask for a handout from the parish,’ Nonna said, feeling embarrassed. ‘I have often given.’

‘Then it is your turn to be helped.’

Lisa’s husband Dino arrived home an hour after the sun had set. Ettore arrived about ten minutes later. They had caught the same tram, yet not seen each other, and it had taken Ettore longer to recall the way to the house, having last visited it several years ago.

Contessa had assured her husband they would be able to stay at the farm for at least one night and had arranged to meet there come nightfall, but she was delighted to inform him they could stay as long as they needed.