Chapter 14 #2
Her brow furrowed. That might be true on the mainland, where politics mattered more. Here on their island, what did they have to worry about but sheep and fish?
“Take care. You should tell your parents what happened here today.”
“You’re not Jewish, Luccio. It shouldn’t matter to you.”
He stared fixedly at her with his green eyes for a moment. “Yet it does. I don’t like this new government,” he said. She had the oddest feeling he’d been about to say something else. Then a thought occurred to her, and her stomach twisted.
“Wait. Do you think they’ll start calling up soldiers from here? Would you go?”
“If it comes to that, they certainly will.” Luccio shook his head.
“But I’m out. Flat feet. I’m no good for marching long distances, and I don’t think knowing how to throw a cast net would help much.
My father was rejected from the last war for the same reason.
” They waved goodbye then, and she turned toward home.
Zaneta couldn’t shake the palpable anxiety that had settled on her in the bakery.
Seeing her neighbors and people from the village shouting and pushing their way out of the usually peaceful, friendly port set her teeth on edge.
As she picked her way along the port road, she passed a black-hulled fishing boat that had been beached on the rocks.
Zaneta looked around for the boat’s owner but saw no one.
Perhaps he’d been lured away by the broadcast?
Oddly, the catch had been left partially processed, and pails of seawater sat half-full of fish, their crimson gills gasping for air.
Opportunist gulls perched on the boat’s sides and gathered nearby on the shore, their black eyes keen on an easy meal.
Zaneta forgot about the package of wrapped baklava she carried under her arm and quickened her steps, wanting only to reach home, where her father would explain everything.
But Papà didn’t sail into port until almost sunset that day.
He and Zaneta’s brothers seemed to take longer than usual to set out their catch, wash everything down, and secure the nets for the next day.
Supper sat cold on the table when they finally arrived, smelling of fish, sweat, and brine.
Papà kissed Mamma on the cheek and handed over a string of dripping white octopus tentacles, and Lev and Avi sank into their seats at the table, picking at the food that they normally would have set upon like wild animals.
“Tell me,” said Allegra. Zaneta had relayed the scene at the bakery when she’d arrived home, and the women had broken up and headed back to their own homes soon after, the sticky baklava from her errand untouched.
Zaneta felt her father’s gaze upon her and knew he weighed his words with care.
“It’s no good,” he said finally. “Talk at the docks is nothing but enlisting or recruitment. I ran into a young man—Zaneta, you know Luccio, I believe. He said he’d seen you today.
He told me about the announcement. Germany’s helping with the embarrassment in Greece, but fronts will open up everywhere—Albania and Yugoslavia, and now we’ll face England and France. ”
“We won’t be able to keep out of it,” Lev piped up. “I’ve heard of resistance groups in the south of Italy, and even in France, people are helping, finding ways to get us out of Europe.”
“That doesn’t mean you should be part of such an underground. It’s dangerous.” Allegra’s voice held a sharp edge. “I don’t know what you think war means, young man, but ask your father. It’s not valor and glory. If you’re caught—you know the things we’ve heard.”
“Surely just propaganda,” countered Avi.
“If not?” The waver in her father’s voice betrayed his concern.
“Then it’s better we sign on to fight with our fellow Italians and take our chances than wait to be caught in the Reich’s nets like anchovies.”
“The girls,” Allegra cautioned. Zaneta and her sisters sat wide-eyed in the fading kitchen light. Electricity had been spotty recently, and no one had thought to light the candles or kerosene lamps.
“People acted strangely today at the bakery,” Zaneta said. “Signora Olivetti. She pulled her son away from me and was whispering about me with another woman. I didn’t hear what they said, but the way they looked at me . . .” She trailed off, unsettled all over again by the memory.
“You see?” her father said. “It’s not just been your imagination, Allegra. Politics are reaching even here, even to people we’ve lived beside our whole lives.”
Dahlia spoke up. She stood behind Avi, her hands gripping his chair. “We’ve all seen how people are acting strangely. You don’t have to protect us, Mamma.”
“Besides,” added Marta, “we know more than you think. We have eyes and ears, too. Stefan’s been worried. He talks with other students at the university in Cagliari.” Her boyfriend, Stefan, was Marta’s accepted authority on all matters these days.
“He shouldn’t have troubled you with such things; I don’t care how close the two of you are.” Johann scratched his beard and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“We have some time.”
“I’m not sure of that, Allegra,” said her father. “Some families say we should take action now.” He cast a meaningful look at them, and the hair rose on the back of Zaneta’s neck.
“What?” she asked. “What action?”
Her mother drew a deep breath and sank into her seat at the table. “Some people are sending family away until all the sentiment against Jews blows over. Where they’ll be safe. I didn’t think anything would happen to us here, though. Our little island.”
The statement caused almost as much of an uproar in the kitchen as Zaneta had witnessed at the bakery earlier.
All the siblings spoke at once, protesting and arguing back and forth.
Marta burst into tears, saying something about Stefan, but Zaneta couldn’t see what he had to do with anything.
It seemed silly to even think about such things when their family might be separated, when they might have to leave Sardegna and go . . . where?
“Your father and I will remain here,” said Allegra. “We’ve already decided, back when whispers and rumors first reached the port. I can’t leave the byssus.”
“We protect the byssus, too. We took the vow.” Red blotches marred Dahlia’s pale face, like they always did whenever she grew angry or tearful.
“You are the future of the byssus,” she said.
“But what about you and Papà?” asked Zaneta.
“Our responsibility is to you, not the other way around. We’ll find a way. But it’s not going to be tonight, so eat. Eat.” She pushed the plates toward the boys and Johann. “Come on, girls, grab a light and a shawl and let’s go down to the shore to sing.”