WOMAN OF TRIESTE
By H. N. BENTINCK
IN Trieste I knew a woman who wore red plush trousers ; she kept three Borzois on beds, and a rather curious man. The man she called "Maestro," though whether he was the master of the household or just of the dogs I was never able to be sure. The woman's name was Sieglinde Jamnic, from which you might think that her origin was Slay. You would, however, be wrong, because her mother was Sicilian and her father Austrian ; he had been a purser on one of Lloyd Triestino's ships ; the Triestin who is not employed either directly by one of the shipping companies or in- directly in some work connected with shipping is not easy to find.
Signora Jamnic greeted me effusively this evening and immediately clasped her hands, saying tragically, "Roberto, the Allies, what will they do with our poor Trieste? Come in, the place is a shambles ; excuse me, you will forgive me won't you, the water, a pipe burst, it was fifteen centimetres—what misery! Maestro! a light and the chair for Roberto !" Then she smiled at me fully and sadly. "The poor dogs are ill," she went on. "It's the damp from the water ; what will become of us ? Poor us, poor us, poor Trieste."
All this came pelting out in a torrent, so that I made haste to force an issue by saying, "Well, what would you like? Trieste to be Italian ? "
" Pah, the Italians. They're thieves. Their organisation is like their uniforms. It's showy, but it's not practicaL New the Germans! When they were here, everything organised so: Tak, talc." She made chopping movements.
"Then you'd like to be under Austria ? "
"For the love of God, Roberto, what are you thinking ? The Austrians! D'you know that when we were under Austria there were demonstrations nearly every day, and strikes--there were always strikes. Why it was dangerous to go out in the street even. The Fascists were better. At least they prohibited demonstrations, and you could get on with your work. D'you think we are Germans here in Trieste? Is that what you are thinking?"
"No, of course not, but would you like to be under Tito, then?"
She jumped up, and began waving her arms, and even the silent Maestro pulled himself together to snarl briefly. "The Titini," she screamed at me. "Beasts. They don't wash ; they can't even write. They're brigands ; did you know that, Roberto ? That they're brigands ? Properly brigands, them. Oh blessed Madonna, he thirty days that they were here ! What fear, what fear ! And then thz Allies came." She paused and looked at me coquettishly. "I, even I, went out into the streets to kiss them. Urn-rn-m, what beautiful men, So big and strong ; but strong you know." She shaped great shoulders in the air with her hands. "They were all burned with the sun, and rich. I tell you Roberto, money flowed like water in those days." " Then you'd like to be governed by the Allies perhaps? A mandate?" I suggested.
"The Allies," she said, and pursed her lips. "They're brave, Roberto ; they have fought a war that is long enough, I know, too long. They're dears. There are many of them that I like. But they don't understand the Triestini. A licence for this and a permit for that ; prices- controlled so that there is no profit. This is rationed and that is on a quota, so that there is nothing to be had with your coupons because it's all in the black market, like always. You can't expect people to work for the fun of the thing, especially when they're hungry. I suppose they get their ideas from the Socialists. They're stupid, Roberto. How do they think they can eat in restaurants here in Trieste if everything is on the coupons they have printed? And another thing, if a girl is walking with a soldier in the street the Military Police may take her away at any minute to examine her. My dear Roberto, it's not done. They're very ill-mannered, the Allies, sometimes ; and now no wonder no decent girl will go out with the soldiers." She paused for breath, and took inspiration from her surroundings. "They tried to requisition these rooms which I let ; tried to take the bread right out of a woman's mouth." She put her fingers as far down her throat as was safe in order to demonstrate this point. "Tried to snatch the bread even from my throat, as though there are not the houses of the rich Fascists where they go of an evening to their fine parties.
"They asked me if I had a licence for my dogs and how I fed them. My dogs!" One of them dropped in opportunely at this moment. "My darling, my star," she said, fondling and kissing it. "My beautiful white one ; and why shouldn't I keep dogs?" She sharply turned her head to me. "And then my brother, he was fined I don't know how many thousands of lire because he paid an English soldier to take some sugar in his truck to Monfalcone. The truck was empty. The soldier was punished too ; they are mad. The truck had to go that way in any case ; my brother paid him well. They don't understand the Triestini. And all that food that is going to YugOslavia through the docks! The children of Trieste are dying in the streets from hunger, and the Allies are feeding the Titini. They were your Allies, Roberto, but now, now what are they? And d'you know that the Anglo- Americans put soldiers to watch that our stevedores do not take away a handful of grain or of sugar that comes from a broken sack for their children. Who loses a handful from a shipload? But a handful of sugar for a poor thin child that cries all night for the cold, when the Bora ' blows through the bomb-damaged house ; that is something." Then reflectively, "Those bombs of the Allies that were dropped on the last day of the war nearly, and did nobody any good."
She took a cigarette from my case, and Maestro stubbed out the one he had just begun, stowing it intimately into a small box kept for the purpose of secreting it about his person. He then sig- nalled his readiness for another. But when I pushed the case towards him he. was surprised at my offer, amazed, it seemed, at my generosity ; was anxious lest I be left with none. But he took one, selecting it carefully, and laid it aside to anticipate the pleasure a little, I exnect.
"You would like to be an independent city then?" I concluded. But where was the coal, asked Signora Jamnic, and the wheat? Must they grow that in the Piazza? And the materials for the factories? If they must buy it from Italy or from Yugoslavia, where Was the money to buy it, now that all their ships were sunk, burned, stolen or. confiscated? When there were ships it was all right, but until then how could they live? And they would always be the prey of every- one. "Trieste Independente." She shook her fists in the air. " Grazie, ne anche per sogno " (Thank you, not even as a dream).
So I said, "Well, what do you want?"
She sat down and put her elbows far on to the table, spreading out her hands in a great shrug. " Ecco, cosa vogliamo. . . . Chi sa, chi sa? " (Behold, what do we want. . . . Who knows, who knows?). Then after a long pause she murmured, "Perhaps independent ; perhaps. Who knows?"
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