Michael Pearce - A Dead Man In Trieste

‘The strike? You’re going back to work?’

‘They’re going back to work. We’re bloody not.’

‘I suppose it’s good from their point of view,’ said another man.

‘Well, yes, they’ll be able to start collecting their pay packet again, won’t they? But it won’t be any bigger. Or not much. They ought to have held out. As it is, all they’ve done is lose money.’

‘They say it wasn’t about money. It was about conditions.’

‘It’s always about money!’ said the first man derisively.

‘It seems a pity,’ said another man, ‘after we’d shown solidarity.’

‘That’s it! And that’s the trouble with getting a woman involved. They’re too ready to do a deal. What the hell are we doing, letting a woman represent us?’

‘She’s got the gift of the gab,’ said someone doubtfully.

‘Well, yes, and that worries me sometimes. You never know where these people are leading us.’

‘You ought to be doing that, Benito.’

‘Leading? Me? Christ, no! Stick your head out and yours is the first head that gets chopped.’

‘It doesn’t seem to worry her.’

‘Well, it ought to. And she oughtn’t to be so ready to do deals.’

‘I wouldn’t call her soft,’ said another of the men, who hadn’t so far spoken.

‘Well, I wouldn’t call her soft. But she gets on a bit too well with that bastard, Machnich.’

‘Fowl of a kind, I suppose.’

‘That’s it! That’s just it! The whole point of the Party is to get past divisions of that kind, Italian against Serb, Slovenian against Austrian. But she’s going back to it.’

‘So it’s all over?’ said Seymour.

‘All over. The men at the carpet shop have gone back. They’ve got no need for us now. “Thanks very much, mate.” “Thank you . But what about a bit of solidarity? We showed solidarity with you and it put a bit more in your pay packet. But we haven’t got any pay packets. How about showing a bit of solidarity with us?” “Ah, well, that’s different. .” Too bloody true it’s different. And that’s why they shouldn’t have accepted. And why she shouldn’t have done a deal.’

‘I don’t know what I shall do tonight.’ said another man. ‘Not with no picket line to be on. It gave a bit of point to things.’

The groups outside the taverna were breaking up and dispersing.

‘What shall we do now?’

‘Back to the docks, I suppose.’

‘How about a drink?’ suggested Seymour. ‘I’ll stand you one. I owe you something for your help.’

‘Well

They looked at each other.

‘We sort of know him now,’ said one of the men hesitantly.

‘A drink is real, even if friendship is not,’ said Seymour, finding from somewhere at the back of his mind one of old Angelinetti’s sayings.

‘Well, that is true.’

They didn’t go back into the taverna because it was still full, but chose another up one of the side streets, where they stood at the counter and the bar tender drew the wine from barrels.

‘So it helped you a bit?’ one of them said, looking at Seymour curiously.

‘A bit. Not as much as I’d have liked, but that’s not your fault.’

‘You worked it out, did you?’

‘Slowly. Machnich.’

‘Yes, Machnich. What they were up to in there together, God alone knows.’

‘Another of Machnich’s pies. They say he’s got a finger in every pie in Trieste.’

‘Two big for his boots, that bastard.’

‘They do say, though, that he looks after his own.’

‘Yes, but that’s what I’m complaining of. He looks after his own, but how about everyone else?’

‘Those bastards in the Edison never came out.’

‘I wish Machnich had come out. Come out of the cinema, that is, and tried to cross our line. I’d have given him a mouthful. But he never showed himself. Not once!’

‘He didn’t need to. He’s got another door. A private one. It lets you on to the Piazza delli Cappucine out the back. Not this piazza. He had it put in in case of emergencies.’

‘Just the sort of sneaky thing he would do. Why didn’t he come out and face us man to man?’

‘Well, that’s just the sort of thing these big blokes never do. They always leave that bit to someone else.’

They finished their drink and thanked him politely. However, they refused another one. Seymour, used to the ways of dock people, could understand that.

Going back through the Piazza Grande, he found the artists, as ever, at their table. Did they do nothing but drink? Evidently they did, because Alfredo called up at him:

‘Are you coming this evening?’

‘Coming? What to?’

‘James is giving a lecture.’

‘Oh, really? What on?’

‘Ireland,’ said James. ‘Ireland and Trieste.’

‘Sort of. .’ Seymour hesitated. ‘. . geographical?’

‘Cultural,’ said James. ‘And political.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘What I shall bring out,’ said James, ‘are the similarities between Ireland and Trieste.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Both are oppressed nations struggling to be free.’

‘Yes, yes. I suppose you could say that.’

‘Trieste is certainly struggling to be free,’ said Lorenzo. ‘But is it a nation?’

‘Part of a nation,’ said James.

‘But which nation?’

‘Italy, of course.’

‘And Ireland?’

‘Struggling to be free from England,’ said James. ‘And the Church.’

‘Well, that’s a problem here, too, of course.’

‘Exactly! What I shall say is — ’

Seymour began to move away.

‘You will come, won’t you?’ said Alfredo coaxingly.

‘I’ll certainly try to.’

‘The People’s University. At eight.’

When Seymour got to the Consulate, he found Mrs Koskash there as well as Koskash. They seemed to have been having an argument. Mrs Koskash was flushed and tight- lipped, Koskash grim. They both greeted him, however, politely.

‘I mustn’t stay, though,’ said Mrs Koskash. ‘There are dozens of things I have to do.’

She bustled out.

Koskash stood for a moment looking at her retreating back, then turned away.

‘She is always busy,’ he said quickly to Seymour. ‘She does so many things in the community For so many causes.’

‘Bazaars,’ said Seymour, remembering his sister. ‘Cake sales. Street collections.’

‘Why, yes,’ said Koskash, surprised. ‘That’s right.’

The thought of his sister brought to Seymour’s mind the occasions on which he had last seen Mrs Koskash.

‘Your wife’s a Socialist, isn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ said Koskash. ‘Does that matter?’

‘Not at all,’ said Seymour. ‘My own sister is one.’

‘She is? I am one myself, of course, although not as committed as she is. She is the chairman of our branch.’

‘Ah! Then she, perhaps, is the person who has been negotiating on behalf of the strikers at Machnich’s carpet shop?’

‘Yes, that’s right. They had a long session last night. It is being put to the vote this morning.’

‘It’s been put to the vote. They’ve accepted.’

‘Well, that is probably good,’ said Koskash. ‘They’ve been out for a long time.’

‘Your wife is evidently a formidable lady.’

‘Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed.’

He settled himself at his desk.

‘I have quite a bit of work to do,’ he said. ‘I shall probably stay on late this evening, if that is all right.’

Seymour was surprised the work was there. But then, with Lomax missing, Koskash was probably doing his work as well. He wondered uneasily if he ought to be doing something about the general work of the Consulate: but that, he decided, was something for Lomax’s superiors in London to see to. They would have heard of his death by now.