Michael Pearce - A Dead Man In Trieste

‘They were Serbs. Students.’

Seymour thought quickly. There was not much he could do about this. In fact, he had better stay out of it. It was definitely something for the Foreign Office to sort out. The only thing in this that concerned him was Lomax’s role in it; and, perhaps, the less said about that, the better.

‘I am sure London will be as distressed by this incident as I am,’ he said smoothly, ‘and while I cannot anticipate what they will say, I am confident that they will express their regret that one of their employees, a local employee, of course, should have behaved in such a way.’

He felt slightly uncomfortable saying this. He quite liked Koskash and felt he was letting him down. But he could see no alternative. On this, Koskash was on his own. The most Seymour could do for him — and this was probably in the interests of Britain as well — was to play the thing down. ‘While, I am sure, they would not wish to condone the incident, I wonder if it should not be kept in proportion? After all, from what you say, these were only students — ’

‘Mr Seymour,’ said Schneider, ‘do you have the faintest idea what you are talking about?’

Seymour swallowed. Perhaps he was not doing as well at the diplomatic business as he had thought he was doing.

‘I am, of course,’ he said hastily, ‘only a Messenger.’

‘Yes. So you say. Well, Mr Seymour, here in Trieste students are not, perhaps, as they are in England. They are not schoolchildren. We are not talking about making faces at the teacher or throwing chalk. We are talking about throwing bombs. All across the Empire there have been incidents. And that is reality, Mr Seymour, not vague possibility.’

‘But why — ’

‘Serbian, Mr Seymour. Serbian. They were Serbian students.’

‘Yes, but — ’

Schneider sighed.

‘You really do not know, do you? Perhaps you really are just a Messenger. Or perhaps it is Trieste is such a small place to people in London, perhaps they think that it is so small that nothing important can happen there. Well, let me tell you, Mr Seymour, that if they think that, then they are mistaken. Because one thing is bound to another thing and great things are bound to small.’

He stopped and looked at Seymour questioningly.

‘You know, at least, that two years ago we took Bosnia under our protection?’

‘Of course,’ said Seymour, in injured tones, grateful to the newspaper seller for what he had learned from him. ‘Everyone knows that!’

‘They had, of course, been under our protection for the previous thirty years, but that was by international mandate. It was time to tidy things up. So, as I say, we took them — ’

‘Over,’ said Seymour.

‘They joined the Empire. Naturally there were people who were opposed. And not just people, countries. If you can call Serbia a country.’

‘Serbia was against it?’

‘Violently. In all senses. And especially the young. The students in the universities, the young officers in the army. Passionate without quite knowing what they were being passionate about. Now, of course, there are many students throughout the Empire, students of all nationalities: Hungarian, Slovakian, Montenegrin. . We pride ourselves on that. And among them are Bosnian students, now part of the Empire, unwillingly, and Serbian students, always likely to cause trouble. So, well, they caused trouble. And, naturally, we have had to crack down on them.’

‘I can see that,’ said Seymour, ‘but why crack down so heavily? Does not that, with the young, lead to more trouble? If you do it with too heavy a hand?’

‘Too heavy a hand?’ said Schneider, astonished. ‘But this is serious, Mr Seymour! We are not talking about regulating football on the playing-fields of Eton. Although from what I hear of English playing-fields. . No, Mr Seymour, we are talking bombs. Bombs!

‘And we are not talking about bombs just in Trieste. Or even Vienna. We are talking about bombs right across Europe. Do you understand that, Mr Seymour? We are talking war. Because, you see, one thing is bound to another, and great things are bound to small. Let us say, for instance, that one day, in some small place, call it Trieste, some foolish student throws a bomb and kills someone important, a Governor, say, or a member of the Royal Family. And suppose we learn that a certain country is responsible. Call it Serbia. Then Austria-Hungary will not take that lying down. They will say to that country: you must do something about this. And if you don’t. .

‘And now the problems really start. For Russia says: leave Serbia alone, we will not have this. And Germany, perhaps, says: you keep out of it, we stand by our Hapsburg allies. Countries are bound by treaties. They are obliged to act if the treaty is invoked by some country to which they are allied. One thing is bound to another, great things are sometimes bound to small. A bomb thrown in Trieste could set off a chain of events which could lead to war. Yes, war, Mr Seymour. I see you doubt me. But I am telling the truth, believe me. One little thing could pull in another bigger thing and then another thing. You go down to your taverna at night and you sit drinking and you think the world is secure, safe. There is order and you take it for granted. But I think that peace in Europe is like a house of cards. One card falls and then all the others fall with it.

‘So you see, Mr Seymour, this is not a matter of students playing games. They may be playing games, but I am not. I do not want that first card to fall here in Trieste. That first bomb to be thrown. And so … so I take students seriously. And especially those students of yours, Mr Seymour. Because I know it is not chalk that they have been getting ready to throw, but something else,’

Seymour walked away from the police station smarting, feeling that he had been given a history lesson which he didn’t need. Or perhaps he did need it. International politics hadn’t figured high on the curriculum of a policeman in the East End. Nor had Bosnia, Serbia and the rest of them — indeed, the whole Austro-Hungarian Empire — loomed large in what he had done at school. When Seymour had left school at fourteen, the teachers had not yet got round to Bosnia. Of course, he knew something about Central Europe from his work with immigrant families in the East End but there were gaps. Bucovina, for example, where was that? Hands up all those who could place Bucovina!

Not Seymour. He was beginning to regret his lack of knowledge of the international scene. Perhaps he had better get along to the library with Maddalena and do some reading.

But what a load of codswallop it was! All that talk about war! Not a chance, thought Seymour. The sort of rubbish that military-minded people, whether in the army or high up in the police, were always talking. And all that stuff about one thing being bound to another, great things to small! Suppose small things were small? Suppose the students were just making faces, throwing chalk? Overreacting as Schneider was doing would just make things worse, turn all the Maddalenas into real revolutionaries!

No, it was all codswallop. And probably all Koskash had been doing, out of the misguided goodness of his heart, was giving some naive youngsters a helping hand. It had been wrong of him but not very wrong and Lomax had probably been right to go along with it. From what Maddalena had said, it was the kind of thing that he, with all his evident sympathy for people and underdog causes, would do. Not exactly what he should be doing as Consul, of course, but. .

All the same, Seymour was uneasy. What was it that Schneider had said at the end? That he knew that they were not just chalk throwers. Was that just talk? Or did he really know that? Because if that was indeed the case, then Koskash might have been doing rather more than giving some innocents a helping hand. And if Lomax had condoned it, then, perhaps, he, too, was in a lot deeper than he should have been.