Annemarie Nikolaus - Silenced

“The stain will come out with salt. You’ll see.”

In the kitchen, she sat down on a folding stool. The chef dug around in a cupboard and pulled out a clean tea towel.

“My name’s Laura Schreiner, by the way,” she said, as he squatted in front of her. Since he didn’t immediately introduce himself, she continued: “I couldn’t help seeing how you came to a compatriot’s rescue as a translator.”

The chef laid the tea towel on his knee. “Actually, the clerk can speak Italian too, but right now…” He looked up quickly, and then spooned salt onto the stain.

Laura was curious as to how he would react to her next words. “The disaster yesterday has hit us all hard.”

He nodded. “Why did it have to happen to us, of all people?”

“Yes, why?” Laura echoed. “My little boy says the Italian stunt pilots are better than all the rest.” She smiled with motherly pride. “He knows what he’s talking about, you know, young as he is.”

“Kids are smart; much smarter than their parents.” A smile crossed his round face. “I have a little boy too – he’s four.”

“Mine’s nine. But his sister is four. She goes to the Catholic pre-school; maybe she knows your son?”

The chef rubbed the tea towel on the salted stain. “I’m sure she does. I’m Tarcisio, by the way.”

Laura took that as a sign that she had gained his trust, and returned to the subject of the pilots. “The guest at reception was wearing a black mourning symbol. Is he a relative of one of the pilots from the crash?”

Tarcisio nodded, brushing the salt from her skirt. “ Sisi , and he’s very angry, because they refused to release any belongings to him. The pilots have been silenced, he says.”

“The Mafia taking on the air force? With something like this? I don’t believe that,” Laura declared.

“Not the Mafia. The Mafia are lightweights compared to them.”

She let an instant pass before she asked the next question. “Well, who was it, then?”

The chef stood up and placed the salt shaker next to the stove. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her again. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

Laura hesitated, and apparently for too long, because the chef frowned.

“Aren’t we all interested in it?”

“Why, Signora ?” The chef came a step closer, looking searchingly at her face.

“You made me curious,” she said, evading his question again and smiling.

“You’re lying, Signora . What are you even doing here, in the hotel?”

She gestured towards her skirt. “You already know that. I wanted a glass of wine.”

Tarcisio muttered something unintelligible and slid his hands into the pockets of his apron.

“Go and have one, then. I’m finished. The rest will come out at the cleaner’s.”

Laura stood up. “I’ll bring you the bill this afternoon.”

The barman placed a new glass of wine on the counter in front of her with a friendly, “On the house”. She drank it, wondering what she should do next.

Then, two men appeared; the older one wore a uniform she didn’t recognize. The other wore the bright blue overall that she knew from Manni’s photo collection. She looked more closely, and spotted the Frecce Tricolori symbol above the officer’s badge on his left side. Then she saw the Italian flag on the other man’s sleeve as well.

Before long, the clerk passed her and went into the kitchen, returning with the chef. As Tarcisio spoke to the two men, he glanced at Laura several times. Suddenly, she was certain that they were talking about her.

As she was considering what to do next, she noticed that the one in the overall kept looking over at her. She smiled at him. When he returned her gaze, eyebrows raised, she stood up and went over to them. “Can I help you?”

“What are you looking for here? Material for one of your articles?” asked the uniformed man in fluent German.

Laura hesitated in surprise.

“You’re not that easy to forget, Signora . I saw you arguing with the military police yesterday.”

“That was yesterday.” Laura looked the younger man in the eyes. “You were staring at me, not the other way around.” She turned and left. When she brought the chef the bill from the cleaner’s that afternoon, she would ask about the angry, Italian hotel guest she had seen at the reception.

She drove home, changed and took her skirt to the cleaner’s. Then she picked up the children from school and pre-school.

“I think your daughter has an admirer,” the pre-school teacher told her. “Luigi’s dad asked for your address.”

“Who is he, Luigi’s dad?”

The woman shrugged. “This was the first time he’s picked him up. Normally the grandmother comes.”

“Luigi’s dad can teach us pizza,” Nina piped up. “And spaghetti, of course.”

Laura couldn’t believe that was a coincidence; it had to be Tarcisio. “Did you talk to Luigi’s dad?” she asked her daughter. “Did you make plans?”

Nina shook her head and glanced warily at Manni. “Boys are stupid.”

As she drove the children home, Laura wondered why the hotel chef had picked up his son today, of all days.

She dropped them off and knocked at the neighbor’s. “Mrs Breiner, I have to go out for half an hour again. Wilfried should be back soon, but would you go and keep an eye on Nina and Manni until then?”

Was Laura imagining it, or did Tarcisio really turn a shade paler when she appeared in front of the hotel kitchen, ten minutes later? “Have you taken an interest in my daughter? The teacher says you’ve never picked up your son yourself before.”

“His Nonna is sick,” he answered abruptly. “What do you want, Signora ?”

“I’ve brought you the cleaning bill.”

He took it silently and reached into his pocket for the money, lips pursed. He obviously wasn’t planning on talking to her.

At reception, she inquired after the angry Italian civilian, but he wasn’t there, and the hotel clerk had finished her shift. Laura was annoyed. She should have spoken to him right away, rather than letting herself get scared off by the two soldiers.

The sirens of an ambulance and two police cars startled her from her thoughts as she drove home. Laura braked as she reached her street to let them pass her. But they turned, and then stopped in front of her building.

Startled, Laura accelerated. She stopped behind the second police car in the middle of the street, and flipped down the sun visor with her press badge. As she ran towards the building, a policeman blocked her way.

She tried to remain friendly. “Let me through, I live here.”

“Do you have ID?”

We had enough of this yesterday, she thought, and forced her way past him. Before he could grab her, she ran up the stairs. Voices floated down from above, and then a fireman came down towards her.

“What’s happened?” She felt her throat closing.

Two paramedics followed him with a stretcher; behind them came a third, with an IV bag. She looked into Mrs Breiner’s battered face. Her blouse was stained with blood.

Laura swallowed; she took the stairs three at a time as she ran on.

Two police officers stood in front of the open door to her apartment. Wilfried was leaning against the wall in the hallway.

Laura took a step towards him. “Where are the kids?” Her voice was suddenly no more than a croak.

“Gone!” A shadow crossed Wilfried’s face, and he pulled her into his arms.

“Your children have been kidnapped,” said a husky, female voice.

Laura turned around. A young detective that she knew from an interview emerged from the living room.

Wilfried held her tight. “I found Mrs Breiner when I got home.”