The Wind Whistles

by AO3requiredusername

Summary:

The 1920s. Plunged into revolution and civil war, Italy rises from the ashes. Follow our heroines as they help make Italy a land of airships, telephones, radio, and cooperatives.

Notes:

I edited all screenshots, images, and fanart. Map at the end was generated with mapchart.net, on the Hearts of Iron 4 setting.

Chapter 1: Two Red Years

2 September 1920

Andrea Piccolo was walking with his granddaughter Fio to the Piaggio factory. The day was young but dim, as thick clouds blocked much of the sunlight over Milano. Andrea was a grizzled man, dressed in simple overalls. Fio wore a white-and-blue checkered shirt, dungaree trousers, and a straw boater.

Andrea held Fio’s hand as they walked. There was an uneasy air above Milano. Workers formed councils and occupied factories. Strikes tore through Milano with regularity since the spring. There was unease outside the city as well. Peasant strikes and rural unrest tore the Padan plain. Left-wing and right-wing militias formed.

Andrea and Fio came into view of the factory, and stopped. Andrea gripped Fio’s hand with more strength when Fio tried walking ahead.

“Grandpa, what’s wrong?”, Fio asked, looking at him.

Andrea squinted to see in the distance and walked slowly ahead, insisting on caution. “I don’t like the looks of this, Fio.”, he said.

The gates of the Piaggio factory where Fio was an apprentice mechanic were shut. One worker stood above the gate. He held a gun in his hands and had binoculars around his neck. A freshly painted hammer and sickle was on the wall, paint still drying and dripping.

Andrea slowed his walk and Fio followed his lead.

When they were in earshot of the factory, they heard sudden gunfire. Andrea froze in place. “We’re going back home, Fio.”, he said.

“What’s happening?”, Fio asked, concerned.

Andrea shook his head. “I don’t know, but it’s dangerous.”, he said.

Andrea turned around and headed back home. Fio held onto her boater as a gust of wind blew. She sped up her pace to match her grandpa, and felt his grip on her hand tighten.

Andrea and Fio walked on the route back home. Andrea sometimes looked behind him with a nervous gaze. Fio held onto her hat.

They were interrupted at the Via Santa Sofia intersection. Andrea and Fio saw a large crowd of protesters. Many were carrying red flags; others were carrying banners. There was a cacophony of chants, songs, and general anger.

Andrea pulled Fio behind him and quickly ducked into a side street.

They took another route home.

---

Andrea unlocked the door to their home, his hands shaking with anxiety. He almost shoved Fio in first, and then got in and locked the door.

“Grandpa?”, a voice came from the house.

“We’re home, Gigliola.”, Andrea said.

Gigliola, Fio’s older sister, walked over. She was tall, red-haired, and blue-eyed, wearing a simple yellow dress. “Oh, god, Fio! Grandpa! Thank god you’re safe!”, she cried out and rushed over.

Fio found herself a bit choked and squeezed by Gigliola’s strong embrace. She was used to it.

“I’m fine, Gigliola.”, Fio sputtered as best she could. “We’re fine.”

Andrea paused to take a breath, and then hugged Gigliola as well. “They sent you home too?”, he asked. Fio put her boater on a nearby table.

Gigliola nodded. “They had an emergency meeting.”, she said. “They asked who was willing to stay and occupy the factory. I didn’t raise my hand, so they let me go back home.”

Fio looked petulant. “What?”, she said, outraged. “Come on, big sis, how could the Red Guards turn you down?”

Gigliola sighed. “Fio, don’t joke with things like that.”, she said. “Papa’s already in the Red Guards.”

“Come on, Gigliola!”, Fio protested. “You’re the strongest big sis I know! They insulted you, can’t I take offense for you?”

Gigliola chuckled. Her younger sister’s impetuousness could be endearing. “Okay, small sis, you be outraged for me.”, she said, patting Fio on the head.

“You bet!”, Fio said, pointing her finger in the air. “I’m gonna give those Red Guards such a talking-to!”

Gigliola chuckled and continued to rub Fio’s hair. “You do that, young ardita.”, she joked.

“Did you hear from your father?”, Andrea asked.

Gigliola shook her head. “He said he’d call me after I got home, but nothing yet.”, she said. “I did hear from L’Anna Maria, though.”

“What did she say?”, Andrea asked.

“They sent some peasant guards from Cornaredo to reinforce Corbetta.”, she said. “There was some squadristi plan to block the road to Novara.”

Andrea closed his eyes for a moment. “Damned reactionaries.”, he spat out. “Why can’t they just leave us be…”

Fio stopped holding onto Gigliola’s leg. “I heard talk yesterday in the hangar.”, she said. “They were saying something about gathering Red Guards.”

Gigliola and Andrea looked at Fio with concern.

“Something about, ah…” Fio scratched her head, trying to remember. “A worker–peasant army?”

Andrea furrowed his brow.

“I think one of the mechanics was arguing with the CGL steward about it.”, Fio said. “Or was it USI?”

Gigliola giggled. “Depends on the factory, little sis.”, she joked.

Andrea sighed. “Just what exactly are they planning to do with that worker–peasant army again?”, he asked. “Where do they gather, anyway? Ferrara? Verona?”

Fio failed to realise her grandfather’s question was rhetorical. “Mantova, I think?”, she said. “They were complaining about Venice.”

Andrea, Gigliola, and Fio walked into their house and settled in the living room. The radio was on. Andrea pointed at it. “Any news?”, he asked.

Gigliola’s expression turned grave. “Strikes, factory occupations…”, she said at first. “But it’s gotten worse today.”

“How so?”, Fio asked.

“The CGL and USI declared that the revolution is at hand.”, Gigliola said. “They brought out marchers and Red Guards to seize the weapons depots.”

Andrea sank into a chair. “That must’ve been the crowd…”, he mumbled to himself.

Chapter 2: Shall I Start?

4 September 1920

The phone rang in the Hotel Adriano. Gina walked over and answered it.

“Hello?”, she said.

The voice on the other end was an old friend she hadn’t heard from in a while.

“Nini?”, Gina asked, surprised. “Oh my god, it’s you! You’re alright?”

Gina exhaled in relief. “Thank god you’re alright.”, she said. “Marco’ll be so happy when he hears the news!”

“Yeah, no kidding! I heard there was an insurrection?”

Gina couldn’t believe the news. “Oh, my god…”

“I did, but that was a struggle!” Gina laughed. “I had to get it from one of the Slovene newspapers! The censorship here is ridiculous.”

“It’s fine, Nini.” Gina waved her hand. “So, what happened with that? The socialists walked out of parliament?”

“Didn’t the Radicals join them? I heard Giolitti came to rely on the PE for the government…”

Gina blinked. “What?!” She was astonished. “A rival government? In Rome?”

“Is that what that Florence Manifesto was about? The Slovenes weren’t very clear…”

Gina pondered her friend’s words, and then let out a worldly chuckle. “Can you believe it, Nini?”, she quipped. “We’ve lived to see a revolution in Italy!” She leaned into the receiver and whispered, “Don’t tell Marco though, he might want to join in.”

“I’m so glad. Thank god you’re safe, Nini.” Gina smiled. “You didn’t survive the world war just to give up now!”

Gina sighed. “Honey, all I can say is Fiume isn’t it.”, she said.

“Well, how much do you know? It’s been so long since we talked, what’s the last you’ve heard on Fiume?”

Gina played a bit with the phone cord as she talked. “Good, you’re up to speed.” She sighed. “Those damned nationalists, they’re ruining everything. D’Annunzio and his damned arditi…”

“I’m wondering too!” Gina’s voice grew outraged. “Those thugs, Nini… they’re running around beating people up and force-feeding them castor oil!”

“What you just said!”, Gina said in vigorous agreement. “And D’Annunzio makes these awful balcony addresses and makes us have to listen to ‘em… it’s not safe here, hon. I just hope it won’t get much worse.”

Gina chuckled. “I’m not abandoning my pride and joy.”, she quipped. “You know that, Nini. I won’t let anything happen to the Hotel Adriano.”

“How do you think? Bad. Thanks to this stupid impresa di Fiume, nobody wants to visit! We’re surviving on Marco’s pension and the local customers we get. The good old regulars, you know them.”

Gina smiled. “Oh, yes. You know me, Nini, I’m a master of staying safe. I’m lucky. I’m the luckiest woman in Fiume. Those thugs leave me alone.”

“Yeah. I’m the heart of the city, Nini. I run the best hotel in Fiume, and Marco’s a war hero. They won’t lift a finger against me.”

Gina laughed. “Also, I’ve made calls with Duse and Casati. They’ll raise hel with D’Annunzio if he even dares.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re safe, Nini. That’s one less worry. I’ll give Marco the good news too.”

“Anytime. And please stay safe, honey.” Gina’s voice turned playful. “When it’s safe, you come here in one piece or I’ll spank you. That’s an order.”

Gina giggled. “Will do! Bye, Nini. Stay safe out there.”

Gina hung up the phone. She went to give her husband the good news that their friend was safe.

On the way, she made an amused smile. “We’ll be alright.”, she mumbled to herself. “We’re sons of Rome. Legnano’ll be everywhere.”

Chapter 3: Let the Die Be Cast

19 January 1921

Giulia Martelli was impossible to miss in the whole tumult of the Carlo Goldoni Theatre. Packed full of deputies as it was, she stood out like a vision in green. If it wasn’t her outfit (and sun hat), it was her calm confidence. She had kept apart from all the arguments and shouting matches for four whole days. She had saved her strength for this moment.

Holding the PSI congress in Livorno was an assertion of strength. The revolution had begun and once again it was the North that would determine Italy’s destiny. The Provisional Revolutionary Government was still consolidating its hold on the North. To hold the congress so close to the front line in Tuscany was to spit in the eye of the government they fought against.

Things moved fast. The party and the unions seized the revolutionary moment. Strikes, factory occupations, the ransacking of weapons depots to arm the people. The Red Guards and peasant militias merged into a Red Army. The front against the Royal Army now stretched in an awkward line. Grosetto – Siena – Arezzo – Pesaro-Urbino. The fast advance from Emilia-Romagna to Tuscany even surprised the commanders.

And still, it wasn’t enough. Revolutionary war should’ve brought unity. Now here they were, bickering again. The cause was the Comintern’s 21 Conditions. The showdown was coming.

Giovanni Bacci, presiding over the the congress, announced Giulia’s turn to speak. Giulia stood up. Her posture was confident. Her voice was well-rested. Her arrogance was in full glory.

Her voice boomed across the hall, loud and sharp, with an unexpected touch of playfulness. The poor stenographers and transcribers struggled to keep up. If it wasn't Giulia's speech, it was the inflamed crowd, the booing, the heckling, the cheering.

“Comrades!

We have heard from our honourable members and delegates these last days. I ask for only a moment of your time.

We need unity for this revolution to succeed. That we all agree on. We won’t tolerate sabotage or backstabbing as our brave Red Guards fight.

That said, we can’t accept unity at any price. The differences between us pale in comparison to the brutal fight ahead.

I quote to you the words of our great revolutionary, Garibaldi:

‘Why don't we pull together in one organized group the Freemasonry, democratic societies, workers' clubs, Rationalists, Mutual Aid, etc., which have the same tendency towards good?"’

Garibaldi had the right idea in 1871. It’s still the right idea today. The revolution must proceed in a spirit of alliance and goodwill. We can’t afford to throw anyone overboard. To slam the door in the face of potential allies.

Comrades, I will be blunt. The 21 conditions handed to us by the Comintern are intolerable. We must have the right to pick and choose. We must be able to build the Italian road to socialism.

I want to thank the Comintern delegates for proving my point. They bleat about democratic centralism and whine when they hate the decisions. A mere fig leaf for taking orders from Moscow!

The fact is simple. The Comintern insisting on all 21 conditions? Exactly like Austria-Hungary delivering the July Ultimatum to Serbia.

We are the Italian Socialist Party. We demand an Italian Revolution in Italy. Not a Russian Revolution! Who would want that? They staged their putsch and oppress the people like the Tsar.

I ask you, comrades: how dare Russia presume to order us around? What is Russia? The useless backwater of Europe! A bunch of illiterate farmers and hunters when Rome was the centre of Europe!

The land of Virgil, of Dante, of Donatello and Verdi will not take marching orders from Moscow! Italy is Italy. It will never be Russia or Germany or any other country.

Bordiga is wrong. He spoke of choosing between ‘bourgeois dictatorship or proletarian dictatorship’. We reject dictatorship entirely! We choose democracy.

Comrades, I urge you to reject this odious ultimatum of the 21 conditions. The success of the revolution depends on it. We must form a great alliance of all the democratic and like-minded forces. Everyone is needed for the struggle.

And I urge the Comintern to shut up and do something to actually help us. Send money or volunteers, don’t carp on the sidelines like a football crowd.”

The text of the speech was published in Avanti!. It left out Giulia’s outbursts calling Rákosi a worthless pig and telling Kabakchiev to go get fucked.

Giulia had set off a bomb in the PSI, and that was just the way she liked it.

She gained a name for herself in the party from the speech, and a nickname: Iron Woman.

Chapter 4: The People Decide

5 March 1922

The Piccolo family were walking to their nearest polling station to vote. Most of them dressed in their Sunday best. There were two exceptions. Andrea, the grandfather who was past the age of caring, and Fio, stubborn enough to finally get her way.

Matteo held the hands of his daughters Gigliola and Fio as they walked. He still felt it looked ridiculous. Gigliola was wearing this elegant outfit with a nice hat, and Fio was in a shirt, trousers, and boater. She looked like a worker going to the labour office.

“Grandpa, grandpa!”, Fio said with enthusiasm. “Who’re you gonna vote for?”

Andrea let out a joyful laugh. “Do you even need to ask, Fio?”, he joked. “Of course I’m voting for La Giulia!”

“Me too!”, Fio shouted. She jumped away to hug her grandfather as they walked.

Sandra came over to tease Matteo. “Matteo, if you’re so grumpy, you know you could’ve stayed home, right?”, she joked.

Matteo sighed. “I know, Sandra. I know.”, he said. “I’m just doing my civic duty.”

Sandra laughed and gave him a taunting grin. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna tell yourself.”, she quipped.

“Son, you know she has a point.”, Andrea said. “You don’t have to act like it’s a calvary.”

“I get it, dad. I get it.”, Matteo said, his voice morose.

Fio wandered back over to her father. “Who’re you voting, papa?”

Matteo shook his head. “I don’t like any of the choices.”, he said.

Fio looked confused. “Why not?”, she asked.

Gigliola raised her hand to her mouth and giggled. She loved the way her little sister could stab right through polite fictions and get to the point.

Matteo rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Bombacci is a lunatic.”, he said. His voice dripped with annoyance. “But I don’t know what Martelli stands for.”

“Uh…” Fio scratched her head. “Really? Didn’t you read her speeches?”

“I did, Fio, I did.”, Matteo said. His annoyance melted away, replaced by fatherly exhaustion. “She says all the nice stuff about liberty.”

Fio nodded vigorously.

“But I’m not sure about the popular front.”, he said. “How does she expect to pull together all the radicals and leftists and whatnot?”

Fio rushed over and held Gigliola’s hand. “If she’s anything like my big sis, she can do it!”, she said.

Matteo looked at Gigliola and joked, “I think Fio’s just disappointed she can’t vote for you.”

They laughed.

---

The polling station was packed. Three tricolours hung on the walls of the room. Two rows of voting booths were available. A table stood at the entrance, where four election workers oversaw it all.

Fio was jumpy. She ran over to a free chair and asked, “Sorry, is this seat taken?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”, the election worker replied.

Defeated, Fio slunk back over to her family.

The Piccolos took turns by age. Grandpa Andrea went first. Matteo and his brother followed. Then Sandra, Marietta, and Gigliola. Then Fio.

When it was Matteo’s turn, he presented his identification. The electoral worker handed him a ballot. Matteo went to the booth.

Fio waved and called out, “Vote well, dad!”

One of the election workers shot her a mild glare. “Young lady, please respect the secret ballot.”, he said.

Gigliola pulled Fio close to her and put her hand over Fio’s mouth. “It’s all solved, Mr. Election Worker.”, Gigliola said in a sugary tone, giving her broadest smile. “She’s very sorry and she won’t do it again.”

The election worker nodded and said, “Thank you very much.”

Later, Fio’s turn came up. She went into the booth.

Matteo leaned over and said, “Gigliola, what would I do without you, my dear.”

Gigliola laughed.

“You’re the only one who can make Fio shut up.”, her father joked.

“Only for a few minutes.”, Gigliola replied.

Matteo thought how fortunate he was that Gigliola could keep Fio in line. His wife’s death had been hard on them all. He wasn’t the most adept at raising a daughter alone. Thank god for Gigliola.

---

The next morning, Fio woke up slowly. She went to the kitchen. She found Gigliola and her cousins there.

Gigliola smiled upon seeing her little sister. “Morning, sleepyhead.”, she joked.

“Aw, don’t get on my back, big sis.”, Fio quipped. She still yawned and stretched.

“What kind of big sis would I be if I didn’t break my little sis’ balls for every little thing?”, Gigliola said with a laugh.

Fio giggled and wandered over, letting Gigliola stroke her hair. “The duty of a big sis, eh?”, Fio said.

Gigliola giggled.

“Just remember, big sis!”, Fio said, affecting some comical grandeur. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to!”

“I know, little sis, I know.”, Gigliola said with affection. “You have no idea how many people I have to fight off.”

Fio laughed. She joined in to help them prepare breakfast.

“So, who won?”, Fio asked.

Gigliola chuckled. “And I thought I kept the radio quiet enough…”, she joked.

“Not like I can hear anything from upstairs, you know!”, Fio joked. “So, who won?”

“Alright, alright.”, Gigliola said with a laugh. “They still have some votes to count. Absentee ballots from the front. But they counted most of ‘em.”

Fio looked at her big sister with excitement. “And?”, she asked.

Gigliola gave her little sister a delighted grin. “La Giulia won. The last count said 58% to 42%.”

Fio cheered.

Chapter 5: The Emir’s Move

9 September 1922

Idris as-Senussi stood in front of the window. This side of Al-Manar Palace faced towards Benghazi’s port. He saw the trees in the royal garden and, beyond them, the docks and the Mediterranean Sea.

Idris had his hands behind his back. He looked calmly outside. This was in contrast to the commotion in the room behind him. His advisors were having a heated argument around a table.

It was the same argument they’d had for two years. The Senussi Order’s relations with the Italian government deteriorated. At the same time, the Italian government was stuck in a civil war. The calculus was now fiendish in its complications.

The advisors argued again and again, rehashing the same points. Should Idris accept the offer to extend the Emirate of Cyrenaica into Tripolitania? Would breaking the Al-Rajma Agreement anger the Italian government? More importantly, was Italy’s wrath worth anything these days? The kingdom couldn’t even put down an insurrection in its north.

Even moving onto new points got the advisors nowhere. Should the Emirate wait it out and see who prevailed? Should they hope for the revolutionaries’ triumph? It was just circling the wagons, again and again.

Today saw the impasse finally broken. The chief of the cabinet walked into the room with an announcement. “Your majesty. Honourable ministers.”

The commotion died down and all eyes turned to him. Idris walked away from the window and sat at the head of the table.

“We have received a reply from the Northern Italians.”, the cabinet chief said. He held aloft a piece of paper. “They have sent a démarche in response to our inquiries.”

“Excellent news.”, Idris said. “What does it say?”

The cabinet chief approached the table. He cleared his throat and began to read:

“From: the Provisional Revolutionary Council of Italy

To: the Emir of Cyrenaica

The Provisional Revolutionary Council wishes to make the following clarifications:

• We have no objection to unification of Cyrenaica and Tripolitania. We believe it would be best for improving local administration.
• We view the Legge Fondamentale and Al-Rajma Agreement as merely starting points for negotiation. Our goal is equality of Italians and Libyans.
• We wish to realise a full democracy in Libya. We leave the decision on the final form of government to Libyans.
• As socialists, we condemn imperialism in all its forms. We want to transform the colonies into full and equal partners.

Our proposal is as follows:

• A joint Italo-Libyan condominium.
• Joint Italian and Libyan citizenship for all inhabitants of Libya.
• Full autonomy for the Libyan administration.

All further details will be negotiated on the principle of equality.

We eagerly await your reply.”

The table was silent. Idris’ advisors looked at each other in surprise. They couldn’t believe just how favourable were the terms offered.

“Praise be to Allah, this is incredible!”, one of the advisors cried out. “This is a far better offer than we could ever dream of!”

Idris gave a slight smile as he leaned forward on the table. “Well, gentlemen.”, he said, drawing the room’s attention. “I guess that settles our question. We must now hope that these revolutionaries win.”

He looked at his cabinet chief. “Send a message to Tripolitania: we accept their proposal.”, he said.

The cabinet chief nodded and left the room.

One of the advisers looked apprehensive. “Sire…”, he said, nervous. “Allah willing, we must also hope the royalists don’t strike first.”

Chapter 6: Flight Over Cagliari

20 October 1923

The girls of the Cottone Squadron stood together on top of Mount Capanne. The sun was setting behind clouds, leaving a striking red and blue sky in its wake.

Leona, the squadron leader, stood with arms akimbo and smiled proudly. “Excellent work, girls.”, she said. “That was a job well done.”

Emma nodded, holding her hands intertwined in front of her. “It is nice to not have to worry about being shot down.”, she said.

“The only thing I feared was the local authorities.”, Catherine said in an emotionless voice. “It was unfortunate that my engine caught trouble. Without that, we wouldn’t need that stopover in Corsica.”

Emma reached out and put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Catherine.”, she said, giving Catherine a sympathetic smile. “It all worked out in the end.”

Catherine murmured. She thought of the risk that the locals would’ve mistaken their Ansaldo A.300 planes for bombers. They were general-purpose, that was true. The squadron’s task had been fly over Sardinia and drop airborne leaflets in Cagliari.

Kyrie put her right hand on her forehead to shield her eyes from the sunset. “Ah, you would’ve gotten us out of it anyways, Catia!”, she said with a laugh. “You and your brother are the only ones we know who speak French!”

The Cottone Squadron was cosmopolitan by the standards of Italy. They had a Griko (Kyrie), a Valdôtain (Catherine), a Lombard (Leona), a Sicilian (Zara), a Venetian (Emma). And also, a Spaniard known only by the nickname “Chica”. Her attempts to be counted as a member met protests that she was too young to pilot.

Catherine sighed. “The Corsicans wouldn’t understand me, Kyrie.”, she protested. Every time, she tried to remind Kyrie she and Alain spoke Valdôtain, to no avail. Kyrie seemed to think that all Francophones spoke French. If Catherine was more like Zara or Leona, she’d tease Kyrie back. She’d say that by the same logic, all Italians spoke Tuscan. That’d send Kyrie right into a froth.

“It’s a lovely sunset.”, Emma said.

“Sure is!”, Zara piped in. “And you know what a lovely sunset means? An a-maaaazing night awaits us!”

Leona gave an awkward chuckle. She had to admire Zara’s single-mindedness. It seemed to keep her at ease in life. No matter how stressful things got, Zara’s brain was fully occupied by having a good time. They would survive aerial battles and Zara would get off thinking of nothing but a beer and a good lay.

Chica lit up with enthusiasm. “Can I come?”, she said.

“No!”, Leona shot back, bursting into laughter. “You’re too young!”

“Ahh, you meanie!”, Chica replied. “You always say that!”

Leona was too busy laughing to reply.

“We should head back.”, Catherine said. “Unless we plan to spend the night in Elba.”

“Only if I was having my honeymoon!”, Zara shouted in response.

Leona giggled. “With a rich husband?”, she said in a playful voice.

Zara nodded vigorously. “Of course!”, she said. “How else would I have a honeymoon?”

---

The squadron landed in Follonica for the night. It wasn’t Milano, but it wasn’t Elba either, and that was good enough for Zara.

Getting out of the plane, Zara laughed. She found a copy of the propaganda leaflet, forgotten in the plane. She handed it to the mechanic as she got out. She had a task: get pleasantly sloshed on beer and find mutual happiness with some cute boys.

The mechanic shrugged and tried to read the leaflet, curious. It was a real struggle. It was in Sardinian, and he only spoke Tuscan.

If he knew Sardinian, he would’ve read as follows:

"SARDINIANS!

For decades the monarchy exploited and mistreated you. The chameleons in government did nothing for you, as they did nothing for Italy. They made deals among themselves to make friends rich and cared nothing for the toilers.

We welcome your liberation from the monarchy. You are a proud people that deserve happiness and prosperity. We greet you as friends.

SARDINIANS!

Our promise is simple: we want a new Italy.

An Italy where all regions thrive and live together in harmony. An Italy without rich regions exploiting poor ones. An Italy that respects all regional cultures.

You deserve a strong role in the creation of a new Italy. We invite you to negotiations to reach suitable terms.

Join with the Popular Democratic Front, and you will have autonomy, prosperity, and peace.

LONG LIVE ITALY!"

Chapter 7: A Royal Pain

11 November 1924

Giulia Martelli stood on the pier of the harbour at Civitavecchia. It was a cold autumn day. The sun was in the sky but the temperature on the ground was low. However, Giulia’s usual outfit kept her warm, as did her comforting arrogance. She stood with pride, back straightened and gaze fixed directly ahead.

A ship entered the harbour. It flew the flag of the Italian Kingdom. Giulia gave a smug grin upon seeing it. If today went well, they would finally end this horrible civil war.

The ship docked into the harbour. Queen Elena of Italy came down the plank and walked onto the pier. She wore a thick fur coat with a scarf and a small feathered hat. Her outfit was somehow gaudier and tasteless compared to Giulia’s subtle elegance.

Giulia shook Elena’s hand, and raised her hat out of respect. “Your majesty.”, she said. “It’s an honour to have you here.”

“Thank you, Madam Prime Minister.”, Elena replied.

“Should we get going then?”, Giulia asked.

Elena nodded. “Lead the way.”, she said.

Giulia and Elena walked out of the port, and got into Giulia’s limousine. The limousine drove them to the appropriate meeting place.

In the limousine, Giulia and Elena had polite smiles, but the atmosphere was so thick you could cut it with a knife. They made halting attempts at small talk. The polite façade proved as resilient as the awkwardness of the situation itself.

---

Giulia and Elena entered the meeting room. They removed their hats and jackets. They made themselves comfortable. They sat on two comfortable chairs facing each other. A small table was between them. Giulia rested her arms on the armrests. Elena sat with her hands intertwined in front of her.

They were both served tea. Giulia drank it with aplomb. Seeing Giulia drink made Elena smile. The queen thought with amusement that Giulia had such British tastes.

Giulia made an encouraging gesture. “Your majesty, I suggest we get right to it.”, she said.

Elena nodded. “Very well, Madam Prime Minister.”, she said. “I’m here today because I hope we can come to terms.”

“Yes, god willing.”, Giulia said. “To finally put an end to this awful war.”

“Madam Prime Minister, I’ll be straight.”, the queen said. “I understand the situation. The tide has turned against us. Nonetheless, I want to thank you for being here. I trust you, and I believe we can find an honourable agreement.”

Giulia nodded. She felt honoured to hear the queen talking about her in such terms.

“I accept that the throne may be lost.”, Elena continued. “My only wish is that our lives won’t be.”

Giulia smiled. “You have nothing to worry about, your majesty.”, she said. “I give you my word there won’t be any Bolshevism in Italy.”

Elena breathed in and out. “I trust you with that, Madam Prime Minister.”, she said.

“We are reasonable people, my colleagues and I.”, Giulia said. “We won’t allow any kind of Bolshevik terrors.”

Elena looked at Giulia. “You’ve backed up your words with action.”, she said. “That is good.”

Giulia couldn’t tell if the queen was trying to look strong or invite pity.

Elena sighed. “Madam Prime Minister, we have to find an agreement quickly.”, she said, dejected. “I’m speaking to you now as a wife and mother. It makes me sick to see so many Italians killing each other.”

“I feel the same, your majesty.”, Giulia said. Her voice was reassuring. “I pray for this nightmare to end so that the nation may heal.”

Elena swallowed empty. “I’m also worried about the sort of people who try to bend my husband’s ear…”, she said.

“Oh?”, Giulia said.

Elena looked at Giulia with a sad expression. “You won’t believe some of the lunatics that try to sneak around us.”, she said. “Some are trying to convince my husband to take refuge in Somalia!”

Giulia blinked. “Your majesty…” She hesitated. “Surely the king isn’t taking this nonsense seriously?”

“I certainly hope not.”, Elena replied. Her tone didn’t inspire confidence.

Giulia cleared her throat. “Your majesty, that just makes it imperative to reach agreement today.”, she said.

Elena nodded.

“I want to give you the word first.”, Giulia said. She pointed with her open palms at the queen. “Please, tell me your terms first.”

Elena tried to laugh, but it came out sounding weak and sad. “You flatter me, Madam Prime Minister.”, she said. “Thank you for considering this a negotiation. Honourable as it is, I understand the situation.” Her gaze sank for a moment into the floor, before returning to Giulia’s eyes. “I’m in no position to demand anything but our safety.”

Giulia nodded. “In that case, your majesty…”, she said. “I will offer you my most generous terms.”

“I am listening.”, Elena said.

Giulia picked up two papers from the table and gave a copy to Elena. She then began reading from hers. “First, the royal military forces will surrender unconditionally. We will guarantee their safety and well-being in exchange.”

Elena followed along as she read.

“The throne will be abolished, and Italy made a republic.”, Giulia continued. “The Savoy family will remain in Italy as citizens. They will be granted a state pension to ensure a decent standard of living.”

Elena nodded. This did at least cheer her up a little.

“The nation will take over all of the Savoy properties and possessions.”, Giulia added.

“In other words, confiscation of wealth.”, Elena said.

Giulia gave Elena a bemused look. “Your majesty…”, she said. “Imagine for a moment we’re on a balcony overlooking Piazza Montecitorio. Imagine trying to announce to a crowd that the Savoys would keep their wealth.”

Elena nodded, dejected. “Of course.”, she said.

“Your majesty, please do your best.”, Giulia said. “Do what you can to have your husband accept these terms.”

“I give you my word, Madam Prime Minister.”, Elena replied.

The two shook hands.

“Your house united Italy.”, Giulia said, trying to console her. “Nothing can take that from you. If we can reach agreement, I promise your dignity will be protected.”

Chapter 8: History Reaches Eboli

13 February 1925

The sun rose through scattered clouds. The day was awful cold.

A distant noise disturbed the air in the distance. The sound of feet in combat boots. The sound of a scout plane flying overhead.

The Red Army marched into Eboli, coming down from the hills.

They marched through the streets. Locals saw them through open windows. Most stared, listless. Only one or two waved or saluted.

The division commander made straight for the mayor’s office. He planned a meeting in the city square. The mayor sighed and said he’d do his best to bring the residents in.

It was near noon. A crowd of disinterested Ebolians gathered in the city square. They wore thick coats, and their breath was visible in the winter air.

The division commander climbed a platform. He was gonna have his moment, no matter what. “Ebolians!”, he shouted.

The crowd looked at him in silence.

“You have been liberated from the clutches of the horrible monarchy!”, he said. “We welcome you, our brothers and sisters, into the republic!”

Blank stares.

The commander felt flustered. “No longer will you be oppressed by the reactionaries!”, he continued. “You are free from the parasitic landowners!”

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop in the wind.

The commander tried to soldier on. “Long live the republic!”

One of the residents in the front row looked annoyed.

“We ask for your collaboration.”, the commander said. “This dastardly war is nearly over. We welcome any volunteers for our push towards Potenza.”

The crowd scattered without a word.

Chapter 9: You’re Gonna Have to Get Used to It

30 April 1925

It was a big day. The Augustus Room of the Quirinal Palace was packed with reporters. Photographers took photos. Cameramen filmed footage for newsreels. Sound recorders held up microphones. Journalists took notes.

Giulia Martelli rose to the occasion. She tamped down her arrogance for the sake of the occasion. Her facial expression was solemn and neutral. Her responsibility today was to complete the ceremony with grace. She could do it in her sleep.

Two people were seated at a table in the Augustus Room. Giulia Martelli, Prime Minister of Italy, and Victor Emmanuel III, King of Italy. Their respective spouses, Queen Elena and Franco Martelli, stood next to the chairs. Both looked on the ceremony with earnest expressions.

Victor Emmanuel was in the worst day of his life. The revolution won. The royalists retreated to their last holdout, in Calabria. Elena desperately pushed her husband to accept the generous terms offered by Giulia. Other advisers pulled him to take refuge either on the islands, or in the colonies.

The insurrections in Sardinia and Sicily forced his hand. If the Red Army wanted, it could pincer the royalists through Sicily and Basilicata. There was no way out but to surrender.

Victor Emmanuel and Giulia signed their respective documents.

Victor Emmanuel’s was a statement of abdication:

“I renounce for all time claims to the throne of Italy and related thrones.

I release all officers of Italy from their oath of loyalty to me.

The same applies for all troops and officials.

I call on officials and troops to render assistance to the state and protect the Italian people from danger.

Proclaimed under my own hand and with the imperial seal attached.

Rome, 30 April 1925.

Signed: VICTOR EMMANUEL”

Giulia’s was a proclamation:

“The Provisional Revolutionary Government accepts the abdication of Victor Emmanuel.

The House of Savoy abandons all claims to the throne.

The Republic of Italy hereby exists.

The people will decide the form of the state.

The state accepts its responsibility for the well-being and safety of the Savoy family as agreed in surrender terms.

Rome, 30 April 1925.

Signed: GIULIA MARTELLI, Prime Minister of Italy”

The signing finished quickly. Giulia and Victor Emmanuel looked up for the cameras. Giulia maintained a neutral expression. She wanted to squelch any hint of triumphalism. Being a stick in the mud was awful, but the moment required it. Giulia repeated to the party to save the celebration for later.

Giulia cleared her throat. “I will give the word to His Majesty, for his abdication speech.”, she said.

Victor Emmanuel looked at Giulia. Losing everything he’d ever known and worked for was painful. Still, he appreciated how well Giulia treated him since the surrender. No taunting. No insensitivity. Giulia had been respectful and deferential every time they met.

He was forced to concede that for all his hatred of socialists, Giulia would’ve been a fine Prime Minister.

Victor Emmanuel looked to the journalists assembled. He made a few remarks. His voice was hoarse and weak. His eyes were sad and defeated. He talked about how he had done everything to serve Italy. He mentioned the great sacrifices required of kings. He talked about his leadership in the Great War and his regret that Italy had suffered so much since.

He ended with a hope for reconciliation among Italians.

Victor Emmanuel looked at Giulia and nodded. Giulia nodded and turned towards the press. She put down her pen and intertwined her fingers on the table.

“I want to take a moment to acknowledge the service the House of Savoy has done Italy.”, she said. “They unified Italy. They were our monarchs. They led Italy through some of its greatest storms.”

The past tense stung Victor Emmanuel.

“I want to pay tribute to the King and Queen for their part in the Great War. They gave us an example of courage and public service that will never be forgotten. And, Your Majesty, we will never forget your help during the Messina earthquake.”

Elena put her hand over her chest.

“In war, there are no victors and losers.”, Giulia said. “There is only suffering, and pain, and tears. This fratricide has been a dark chapter in the history of Italy. Today, we end our national calvary. We put down our weapons and begin to rebuild.”

Giulia’s husband looked at her with admiration.

“As socialists, our quarrel is with systems, not men.”, she continued. “In peace, we are all Italians again. My government will do its duty and treat the Savoys with the respect they deserve. It’s civilisation that separates us from despots and barbarians.”

She turned to look at Victor Emmanuel and Elena, and gave them a nod. She faced the press again. “In closing, I want to say this. Long live the Republic, and god save the king.”

Victor Emmanuel and Giulia then stood up and shook hands. Giulia gave him one last bow.

Chapter 10: Celebrate Good Times

2 May 1925

“Long live the republic!”, Zara cried out with enthusiasm. She was already wobbling a bit on her feet, and held onto Leona to stabilise herself.

“Hooray for victory!”, Chica shouted and raised her small glass to meet Zara’s beer mug.

Leona prepared to drink from her mug as well, and looked at Zara. She had a warm, satisfied smile.

The Cottone Squadron crowded into a local tavern to celebrate the end of war. Thursday, the monarchy surrendered. Italy was now a republic. While Giulia did her best to keep the surrender ceremony solemn, it was only for that day.

News still travelled, and Italy still processed the enormity of the occasion. The North, radicalised behind the socialists, held the most raucous celebrations. The South, where the monarchy made its last stand, tended more mournful. The islands were ambivalent, waiting for the government to fulfil its promises.

“Magnificent work, everyone.”, Leona said. “I’ve never been prouder in my life. You’re the greatest squadron I’ve been fortunate to work with.” She drank from her mug.

“And you’re the best leader we’ve been lucky to have!”, Kyrie said through a mouthful of food.

The table before them was almost scandalous in its excess. Three beer mugs, two glasses, one teapot and teacup for Emma. There was too much food to eat. Everything from pancakes to cold cuts to bread and cheese, soup, and grilled meat.

Of course, the squadron wasn’t planning to eat all that. It would be impossible. They’d share it with others. The tavern anticipated a large crowd. Friday was a day off already, for International Workers’ Day. It could be the most sustained celebration Italians ever attempted since the city-states.

Emma looked at Catherine. “Cate”, she said playfully, “you’re smiling.”

Catherine swallowed her food and turned to Emma. She really was smiling. “Yes.”, she replied, her voice flat as ever. “I’m happy, Emma.”

Emma giggled.

“This is the happiest day of my life.”, Catherine added.

Emma put her hand around Catherine’s shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “Awww, Cate.”, Emma said, rubbing her face against Catherine’s. “Never change.”

Catherine didn’t understand.

“Oi, Kyrie, pass me some of that cheese!”, Zara said.

Kyrie laughed. “Don’t you want bread with that too?”, she said.

“Yeah, sure!”, Zara replied, slurring her words. “Bread ‘n cheese! Nail pulls out nail!”

Leona laughed. No wonder Zara could drink ‘em all under the table. Even while drinking, she thought ahead to avoiding hangovers.

Chapter 11: You’re Invisible Now

4 May 1925 

The doors flung open. Giulia stormed into the EIAR office with the zeal of a driven woman. Her husband Franco ran to keep up behind her. He’d never seen Giulia so indignant. He quietly thanked god he wasn’t the cause of it.

Giulia found the nearest EIAR employees and declared, “I want to make a broadcast to the people.”

The employee, intimidated, showed Giulia to the broadcast room.

Others who passed by and saw Giulia’s determined walk knew what that meant.

EIAR interrupted its regular programming for Giulia to address the nation.

“Italians.”, she said, her voice grave. “Today, a heinous crime took place. A murderer tried to kill the former King and Queen in Naples.”

The news shocked employees in the studio.

“They are unharmed, thank god. The King escaped injury. The Queen was hurt in the leg and treated in hospital. We all pray for her quick recovery.”

Franco stood in the doorway and watched in silence.

“The criminal is in police custody.”, Giulia said. “The legal system will do its duty. I want to condemn this heinous crime. It is monstrous to try and kill the former King and Queen. They are retired. They live in peace and disturb no one.”

Giulia held her throat for a second and quietly swallowed.

“I won’t tolerate any attempts to stir up fratricidal violence. It is a disgrace to the nation. We are better than that. We are a nation of laws, not an eye for an eye. I ask that all Italians do their duty and stand together. Let our voice be heard loud and clear. We reject vengeance. We embrace peace.”

Chapter 12: The Introduction of a New Order of Things

25 July 1925

The doorbell rang at the Piccolo residence.

“Oh, could you get that please, Fio?”, Gigliola asked.

“Sure, big sis!”, Fio replied.

Fio scampered to the door with enthusiasm. She opened it and saw a tall man wearing the uniform and cap of the Poste Italiane.

“Hello!”, Fio said cheerfully.

“Good morning.”, the postman replied. “The Piccolo family residence?”

Fio nodded. “Mhm!”

The postman handed her a document, a small bound pamphlet with several pages and no covering. “This is for you.”

“Thank you.”, Fio said as she took the pamphlet.

Fio closed the door and headed back to the living room. “We’ve got mail!”, she announced, holding it aloft.

“Oh, what is it?”, Gigliola asked.

Fio’s older sister, father, and grandfather congregated in the living room.

“It’s from the government.”, Fio said, studying the front page. “An… administrative reform.”

The Piccolo family huddled around the table and started reading.

The front page had the Italian tricolour and the Stella d’Italia. Below was the large text: “POPULAR CONSULTATION ON ADMINISTRATIVE REFORM”.

The family turned the page and read on:

“The Provisional Revolutionary Government presents the following proposal to Italians. Administrative reform for efficiency, modernisation, and better government.

All comuni and frazioni will organise public discussions and votes. Suggestions from the people are paramount for the success of administrative reform.”

At the bottom were the signatures of Giulia Martelli, the Prime Minister, and the relevant minister.

“Oh, it’s just like the new constitution.”, Matteo said, rubbing his chin. “More public meetings for us, then.”

Andrea patted his son on the back. “Come on, son, it’s not that bad.”, he joked. “It’s nice to get the whole town in a place and hash out ideas.”

Matteo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, dad, you’re assuming a lot from people.”, he muttered.

They turned to the next page.

“THE PRINCIPLES OF LOCAL ADMINISTRATION

• The government pursues decentralisation. Our final goal is to make Italy a federal republic.
• All issues must be solved at the most local level possible.
• Citizens must take interest in public affairs and govern themselves. Participation in the life of society is the only guarantee of collective progress.
• Too many administrative divisions produce chaos. Too few administrative divisions produce tyranny. The government urges local mergers to find the ideal number suitable for governance.

THE ORGANISATION

• The comune is the basic administrative division.
• Small comuni are encouraged to merge into larger ones to increase vitality and efficiency.
• The provinces will merge into larger units, named regions.
• Regions will have autonomy. They will receive all taxes levied there, and collect local taxes. They will be responsible for their share of nationwide public services.
• Regions will promote and use local languages. They will respect the rights of minorities.

THE LOCAL GOVERNMENT

• Each comune will elect a consiglio comunale. The consiglio comunale will elect the giunta comunale. The head of the giunta comunale will be the sindaco.
• Each region will elect a consiglio regionale. The consiglio regionale will elect the giunta regionale. The head of the giunta regionale will be the governatore.
• The Italian Parliament will be elected by the people. The Chamber of Deputies will be elected by direct vote. The Senate will have delegates from workers’ councils and other professional bodies.

Except Parliament, all legislatures will be unicameral. All elections will use proportional representation.“

“I’m surprised to see some of that Taparelli language…”, Andrea remarked.

Matteo scoffed. “Ah, they just did that as a sop to the popularists.”, he said. “They blather on about Cattaneo and Garibaldi the rest of the time…”

The next several pages had a table of proposed regions, with some territorial changes:

Region	Provinces	Capital	Languages
Savoia	Alta Savoia, Bassa Savoia	Sciamberi	Arpitan
Valle d’Aosta	Valle d’Aosta, the Arpitan parts of Torino	Aosta	Arpitan, Walser
Piedmont	Torino, Cuneo, Asti, Alessandria, Biella, Vercelli, Cusio-Ossola	Torino	Piedmontese, Occitan, Walser
Nizza	Nizza	Nizza	Occitan
Liguria	Imperia, Savona, Genova, La Spezia, Oltregiogo	Genova	Ligurian
Lombardia	Novara, Verbano, Varese, Milano, Pavia, Lodi, Monza, Brianza, Como, Lecco, Sondrio, Bergamo, Cremona, Brescia, Mantova	Milano	Lombard
Trentino	Trentino	Trento	Ladin
Südtirol	Alto Aldige	Bolzano	German, Ladin
Veneto	Verona, Vicenza, Padova, Rovigo, Venezia, Treviso, Belluno	Venezia	Venetian
Friuli	Pordenone, Udine	Udine	Friulian, Venetian, German
Venezia Giulia	Gorizia, Trieste, Pola	Trieste	Venetian, Friulian, Slovene, Croatian
Emilia-Romagna	Piacenza, Parma, Reggio Emilia, Modena, Bologna, Ferrara, Ravenna, Forlì, Cesena, Rimini	Bologna	Emilian, Romagnol
Toscana	Massa, Carrara, Lucca, Pistoia, Prato, Firenze, Arezzo, Pisa, Livorno, Grosseto, Siena	Firenze	Tuscan
Umbria	Perugia, Terni	Perugia	Italian
Marche	Pesaro, Urbino, Ancona, Macerata, Fermo, Ascoli Piceno	Ancona	Italian
Lazio	Viterbo, Rieti, Roma, Frosinone, Latina	Roma	Italian
Abruzzo	L’Aquila, Teramo, Pescara, Chieti	L’Aquila	Neapolitan
Molise	Isemia, Campobasso	Campobasso	Neapolitan, Slavomolisano
Campania	Caserta, Benevento, Napoli, Avellino, Salerno	Napoli	Neapolitan
Lucania	Matera, Potenza	Potenza	Neapolitan
Apulia	Foggia, Barletta, Andria, Trani, Bari, Taranto, Brindisi, Lecce	Bari	Neapolitan, Griko
Calabria	Cosenza, Crotone, Catanzaro, Vibo Valentia, Reggio Calabria	Catanzaro	Neapolitan, Occitan, Griko, Arbëresh
Sicilia	Trapani, Palermo, Agrigento, Caltanissetta, Enna, Messina, Catania, Siracusa, Ragusa	Palermo	Sicilian
Sardinia	Sassari, Oristano, Nuoro, Campidano, Cagliari	Cagliari	Sardinian, Catalan, Corsican
Corsica	Pumonte, Cismonte	Ajaccio	Corsican, Ligurian

“Well, I didn’t understand any of that.”, Fio announced cheerfully.

The family laughed.

Chapter 13: The Fasci Siciliani Reborn

9 August 1925

Scattered clouds passed through the otherwise blue skies over Sicily. The temperature was high, and people could swear they felt the scirocco. Further down south, that meant blood rains. Up towards Palermo, it only made people grouchy and on edge.

On any other day, there was little remarkable in the fields between Altofonte and Piana dei Greci. The land sloped and rose in small hills. Grass, trees, shrubland, and woodland, as far as one could see.

Today was not any other day. A large crowd stood gathered on one of the smaller hills. The men and women alike waited with a mixture of anticipation and annoyance. They faced a small Red Army platoon.

Their impatience was at last rewarded. The woman who organised the whole rally walked into view. She stood in front of the soldiers and faced the crowd. She had shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. The fact that she had make-up for the occasion surprised a few. She wore a dark shirt with a maroon jacket, unbuttoned, and pants.

Already, some of the men rolled their eyes. This woman’s strut and her obvious self-confidence grated on them already. They’d come all this way to listen to a woman prattle?

“Sicilians!”, she shouted. The call went right through the crowd and drew attention to her. Satisfied to be the focus, she continued.

“How many of you here today have an ancestor who was in Garibaldi’s thousand?”

Her voice was commanding, sure of itself. She spoke a Sicilian so thick and unvarnished, it was like she summoned the spirit of the island itself.

One hand rose within the crowd. The woman grinned.

“How many of you here today have an ancestor who was in the Redshirts?”, she asked.

A few more hands rose this time.

“How many of you here today have an ancestor who was in the Fasci Siciliani?”, she asked.

More hands rose.

The edges of her mouth curled upwards. She looked very pleased with how this was going.

“How many of you here today have suffered at the hands of the landlords and the mafiosi?”, she demanded.

Almost the entire crowd raised their hand.

“Sicilians.”, she continued, in a relaxed but still imposing tone. “The revolution has come to Sicily. It has come to help you. The government is behind you. The Red Army is behind you. It is time to finally liberate the island from the bloodsuckers that strangle it. We are here to help you achieve a Sicily without the landlords and the Mafia.”

“And why the hel should we listen to you?”, one angry voice came from the crowd. “Did Rome send a woman to boss us around again?”

The woman chuckled. She knew this would come up, and it was time to face it head-on.

“For starters, I’m a Sicilian, like you all.”, she said. She almost exaggerated her accent to drive the point home. “I’m Dimitra La Vardia. I’ve fought with the Red Army in the North. I’m not here to boss you around. I’m here to arm the people and make a new Fasci Siciliani.”

“Bullshit!”, the angry voice replied. “Why should we trust you?”

Dimitra stood calm for a moment and let the question hang in the air. Her smile of determination didn’t falter. She waved with her hand towards her back. “The platoon behind me, I was their commander.”, she said. “Ask the men about it, if you wish. About how we fought at Modena, Empoli, Ancona, or Pescara.”

Whispers within the crowd. The names of some of these battles had reached even rural Sicily.

“And I repeat: I’m not here to command.”, she said. “I’m here to arm you and support the new Fasci Siciliani. The revolution stands with the Sicilians. Italy will do its utmost to help Sicilians liberate themselves.”

Silence, and yet more murmured discussions in the crowd. The statement hung in the air.

Dimitra grinned, and stood with arms akimbo. “So.”, she said. She thrust her right arm forward and her pointer finger stabbed the air, aimed at the crowd. “Any volunteers?”

Chapter 14: Scenes from the Anti-Mafia Struggle in Southern Italy

Notes:

Just so you know, this is the scene that bumped up the fic rating to Mature.

15 December 1925

The night was falling on San Cipirello. Thick clouds blocked sunlight and obscured the twilight. Deserted cobblestone streets and closed doors and windows as far as the eye could see. Some of the buildings showed their scars from the Sicilian insurrection.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, piercing the silence. A man ran down the stairs on Via Gulino. His breath was frantic, his desperation palpable. He almost tripped at the bottom of the stairs, but steadied himself and continued his mad dash.

He found himself cornered at the intersection of Via Gulino and Via Roma. Dimitra La Vardia thrust her sword and held it up against his throat. She backed him up to the wall and smirked.

“Signore Francesco Cuccia, I presume?”, she said. Her mocking tone made clear the mockery behind the affected politeness.

Francesco looked at the sword next to him with fear. He tried to muster some kind of defiance when looking at Dimitra.

“Also known as Don Ciccio.”, Dimitra added. She savoured the moment, and her voice reflected it. “Do I have that right?”

Francesco made a movement of his hand. Dimitra swung her sword and blocked him. She cut the gun holster from his pants. In the process, she tore a hole in the side of his pants.

“Ah-ah-ah.”, Dimitra said. She held her sword to Francesco’s throat and wagged her other hand’s index finger. “I wouldn’t try anything like that, my good sir. I suppose you’re unaware of the gravity of the situation.”

Francesco looked at Dimitra with contempt. “Tch.”, he spat out. “What’re you gonna do, send me to court? Send me to prison?” He gave a haughty laugh. “You think that would do anything?”

Dimitra giggled, with girlish glee. “Oh no, my dear sir, not at all.”, she replied. Her affected politeness grew more aggressive and sarcastic. “You’re already guilty. We’re only executing the sentence.”

“Sentence?”, Francesco yelled. “What sentence? What court has convicted me?”

Dimitra laughed. “Quite interesting.”, she said. “You care about rights now. That’s more than you cared for the rights of Mariano Barbato and Giorgio Pecoraro. That’s more than you cared for the socialist candiates.”

Francesco tried to escape. Dimitra blocked his way and bashed him in the head with the back of her sword. She forced him on his knees and tied his hands. She sheathed her sword and dragged him up.

“Ugh.”, Francesco groaned. “Well?”, he demanded, impatient. “Aren’t you gonna kill me already?”

Dimitra laughed as she forced Francesco to walk. “Oh, no, not me.”, she said. “Have you never had a cat before? Does a cat kill a mouse right away and eat it?”

Francesco glared.

“Anyway, it’s not my business.”, Dimitra quipped. “It’s up to the good people of Piana dei Greci.”

Dimitra marched Francesco to the nearest detachment of Nuovi Fasci Siciliani. They bundled him into a car and drove away.

---

Dimitra and her detachment hurried back to Piana dei Greci. On arrival, she spread the word through town. The locals roused themselves in the late hour. They scurried through the narrow streets. The only place they found to assemble was a small green field near Via Giorgio Kastriota.

Francesco Cuccia, bound and gagged, at the people’s mercy. He was on his knees, two Fasci members pointing bayonets at him in case he moved.

The villagers cursed at him, spat at him, kicked him. The hour was late but the collective anger was being unleashed.

“You killed my brother, you fucking scum!”, a villager shouted, punching Francesco. “How do you like it now?” He kicked him in the chest.

One of the Fasci forced Francesco back up into kneeling. The other tapped on the villager’s shoulder.

“Hey.”, he said, his voice neutral. “Others want a turn.”

The villager stepped aside with reluctance, as somebody else took their turn.

Dimitra watched as villagers had a shouting match over what to do with Francesco. A few moderates suggested turning him over to the law or life imprisonment. The others shouted them down and ridiculed them out of the conversation.

Talk turned to execution methods. Beating him to death. Hanging him. Stabbing him with swords and knives. Drowning him in the lake.

For all the bravado, the villagers couldn’t make a decision. It was one thing to talk about getting revenge and killing a mafioso. It was another to do it.

Dimitra spoke up to break the impasse. “Hey!”, she shouted, and waited for attention to turn to her. “Why’re you wasting time with all this?” Her tone was jovial, like a lighthearted teasing. “Just shoot him already and be through with him. He doesn’t deserve more than that.”

She took out her pistol from her belt and held it up for people to see. “Here, you can use my pistol!”, she called out.

A villager stepped forward to volunteer. Dimitra smirked and handed him her pistol. The villager walked over and put the pistol on Francesco’s head. He pulled the trigger. The bullet went through Francesco’s head. His corpse fell backwards.

The gathered crowd fell silent. Several of them walked closer, as if to confirm that “Cuccia the bloodthirsty” was, indeed, dead.

A few applauded or whistled in approval. Most just looked at each other, bewildered.

Dimitra smirked. “You want us to get the corpse off your hands?”, she asked. “Dump it in La Pizzuta, let animals take care of it?”

The dazed crowd either pondered the question or paid it no attention. Two villagers walked over to kick and spit on Francesco’s corpse. They gave up after a minute or so and sulked off. They looked tired and deflated.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”, a villager replied. “I’m going to bed.”

Dimitra and her detachment put the corpse into the car. The villagers went back to their homes. They looked dazed and confused.

---

16 December 1925

A van drove into Naples in the early hours. It passed through Piazza Giuseppe Garibaldi and stopped in Piazza Mancini. Several grim-faced Red Guards retrieved corpses from the back. They threw the corpses at the foot of the Garibaldi statue. They returned to the van and drove off.

The corpses belonged to Camorra heads. The Red Guards had hung signs around their necks with their names and crimes.

As the morning advanced, a crowd gathered around the corpses in Piazza Mancini. The Neapolitans pelted the corpses, spat at them, shot at them, kicked at them, pissed on them. The beatings disfigured the corpses’ faces. Flies circled around the statue as the abuse and vengeance continued.

It was around lunch that the vengeance tapered off, the stench became overpowering. The crowd drifted away as police arrived to watch the situation.

By lunchtime, the police had delivered the bodies to the morgue. Sanitation workers washed the area around the statue.

The stench subsided with frustrating slowness.

Chapter 15: Don’t Talk Politics at the Dinner Table

4 May 1926

Gina observed the bar of the Hotel Adriano. Packed tables as far as she could see. They had a good turnout of customers. A good crowd this early promised a very good night for her concert, and the bar earnings.

Her attention turned to one of the tables. It was the noisiest. She saw that old ruffian, Donald Curtis, holding up a newspaper and arguing with his tablemate. Donald looked on the verge of punching the table, with no regard for the wine bottle.

Gina wandered over to the table. She wore her black dress, with her large golden earrings and cherry necklace. Her walk was graceful and her smile was serene.

“Gentlemen.”, Gina said, raising a hand to draw attention. “You seem to be having a… vigorous discussion.” Her voice was elegant and radiated her casual mastery of a situation.

“That we are, Madame Gina!”, Donald exclaimed. He waved around his newspaper. “It’s a very grave matter, that may affect us all in the future!”

Gina giggled. “Would you mind if I joined in?”, she said.

“Not at all!”, Donald replied, motioning for her to sit.

Gina took a seat at the table. The poor customer trapped in the discussion sneaked off. He gave Gina a very grateful look and mouthed “Thank you” as he left. Donald never noticed.

“That may affect us all?”, Gina said in a playful voice. “Sounds very serious.”

“Indeed so, Madame!”, Donald replied. “It’s even front-page news in the New York Times!”

Donald held up his copy of the New York Times. Gina discovered that it was actually in the international section, and chuckled. Sure, someday Donald might run his luck out and Marco might break his face. Sure, Donald ignored the proof that Gina and Marco’s marriage was happy, strong, and enduring. In the end, Donald was harmless, and there was something about him quite amusing. Gina wouldn't begrudge the money the brash and pig-headed American spent at the hotel.

“May I?”, Gina asked, motioning for the newspaper.

“Why, of course, Madame.”, Donald said. He handed it to her. Gina giggled at his sudden fawning, and began to read.

The article discussed Italy’s general election result. A large black-and-white diagram was next to it. The ruling Popular Democratic Front had swept all the regions. Below the diagram, a table gave the detailed results.

Four large lists contended in the election.

The Popular Democratic Front (FDP). Also known as the Garibaldi List (GL). Led by Giulia Martelli, the incumbent. Members: Socialist Party, Republican Party, Combatants’ Party, and unexpected guests. Those were the Anarchist Platform and a few Southern lists with historical names. It won a crushing victory, with 65% of the vote.

The Popular Bloc (BP). Led by Luigi Sturzo. Members: People’s Party, Liberal Party, Peasant’s Party, and assorted Catholic lists. It finished second, with 15% of the vote.

The Authentic Revolutionary Unity (URA). Led by Nicola Bombacci. Members: Communist Party, Workers’ Unity, and other lists whose names blur together. The pole of the Cominternists and Leninists. It finished third with 7% of the vote.

The National Blocs (BN). Led by Gabriele d’Annunzio. Members: Futurist Political Party, Fighting Leagues, Nationalist Association. It finished fourth with 5% of the vote.

The rest went to various small parties, independents, and the Lists of Slavs and Germans.

The mention of the National Blocs darkened Gina’s thoughts for a moment. She couldn’t believe that ogre d’Annunzio won a seat in Fiume. Did people already forget the whole “regency” insanity? She and Marco would’ve sent him to Dante.

Gina glanced in passing at the text of the article itself. She knew English, so she could read it. It didn’t interest her much, though. Europe’s papers had already caught the vapours about the result. Italy’s right-wing papers too. Everything in the article, she’d already read.

“I take it you agree with the view, Mr. Curtis?”, Gina asked. Donald was always trying to flatter with no regard for her marriage. Gina kept things professional. She was polite, but never betrayed a hint of friendship to him. He was free to see hints that weren’t there.

“Why, of course I do!”, Donald said. “Madame Gina, you’re both a beautiful and learned woman. Don’t you fear Italy has fallen to red terror?”

Gina laughed. She leaned onto the table and rested her head on her arm. “Is that what this is, Mr. Curtis?”, she asked. “You think Italy will become another Russia?”

Donald puffed out his chest. “That’s the biggest danger!”, he said, stabbing his finger upwards. “Italians, enslaved like Russians! Bolsheviks will persecute Italians! Hunger and death!”

Gina let Donald tire himself out. “Mr. Curtis.”, she said, in a patient and amused voice. “If that were true… why would we have elections?”

“Is it not obvious, Madame?”, Donald replied. “For show!”

Gina laughed. “Mr. Curtis, the other lists were on the ballot.”, she said. “They lost now. Especially the Bolshevik list.”

Donald looked confused. “Huh? There was a Bolshevik list?”

Gina nodded. “Very much so.”, she said. “It had the communist party and allies. They wanted to join the Comintern and follow Lenin’s example, as you feared. They won about 500.000 votes.”

Donald rubbed his chin. “My word.”, he said. “500.000 Bolsheviks are in Italy?”

“Out of 7 million voters, Mr. Curtis.”, Gina clarified. “The Prime Minister has no love for the Russians. She has insulted them, with very sharp words, on repeated occasions. She upholds Italy’s right to take its own path to socialism.”

Donald looked at Gina, surprised. “You believe all this, Madame Gina?”, he asked. “Aren't those mere words? How do we know the Reds won't unleash degradation, and chaos, and murder?”

Gina closed her eyes for a moment. Her smile was gentle, and her inner steel showed in her calm. “I’ve lived through that, Mr. Curtis.”, she declared. “We’ve had the worst of it. I’m not scared of Bolshevism. I’m scared of Carnarism.”

Donald looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”, he asked.

Chapter 16: Deeds, Not Words

10 May 1926

Giulia Martelli stood up at the head of the cabinet table. She pulled a pocketwatch out of her waistcoat with a flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen.”, she said. “It is now 10 o’clock on the dot.” She put the pocketwatch back and crossed her arms. Her smile was one of pure confidence. “I hereby call to order our first cabinet meeting.”

Giulia remained dressed in her full outfit even indoors. Her green hat and outfit, her waistcoat and skirt buttoned with precision, her white ascot. They were as familiar to her colleagues as her exuberance, her passion for efficiency. For three years, she had been the revolutionary leader of the Italian Republic. Now she was its Prime Minister. The first woman to lead a government in her own right.

She took a look around the table. The sight of her comrades in arms, her cabinet forged in insurrection, warmed her heart.

“Honourable ministers.”, she said. “I apologise for the haste of our meeting. I would’ve preferred if we all had more time to get used to our ministries first.” She put her arms akimbo. “Tomorrow, we open the first session of the legislature. I felt it necessary to establish the direction of our government beforehand.”

Giulia felt no need for false modesty. She knew her comrades, and they did her. The cabinet was collegial, but she was first among equals. She led it. Her ministers served at her pleasure. They knew it. They accepted it without question.

She glanced at the table, and her colleagues followed. A large map, several documents, and graphs were strewn about on the table.

“Comrades. The situation is dire.”, she announced. “We all know it. I won’t burden you with details. Our production levels have fallen to half of 1913. The civil war has strained us to the limit. Italy needs reconstruction.”

She looked around at her colleagues. Her voice spoke with cheerful determination. She raised her finger.

“You are the finest people I’ve had the honour of serving with.”, she said. “The situation calls for bold action. Fortune favours the brave. We must be brave. We must have talent. We must have vision.”

Several of her colleagues gazed at her with admiration.

“The fate of the revolution, the fate of all Italy is in our hands.”, she concluded. “History has given us a test, and we won’t fail it.” She clapped her hands together. “We will do great things together. We will raise Italy from the ashes like a phoenix.”

Her colleagues clapped, out of respect. Giulia savoured the applause. She stood with arms akimbo and eyes closed. Adulation tasted so sweet.

She opened her eyes and sat down.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”, she said, looking around the table. “We must be full of invention to meet our dire necessities.”

She intertwined her fingers on the table and looked at a colleague. “Now, I give the word to our honourable finance minister. Mister Matteotti, your overview of the dire necessities, please.” She gave a nod and leaned back in her chair.

Giacomo Matteotti returned the nod and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Prime Minister.”, he said. “Comrades, I will be brief. I hardly need to remind you our situation is bad.”

He took a paper off the table and read from it. “We’ve had a turnaround in the North during the war, but the damage is considerable.”, he said. “The figures from public finance show it. Our trade balance has worsened sevenfold since 1913. Our balance of payments has a deficit of 2 million lire. Last year, our budget was in deficit by almost 10 milliard lire. The lira is trading at 150 to a British pound. Calculating from 100 in 1913, our wholesale price index is now 613 and our cost of living index is 479.”

He paused for a moment to let the details sink in. Some of the ministers whispered among themselves.

Giulia smiled. She felt an affinity for the dashing finance minister, only a year older than her. Already they had become good allies in cabinet. “Thank you, Mister Matteotti.”, she said.

She made an arm-sweeping gesture and faced the whole table again. “Comrades, you’ve heard the honourable minister.”, she said. “We have fought our way into the palace, now we must assume responsibility. We’re no longer insurgents; we’re now in power and we must clean up our carpets.”

Some of her colleagues nodded in agreement.

“Caesar has no authority over grammarians.”, she said, quoting a Latin proverb. “Neither do we. As much as I want to, we can’t snap our fingers and abolish certain laws of economics. That means that we must first get our house in order.”

She leaned forward and looked around the table. “That doesn’t mean slashing spending and grovelling to capital.” Her tone dripped contempt. “Heavens no, we’re socialists, not liberals! But it does mean that our first priority is to get Italy’s economy back on its feet. Still, our financial situation is horrible. We must mobilise all our resources to the fullest.”

She put her palms on the table. “Italians have already endured a world war and civil war.”, she said, sombre. “We can’t ask them for further sacrifices. Neither can we strain the Italian economy further.”

She looked towards the labour and social security minister, Siro Vai. “Mister Vai, I’m sorry for putting such a burden on you.”, she said, apologetic. “But we will need to focus on non-monetary ways to improve the workers’ condition.”

Siro looked with concern.

“I want to set up a national organisation, to work with the CGL and USI.”, Giulia continued. “I want it to organise leisure activities for the masses. To unite with the existing cultural programs of the PSI and the unions. It could even focus on improving workplaces.” She raised her hand to gesture towards the minister. “Workers must feel their lives getting better. They must feel invested in their cooperatives. That way, they will cooperate with us in getting inflation under control.”

Siro sighed. “Madam Prime Minister…”, he said. “It’s our first cabinet meeting and already you’re talking about wage restraint.”

“Wage and price restraint.”, Giulia interrupted, raising her index finger. “Like I said, we must now assume responsibility.”

“I understand…”, Siro replied, his voice out of it. “I’ll get used to it.” He thought to himself about how they’d break it to the Senate.

Giulia gave her best warm smile to reassure him. “Thank you, Mister Vai.”, she said, her voice taking a sympathetic tone. “We’ve got a foundation from the war; we must build on it.” She turned to face the cabinet again. “Leisure and sports. Until we complete unionisation and cooperativisation, we must resort to ingenuity.”

Her colleagues mumbled words of agreement.

“That brings me to my next point.”, Giulia said. “Mister Matteotti, do you have the figures for agricultural and industrial employment?”

Giacomo nodded. “They haven’t changed much in 5 years, Madam Prime Minister.”, he said. “56% of our workforce works in agriculture. Industrial employment is below 30%.”

Giulia pointed her hand towards Giacomo as she addressed the cabinet. “Our path to development must accommodate these realities.”, she said. She put down her hands on the table. “First, we must modernise agriculture. By improving agriculture, we lay the foundation for industry to develop.”

The agriculture minister, Gaetano Salvemini, intervened. “That all depends on saving the South.”, he said. “We must finally end the shameful backwardness of the South, Prime Minister.”

Giulia nodded. “Of course, Mister Salvemini.”, she said. “We all pray for the swift success of our iron prefects and their war against the mafia and latifundia of the South.”

Chapter 17: The Woman of the Hour

11 May 1926

The rising sun started to pierce the blue hour of the early morning. Its rays shone through the windows of the Villa Doria Pamphilj. Resting in her bed, Giulia Martelli opened her eyes with the sun. Her sleep had already run out a few minutes before, but she enjoyed a nice lay all the same. She smiled seeing her husband still asleep. She gave him a gentle kiss.

Sunrise meant the start of a new day. Giulia was nothing if not energetic. It’s what got her where she was. She stood up on the bed, yawned, and stretched. She put on a pair of slippers and walked over to the window, opening it. She watched the day slowly begin. She could hear the dawn chorus. Soon it would be replaced by the hustle and bustle of Rome.

Giulia watched the sun rise and closed her eyes for a moment to feel its warmth. Then she closed the window and began her morning routine. Her husband, the poor dear, was still asleep. First, she went to the bathroom, and took a brief cold shower. She’d formed the habit in her youth and never lost it. It was a bitter shock to the senses, but it woke her up quickly and efficiently.

She wiped herself off and walked out of the bathroom. She changed into a simple maillot and shoes. On the way out, she glanced at a clock on the wall. It satisfied her that she had time.

She went to the giardino secreto. At one end, she put herself in a starting position, and began to run. She ran one or two laps around the garden.

One of the Villa employees walked into the garden and interrupted her run. “Madam Prime Minister!”, he called out.

Giulia slowed down as her jogging technique dictated. She stopped in front of him. “Yes?”, she said.

The employee anticipated this and handed her a towel. She smiled and started wiping her face.

“Your chauffeur will be here soon.”, he said.

“Good, thank you Giacomo.”, she replied. “I won’t keep him waiting.”

Giulia headed back indoors. She stopped on the way to drink water and greet the other employees by name, as they woke up and began their days.

She washed again and began to dress into her trademark outfit. She put on a bra and underwear. She put on and buttoned a white shirt. She put on a green skirt, and buttoned the four green buttons on its left. She put on and tied an ascot tie around her neck. She put on a combination tailcoat and waistcoat, and buttoned its three golden buttons in front.

The more Giulia dressed, the more her smile grew proud. It was the small daily ritual that brought her to her full powers.

Giulia applied make-up: red lipstick, and a bit of eyebrow pencil. She put red nail polish on her fingernails.

Finally, the pièce de resistance. She put on a green sun hat with a black ribbon, and carefully adjusted it until it was just so jaunty. And so, she achieved complete vanity. She stood in front of the mirror and admired herself with pride. If not for the lipstick, she would’ve kissed herself right now.

Also, Giacomo was there to prevent her from being late.

Giulia walked up to the door and put on a pair of green heels, without socks. She and Giacomo kissed on both cheeks, and she patted his shoulder. “Have a great day, Giacomo.”, she said, smiling. “Look after the Villa.”

Giacomo smiled. “As always, madam.”, he replied.

Giulia walked out and got into her green limousine. She declined the driver’s offer to open the rear door, and did it herself. The limousine drove out of the Villa grounds and onto Via Aurelia Antica.

“You’re looking excited today, Signora Giulia.”, the driver said.

Giulia grinned. “It’s a big day today, Sergio.”, she said. “The opening of the first legislature.”

“I can’t wait.”, Sergio replied. “You have a lot to get done.”

Giulia nodded. “Indeed.”, she said. “There’s so much we can’t fit it into one session.” She looked out the window. “So many things that should’ve been done yesterday.”

Sergio drove around the Porta San Pancrazio roundabout. “Bah, it’s not your fault, Signora.”, he said. “We had so many governments since the risorgimento, and good for what? Yours is the first to actually care about Italians.”

Giulia chuckled. “I wish I had more… acceptable forebears, yes.”, she joked. “Italy simply has so much catching up to do.”

“I know you can do it, Signora.”, Sergio replied. “If anybody can do it, you’re the one.”

“Thank you, Sergio.”, Giulia said, with a hint of affection in her voice. “How are the wife and kids?”

Sergio laughed as he turned left from Via Garibaldi onto Via della Lungara. “Ah, Carla’s just fine.”, he said. “She’s the same, god love her.”

Giulia smiled. “She’s a wonderful woman.”, she said. “She’s got… spirit.” Part of her felt gleeful at phrasing things subtly when they both knew what they meant.

“Oh, is she ever!”, Sergio quipped. “I tell you, if she was in your cabinet, this whole country’d be sorted by tomorrow!”

Giulia laughed. “Let’s not underestimate her capacity.”, she joked along. “It could be sorted by lunch. Or dinner, considering how much there is to sort.”

Sergio managed to maneouvre onto Lungotevere Farnesina, and took the Ponte Giuseppe Mazzini. “Maria’s about to start school, she’s excited.”, he said. “Giuliana’s finally learned how to sleep normally.”

Giulia and Sergio both laughed.

“I’m glad to hear they’re fine.”, she said. “I hope I’ll be able to see them today?”

“But of course, Signora Giulia!”, Sergio said with enthusiasm. “We’re your honoured guests after all! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

Giulia smiled.

The two talked some more as Sergio navigated Rome’s cramped old streets.

Finally, they arrived at Palazzo Montecitorio.

Giulia got out of the limousine. She walked into the palace. On the way, she glanced at a clock, and saw that she was on time. Satisfied, she continued at a casual pace, until she reached the room of the Chamber of Deputies.

The chamber was already full of deputies and conversations. Giulia slipped in through a back door. She took a seat in the back row, in front of some officers appointed to keep order.

Finally, on the clock, the President of the Chamber called the meeting to order. He declared the first legislature of the Council Republic of Italy open.

Giulia stretched out again, with an arrogant smile. Almost daring the chamber to notice.

A few of her colleagues did, and laughed among themselves.

From a small gallery, a few visitors did as well. Madame Lulu chuckled and looked on, happy. She thanked god that, in his infinite wisdom, he had mercifully deprived Giulia of modesty.

Giulia relaxed in her seat and observed the opening ceremonies. She looked with satisfaction at the legislative chamber. A wonderful red horizon stretched out across it. The seats full of deputies from the Popular Democratic Front. The scattered opposition, huddled in a corner to the right.

All this, due to her.

Finally, the President of the Chamber announced that the Prime Minister would speak.

Giulia got up from her seat and walked up to the podium in front.

The woman of the hour prepared to shine.

All eyes were on her.

All ears were listening.

She knew how to make an entrance.

Chapter 18: Taxes and Airships

22 May 1926

Giulia Martelli and Madame Lulu walked through the park next to the Villa Doria Pamphilj. They walked down the stairs and headed down the path to the fountain. Their conversation was in progress.

“… you’re pushing quite hard, aren’t you, Giulia?”, Lulu asked.

Giulia held up her hand as she explained in good cheer. “Well, I can’t waste any time, Lulu.”, she said. “We’ve already got laws and decrees from the war, so that helps us. But we can’t waste this opportunity.”

“Mhm.” Lulu grinned. “You’ve got a gigantic majority in the Chamber. The Senate’s in your pocket. All the commissions are stuffed by your front.”

“Exactly!”, Giulia said. She laughed, satisfied. “We’re gonna give Italy a shining example of efficiency.”

Lulu giggled and moved closer. She put her arm around Giulia’s shoulder. “By turning Parliament into a conveyor belt for your laws.”, she said. “My dear Giulia, you make the arrogance of power sound so fetching.”

Giulia made an impish grin and kissed Lulu on the cheek. “It’s absolutely wonderful, Lulu darling.”, she joked. “You should try it sometime!”

Giulia and Lulu shared a laugh. They reached the fountain, and stopped to admire it.

Giulia put her arms akimbo. “We’ve set things in motion, Lulu!”, she announced with pride. “We’ve passed the first law already. The more we keep up the pace, the more we can relax later.”

Lulu stared, surprised. “A law already?”, she asked. “In just 10 days?” She tapped her finger on her cheek. “Did you codify one of the provisional decrees?”

Giulia chuckled. “Ah, no. That does take up most of our early agenda.”, she said. “We’ve revised the tax laws.”

Lulu blinked, and gave a blank stare. “Really?”, she asked.

Giulia nodded. “Mhm!”, she said, voice brimming with enthusiasm. “We cut the Gordian knot. We threw out the old mess and brought in a simple code.”

Lulu gave Giulia a playful look. “… should I be worried?”, she joked.

Giulia laughed and patted Lulu on the shoulder. “Not a chance, darling!”, she quipped. “You pay your taxes. You’ve made your money honestly. You’ve never abused anyone.”

She reached out and playfully poked Lulu in the stomach to punctuate her next phrase. “You’re exactly the kind of impresario Italy needs.”, she said.

Lulu’s face showed a warm smile. She felt touched by the compliment. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, my dear.”, she replied.

Giulia returned Lulu’s warm smile. After a silence, she leaned in and whispered a quip: “Don’t tell the party I said that, though.”

Lulu giggled and replied in whisper, “My lips are sealed.” She pretended to draw a zipper across her mouth.

They both laughed. They went around the fountain and continued their stroll down the path.

“Do I need to re-do my returns?”, Lulu asked. “You’ve brought this in awfully close to the new fiscal year…”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”, Giulia reassured her. “Income tax is down to 4 bands. No tax if you earn under 10.000 lire. Then it’s 10%, 20%, 35%, 50%.”

Lulu raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage to get the party on board with that?”, she asked. “That’s almost liberal.”

“Oh, we imposed a huge wealth tax.”, Giulia said. “There’s a ceiling now. Nobody can earn more than 1 million lire.”

Lulu laughed. “My, my, my, hahaha. I knew there was a catch.”, she quipped.

Giulia put her arm around Lulu’s shoulder. “Darling, there’s a lot more delicious stuff where that came from.”, she joked.

“Oh?”, Lulu said.

“We got to cut company tax, since we changed the civil code.”, Giulia said. “With every Italian company a cooperative, that’s a big help. Farmers’ll love it, once we finish the land reform. Just a land value tax. That goes to the regions.”

Giulia and Lulu went through the gates of the Viale del Casino Algardi. They turned right. They looped around and started back towards the Villa.

“We’re lucky. Way back in Marseille, Nenni got to ask around.” Giulia’s face lit up with joy. “We got a goldmine from Nilssen, darling!”

“Really now?”, Lulu asked.

Giulia nodded with vigour. “Yes! You know Norway has public tax returns?”

Lulu took a moment to process that information. “I didn’t.”, she said.

“Well, Lulu darling, now Italy does too!”, Giulia said. She extended her arms for a moment.

They walked in silence. Finally, Lulu laughed boisterously. “Oh my god, Giulia, that’s unbelievable.”, she said. Her tone conveyed respect. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Yes! Now all Italians’ income and taxes will be public knowledge.”, she said. “Then we’ll be rid of the pestilence of tax cheats and concentration of wealth.”

Lulu wiped one of her eyes and smiled. “My dear Giulia, you’re truly the Iron Woman.”

Giulia embraced Lulu with affection.

The path took them back by the wall of the Villa. The giardino segreto was below them.

“Lulu darling,” Giulia said, “I owe you a great debt for the magnificent job you’re doing at the SAI.”

Lulu felt touched. “Thank you, my dear Giulia.”, she said, putting her hand on Giulia’s shoulder. “I do my best.”

“How are the current airships holding up?”, Giulia asked.

Lulu thought for a moment. “The Esperia’s doing the best.”, she said. “She’s a beauty on the cross-country route. Norge’s due back from Alaska.”

Giulia nodded. “That’s good.”, she said. “I’m glad you’re doing your best, Lulu, because we need your best, darling.”

“Mhm?”, Lulu said.

“Too long, Italy’s been the laughingstock of the great powers.”, Giulia said. “We’re behind on everything. Airships, radio, railways… you name it.”

Lulu nodded. “The civil war didn’t help matters, either.”, she said.

“Sure didn’t.”, Giulia replied. “Now that I’m in charge, I want to end that. To catch up and surpass the great powers, we need boldness and imagination.”

They went down the stairs to the giardino segreto.

“I want to ramp up production of airships, darling.”, Giulia said.

Lulu laughed. “From zero, you mean.”, she said.

Giulia grinned and patted Lulu on the shoulder. “You get me, Lulu.”, she said. “I want to give Italy an airship industry that the world’ll envy. I want there to be hangars, airships, connecting all of Italy.”

Lulu listened in silence.

“These cramped, exposed planes, they can’t hold a candle to airships.”, Giulia continued.

“You got that right!”, Lulu joined in with enthusiasm. “With airships, you travel in comfort and elegance.”

“Imagine if we made that luxury available to all Italians!”, Giulia added.

Lulu chuckled. “It wouldn’t be luxury anymore, Giulia.”, she said.

“That’s my point!”, Giulia said. She pulled Lulu close to her. “We’ll give Italians a better life. They’ll feel it, see it!”

Lulu smiled and nodded.

“Tell me what you need, Lulu darling.”, Giulia said. “Whatever it takes to make an airship industry. If we can set it up in the South, even better.”

Lulu nodded. “I’ll order studies.”, she said. “See what it takes.”

“Be on the lookout for good people, too.”, Giulia said, patting Lulu on the back. “People with talent. Vision. People who get things done.”

Lulu laughed. “My dear Giulia,” she replied, her tone affectionate, “with you on top of things, we’ll attract them like flies to honey.”

They walked back inside the Villa. There, they found their husbands together. They overheard them gossiping about some rich people, and shared a giggle.

Chapter 19: Over the Waves

10 January 1927

Fulvio Sanesi closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. It was no point reminding himself what a prestigious assignment this was. If it was so prestigious, why did he feel so anxious?

He opened his eyes again. He saw Giulia Martelli, the Prime Minister of Italy, in front of him, sipping tea. He envied her. She radiated calm and control. She was on top of things. How he wished he felt the same.

“We are on course, Madam Prime Minister.”, Fulvio announced. “Weather is fine. We expect to arrive in Tripoli in 2 hours.”

Giulia put down her teacup and grinned with satisfaction. “Wonderful.”, she said.

Fulvio stood there stiff, struggling to keep his worries hidden. He already had a hard time as commander of the Norge. He got dragged into working as a civilian airship pilot after the wars. Madame Lulu wasn’t a woman one can refuse.

His nerves acted up more than usual because he knew the Norge had taken damage last year. It got repaired and passed all safety tests. He would’ve preferred to pilot the Esperia, but it was busy with domestic flights. Italy had a dire need of more airships. Giulia and Lulu’s dream of a state-of-the-art Italy depended on it. Shame building an airship industry from scratch took so long.

Giulia looked out the window. The sky was pretty. Below them, the Mediterranean Sea, shining like the jewel it had been in Roman times. She could see the planes of the Cottone Squadron escorting the airship. She felt bad that they had to brave cold temperatures and exposure. A plane was no match for the comfort of an airship. It was that simple.

Giulia continued looking out the window. She could feel Fulvio standing next to her, and sensed that he was feeling awkward. She decided that making small talk would be a good solution.

“So, how are you finding the airship, commander?”, she asked.

Fulvio stammered at first. “Ah… well, that is… it’s a good airship, Prime Minister.”

Giulia giggled. “Very much so, a solid one.”, she said. “She made it to the North Pole!”

“And to Alaska…”, Fulvio said. He regretted the reflex; it was what he tried to avoid thinking about.

“Yes.”, Giulia said. She crossed her arms for warmth. “It’s an honour that Nobile worked with Amundsen. It shows Italy can be on the cutting-edge of technology.”

Fulvio nodded.

“The message Prime Minister Lykke sent was nice, too.”, Giulia continued. “I hope for greater ties between Italy and Norway.”

She turned her head for a moment. “Have you ever been to Norway, commander?”, she asked.

Somehow, being the centre of attention got Fulvio to focus. “I haven’t, Madam.”, he said. He could feel his anxiety coming under control. “I didn’t have the chance to do much traveling before.”

Giulia nodded.

“It’s great to finally be piloting an airship not scouting or raiding.”, he said.

Giulia smiled, and turned back to the window. “If everything goes right, god willing, you’ll have more colleagues, commander.”

Fulvio let out a chuckle. “I can’t wait, Prime Minister.”, he said.

Chapter 20: Mermaid of the Mediterranean

10 January 1927

Giulia Martelli climbed out of the Norge by ladder. The weather was warm, but passable. Winter in Tripoli meant anything from 8 to 18 °C in the day. It was nothing like Rome, which got colder from 3 to 13 °C. If nothing else, the visit to Libya was a nice getaway for Giulia, Madame Lulu, and the Cottone Squadron.

Giulia’s feet touched down on the sandy ground of Tripoli. She turned to face the gathered crowd. She waved at them. She tried to shout out words of greeting, but the applause drowned out her words.

She walked over to Idris as-Senussi, the Emir of Libya. The two shook hands.

“Welcome to Libya, Prime Minister.”, he said, in broken Italian.

Giulia smiled. “It’s an honour, Emir.”, she replied, in broken Arabic.

Idris gave a small chuckle. He appreciated the gesture, at least.

The crowd and press also appreciated the striking image. 37-year old Idris, wearing glasses and traditional robes, with a beard that made him look old. 40-year old Giulia, wearing her iconic green suit and hat, looking impeccable, glamorous. It was as if two worlds met. The past and the future shaking hands. The gathered crowd, a mixture of Libyans and Italians, cheered. Many of them waved the flags of Libya and Italy.

Giulia continued waving as she and Idris walked over to the official motorcade. She got into the car with Idris, which drove them to the Royal Palace of Tripoli.

Most of the car ride passed in pleasant, if awkward, silence. The car was too small to fit interpreters. Idris didn’t know Italian. Giulia didn’t know Arabic.

In the Royal Palace, the press gathered. Journalists wrote. Photographers took photos. Cameramen filmed footage for newsreels. On arrival, Giulia and Idris went into the main room. Giulia shook hands with the members of the Libyan government.

Giulia and Idris sat down at a table with microphones arranged on it. They both signed copies of the Italo-Libyan Agreement, also called the Tripoli Treaty.

It was a historic occasion. The three provinces, Tripoli, Cyrenaica, and Fezzan, jointed into the federation of Libya. Libya was now an Italo-Libyan condominium. All Libyans had joint Italian and Libyan citizenship. Libya would be a constitutional monarchy that would govern itself.

After the signing ceremony, Idris and Giulia both spoke. The microphones broadcast their words to radio stations.

Idris spoke of a new chapter in Libyan history. He talked about the unification of Libya’s provinces into a single federation. He talked about his high hopes for a new partnership of equals with Italy.

When it was Giulia’s turn, she spoke:

“I’m very proud to be here today. This agreement shows my government is keeping its word. As socialists, we condemn imperialism of all stripes. We reject the colonialism that happened before us. Italy is now commited to equality and friendship with the world. We signed a new treaty returning the Dodecanese to Greece. We are creating condominiums in Libya, Eritrea, and Somalia. We will redress the crimes of the past. We will have partnership and friendship with the Africans.”

The ceremony finished.

The rest of the state visit proceeded according to schedule. An exchange of gifts. A state dinner. For the next two days, Giulia visited landmarks in Tripoli. She met with religious leaders and ordinary Libyans. She inspected the guard of honour with Idris.

On the last day, they had the departure ceremony. Giulia and Lulu climbed aboard the Norge again. The Cottone Squadron took off in their planes. They all returned to Rome.

On her return, Giulia saw that everything had gone like clockwork in her absence, and felt pleased. Of course it did. She had left them instructions.

She was setting an example. By god, an Italy that was as smooth and precise as Black Forest clockwork. The thought was marvelous.

Chapter 21: There’s Still Time to Change the Road You’re On

3 March 1927

Nadia fidgeted in the chair. She struggled to stay still, kicking her legs about in empty air. She felt stifled by her school uniform, as usual. She tried to tug at it to lessen the feeling, as usual.

The headmaster gave her a sharp glare. Nadia returned it with a stubborn pout.

The standoff continued in silence for a while.

The headmaster sighed. “Nadia Rahman.” He said her name slow and sharp, with a hint of contempt.

Nadia squinted. Her glare was defiant.

“Do you know why you’re here today, young lady?”, the headmaster asked.

Another tense silence.

“Beats me.”, Nadia said sarcastically. “Do you?”

The headmaster felt frustrated. He broke off eye contact and turned away to sigh.

“Young lady, I suppose the threat of detention would have no effect.” The headmaster tried to sound tough, but couldn’t hide his exasperation.

Nadia flashed a mischievous grin. “Not anymore than the previous times.”, she quipped.

The headmaster massaged his head in anticipation of a headache. Nadia wanted to tug at her uniform again. She didn’t for fear of getting her hand slapped.

“Just…”

Nadia looked curious. She wondered how that sentence would continue.

The headmaster let out an exasperated cry. “Just what is it about you, Nadia?”, he said. “Why are you the most troublesome?”

That was putting it mildly. Send Nadia to a school run by sadistic nuns and she would’ve reduced them to wrecks.

Nadia blinked. She said nothing, and seemed surprised at the question.

“Young lady… Nadia.” The headmaster corrected his habit. “Let’s try this differently.”

Nadia cocked her head in confusion.

“Nadia.”, the headmaster said. “You’re alone in this world, aren’t you?”

Anger crossed Nadia’s face. “Just what’s that supposed to mean?”, she protested.

The headmaster crossed his fingers on his desk. “Our records show you’re an orphan.” His voice was slow, methodical. “You have no parents. No family. No one knows anything about your past.”

Nadia glared, and tried to stop tears from forming in her eyes.

“You act out.”, the headmaster continued. “Constantly. You terrorise all our teachers. Even the students complain about your behaviour. You’re mean to them.”

The words were like a dagger, stabbing at Nadia’s insecurities.

The headmaster lowered his eyes, disappointed. “What do you hope to gain by this?”

Silence filled the room again.

“Whaddya mean?”, Nadia barked.

“What do you hope to accomplish, Nadia?”, the headmaster said. “Do you have anything you want to do in life?”

“I have no idea!”, Nadia shouted. The realisation of what she said hit her afterwards.

The headmaster shook his head. “As I suspected.”, he said.

“Hey!”, Nadia shouted, pointing her finger. “What gives you the right to talk to me like that? Do you ever do that to the teachers? The ones who try to slap my hand for speaking Arab?”

The headmaster sighed. It was exactly what he suspected. One furious girl quarrelling with the world.

“Nadia, you ended up here as a last resort.”, he reminded her. “You were expelled from school for discipline problems. If you get expelled from here too, it’s the end of the line.”

Nadia crossed her arms and looked away in defiance. “Pfah! As if I care!”, she said. “Fine by me, you’ve never done anything for me, the lot of you!”

The headmaster silently prayed to god that he wouldn’t let this young savage get to him.

“And what would you do then, Nadia?”, he asked. “How would you make a living?”

Nadia tried to maintain a defiant posture. The more she pondered the question, the more it faltered.

“I… ah, I could join the circus or something.”, she said. Her voice sounded less confident than she wanted.

The headmaster closed his eyes. He had the grave thought that the young lady would end up in something worse than a circus if luck wasn’t on her side.

“You really don’t know, do you.”

Nadia’s anger abated. She turned back around and seemed less sure of herself.

“… no.”, she said in a faltering voice. “I don’t know.”

The headmaster gave Nadia his best sympathetic look.

“Look, Nadia.”, he said. “I understand. You may hate me like all the teachers, but I understand why you’re angry. You’ve got no one to look after you. The world is cruel and neglectful.”

Nadia’s head sank down.

“I’m telling you, that attitude will get you nowhere.”, he continued. “Keep pushing people away and no one will want to help you. You’ll end up alone and miserable. Do you want that to be your whole life?”

“No.”, Nadia said, almost a whimper.

“Then, please… take a different path.”

Nadia looked up at the headmaster. She saw him looking… kind?

“Next year will be the final exam, Nadia.”, he said. “Please. Let go of your pride and open yourself to others. Your grades are good! For all of your discipline problems, your grades are good…”

Nadia looked surprised to hear that.

“Please. For your sake. Study well. Pass the exams. Be one of the first Libyans to go to university! If nothing else, you can lord that over the people you hate lifelong.”

The idea did kind of appeal to Nadia.

“You really think…” Nadia hesitated. “You really think I can do that?”

The headmaster chuckled. “Yes. By god, Nadia, if you can channel your anger at the world in a constructive matter, not even the devil could stop you.”

Chapter 22: Conquest of Bread (and Political Power)

7 December 1927

The sunset was visible through the open windows. The golden hour bathed the interior of the room. A long and fruitful day reached its end. There was one meeting left in her schedule, and Giulia Martelli now presided over it.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”, she said, sitting at the head of the table. “Thank you all for coming today.” She faced her guests: Dimitra La Vardia, Cesare Mori, and Donato Pafundi. The plural of “ladies” was quite unnecessary in the circumstances.

Her guests nodded and returned the greeting. The whole meeting was less than a conference, and more than a get-together. A few of the Villa Doria Pamphilj employees walked in to serve some food and drinks.

“Much obliged, thank you.”, Giulia said, smiling and shaking hands with the staff. Her guests took some of what was on offer too.

“Honourables.”, Giulia adressed her guests. “Two years ago, I named you the ‘iron prefects’ of Southern Italy. That may not be an official term, but we all understood your responsibilities.” She sipped a little of her tea. “The mafias must be destroyed.”

Dimitra chuckled. She thought Giulia missed a chance to say it in Latin. Of course, that would’ve meant figuring out how to conjugate Mafia for delenda est.

“You have carte blanche on how you do the task.”, Giulia continued. “Now, I want to hear of your progress.”

Dimitra interrupted. “Prime Minister, are we going in alphabetical order?”, she quipped.

Giulia smiled. “Sure, why not.”, she replied. “You want to start, signora La Vardia?”

Cesare Mori and Donato Pafundi looked at Dimitra with hints of annoyance. On technical merits, she was correct… the best kind of correct. It was also the kind of correct that made her first up.

“Of course.”, Dimitra said, oblivious to her colleagues’ reaction. “I can report significant successes in Sicily’s war against the Mafia and landlords.”

Giulia grinned.

 “I’ve set up the Nuovi Fasci Siciliani dei Lavoratori.”, Dimitra continued. “I’ve armed the population. I’ve declared mafiosi and landowners to be outlaws. I’ve set up a pentiti regime so mafiosi can help prosecutors go after the bosses. We’re helping the peasants destroy their landlords and redistribute their lands.”

Dimitra pushed a paper up on the table so everyone could see it.

“Our results speak for themselves.”, Dimitra said. “Over 1.000 dead, over 11.000 arrested. Public humiliations and executions. I’ve encouraged villages to hang their hated landlords and mafiosi. Hang them where everyone can see. So word can spread throughout Sicily, ‘They’re hanging the landlords and mafiosi’. Or shoot them and leave their corpses to the people’s fury.”

Part of Giulia felt a little unnerved with the casual way Dimitra talked about killings.

“Judging by current progress…”, Dimitra said, thinking. “We will complete the extermination of the Mafia and landowning class by next year, at best. The year after that, at worst.”

“Excellent.”, Giulia said, satisfied. “I commend your hard work, signora La Vardia.”

Dimitra grinned. “Thank you, Prime Minister.”, she replied.

“Signore Mori?”, Giulia said.

Cesare Mori nodded. “My tactics are like my colleague’s.”, he said. “Arm the Campanians, wipe out the landlords, encourage the people. The main challenge has been the Camorra’s decentralised structure. They’re like a Hydra: we tear through a clan and new ones can emerge from the remnants.”

Giulia nodded. Dimitra drank from her cocktail.

“That’s why we’ve had to be ruthless in Campania.”, Cesare said. “Arrests don’t get results. I’ve given the Campanians weapons and sent soldiers to their aid. We apply the principle of collective punishment. All the camorristi will die with all their relatives if they don’t submit.”

Cesare cleared his throat.

“I estimate the extermination of the Camorra would take two, three more years.”, he added.

Giulia sipped her tea. “Excellent.”, she said. “I commend your hard work, signore Mori. I’m glad that the revolution spreading to the South has overthrown the old politicians.” Her facial expression grew determined. “The Camorra will know they have nowhere to run or hide.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister.”, Cesare replied.

“Signore Pafundi?”, she said.

“I’ve tried to keep my tactics more legal, Prime Minister.”, Donato Pafundi said. He was almost apologising. “I’ve been lucky that the ‘Ndrangheta has been more isolated.” He sighed. “That said, we still had to adopt the same warlike tactics. Arm the populace, unleash them to take revenge and massacre their opressors.”

“Has the destruction of the latifundia proceeded at the same time?”, Giulia asked.

Donato nodded. “Of course, Prime Minister.”, he replied. “The armed peasants have showed more vigour in killing landlords than ‘ndranghetisti. Still, the ‘land to the tiller’ program already bears fruit. Land redistribution and the abolition of rent have delighted peasants. The land tax is taking root.”

Giulia grinned.

“I estimate the destruction of the ‘Ndrangheta might take between one and two more years.”, he added.

“Excellent.”, Giulia said. “I commend your hard work, signore Pafundi.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister.”, Donato replied.

Giulia clapped her hands together. “Now then, ladies and gentlemen.”, she said. “The end is in sight. The government will exterminate the octopus that strangled the South. We can now dare to dream.”

Dimitra, Cesare, and Donato nodded in agreement.

“There is no royal road to development.”, Giulia said with a sigh. “We can’t make a huge leap and bring the South to equality. We must create the conditions for organic growth. Help spring come, help the South stand on its own feet.”

Giulia drank some more tea.

“Have there been any changes in policy, Prime Minister?”, Dimitra asked.

Giulia shook her head. “No, signora.”, she replied. “Only clarifications.”

Dimitra nodded.

“Our priority is the same.”, Giulia continued. “First, develop agriculture. Land reform, cooperatives, and applied science should take care of that. Once agriculture grows, productivity increases. Resources become available for local improvements. Villages will start to have surpluses. Cities will grow in population and transform the economy.”

Giulia pushed a map of Italy to the centre of the table. She tapped it with her index finger.

“We must plan ahead.”, she said, looking at her guests. “We must find out which cities are best placed to become the engines for growth and development in the South. The way that Milano, Torino, Genova, Florence, and their like were the North’s engines.”

Giulia then turned her attention to the map.

“I propose for now we pick one such engine per region.”, she said. She rubbed her chin in thought. “Napoli, Palermo, Bari, and Reggio Calabria should do for the mezzogiorno. Cagliari can be the same for Sardinia.”

Chapter 23: One Face, One Race

10 January 1928

Madame Lulu was in her office in Rome. She wore her red dress and gloves, as usual, without her blue jacket. She held her churchwarden pipe in her left hand, while talking on the phone with her right hand.

“… that’s very good, Angelino. I’m very glad to hear! At this rate, we can increase the pan-Italian routes, dear. How’s the mast building going? … I see. What I would suggest is…”

Lulu was a very unconventional pick to lead the Società Aerea Italiana. Her harshest critics called it cronyism. She was already good friends with Giulia Martelli, who made her president of the SAI. They did share a passion for airships and air travel. But Lulu rose to the occasion, and it was magnificent.

“… listen, Angelo, dear, can you get a hold of Nicola and talk this out with him? Do you have a pen? Marvelous! Write this down: we want to ask Caproni and Piaggio to collaborate on this…”

Lulu was a glamorous and sensuous woman. To be in her presence was intoxicating. She enjoyed life’s pleasures: food, drink, friendship, sex, the arts... She had a unique way of running the show. She gave her employees the works: flattery, sweet-talk, arm-twisting. It was all done with a sweet smile and a seductive voice. She talked at length so they couldn’t interrupt. She gave them bonuses, treated them to fine events and outings. She poured it on thick. She guaranteed that all SAI employees were under her spell. They left any conversation with her dazed and charmed.

“… and how’s the kids, by the way? … Mhm. … Oh, so precious! … Tell you what, Angelino, you get this thing sorted, and Madame Lulu’ll be very good to you! What does your family say to Florence? … Oh yes, I’m glad. Oh, no, no, dear, it’s nothing. All in a day’s work for me! Hehehe. Well, I won’t keep you.” She made a kissing noise in the air. “Ciao, darling. Kiss your wife for me.”

Lulu put down the receiver. She then heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!”, she said.

Kyrie walked in. “Hiya, Madame.”, she said with good cheer.

“Kyrie!”, Lulu called out with delight. “Come, come!”

Kyrie walked over and embraced Lulu. Lulu gave her a deep and warm hug, rubbing her hands along Kyrie’s back. “Always a pleasure to be with my favourite girls in the whole wide world.”, she said. She then kissed Kyrie on both her cheeks.

Kyrie felt dazed for a moment, but it was a pleasant daze. Lulu had a talent for making every encounter with someone feel stunning.

Lulu looked at Kyrie with a smile befitting a woman of the world. “How were the holidays?”, she asked.

Kyrie grinned. “They were great!”, she said, brimming with enthusiasm. “Was down with my folks in Martána, it was great.”

Lulu smiled. “I’m glad.”, she said. “Hope your folks are alright.”

“Yeah, they are.”, Kyrie said, and nodded. “Their business is doing well. They’re back on their feet since the war.”

Lulu smiled at Kyrie like a proud mother. She puffed a little on her cigar, not enough to discomfort Kyrie.

“I noticed something odd, though…”, Kyrie added.

Lulu raised her eyebrow. “Oh?”, she asked.

Kyrie continued. “I tried asking Leona about it, but she said to come to you, ‘cos you know more, Madame Lulu.”

Lulu beamed with pride. “Very wise of Leona.”, she joked. “That’s the kind of wisdom that makes a good commander.”

Kyrie chuckled. “I realised that back there, we get boats from Greece, y’know?”, she said. “We get visitors from Greece, that’s a lot of my parents’ business. But I rarely hear about boats to Greece.” She looked at Lulu with confusion. “Why aren’t Griko like us visiting Greece? Why’s it only Greeks visiting us?”

Lulu pondered the question for a moment. She laughed. “Ah, my dear Kyrie.”, she said, patting Kyrie’s shoulder. “I have a hunch I know what it is. It must be the currency controls.”

“Currency controls?”, Kyrie asked, curious.

Lulu nodded. “Yes, dear.”, she said. She took another small puff on her pipe. “It’s quite simple, you see. The government’s put in tough measures to stop money from leaking out of Italy. All the money in Italy, trapped here more or less, so we can use it all to develop Italy.”

“I see…”, Kyrie said with a hint of hesitation.

Lulu gestured towards Kyrie with her right hand. “That means: Italians who want to travel abroad can only take a limited amount of money with them. Around 1.000 lire, if I remember right.”

Kyrie blinked, and thought it over. “That sounds like very little.”, she said. “I don’t know how much drachma that gets you.”

Lulu smiled. “There you have your answer, dear.”, she joked.

Chapter 24: … Everything Else Is Pure Theory

22 July 1928

The San Siro Stadium was packed. This Sunday promised to be spectacular. Both the finals for the Prima Divisione were today.

Several distinguished guests were in the audience. Madame Lulu had reserved some of the best seats. Most of the Cottone Squadron joined her: Leona, Kyrie, Emma, Zara, and Chica. Catherine excused herself because she couldn’t be in Milano.

“Alright!”, Leona shouted, rubbing her hands. “This is gonna be a match for the ages!”

Lulu puffed on her churchwarden pipe. She was only a social smoker, much like she was a social drinker. The pipe was more for effect. It looked good and it reinforced her image as an elegant yet intriguing woman.

As usual, she smiled on the little rascals in the Cottone Squadron. She thought, god love ‘em, we made it through this war together. She was more or less their den mother by now.

Zara spat some of her beer. “Grasso, what the fuck are you doing!”, she shouted, hand next to her mouth.

The revolution touched everything in Italy. The national pastime was no different. The sport may have been the same, but Italian football was now unrecognisable.

The FIF tore up and rewrote football regulations. Only members’ associations could own football clubs. All football clubs are non-profit and community-owned. Betting pools are run by communes, and raise money for local administration. The Northern and Southern leagues merged into a single Prima Divisione.

The biggest change was women’s football. The Feminine Football Group had formed in Milano, back in 1922. It spread from there across the North. The phenomenon was great for morale during the civil war. Now in peace, Italy was the capital of women’s football.

An uproar swept the crowd. “Booo!”, Leona yelled, at the top of her lungs. “Kick her off, ref! Kick her off!” She shook her fist in the air.

“That’s a red card, for sure.”, Emma said.

The referee held up a yellow card.

“Oh, come the fuck on!”, Leona yelled. “Bullshit!”

Lulu looked on in amusement. Football had a remarkable ability to excite the passions.

The game went on.

The clock ticked towards full-time.

The crowd burst into cheering. The Cottone Squadron applauded.

“Holy shit, did you see that goal?”, Leona yelled.

“That was one for the ages!”, Zara replied.

Kyrie stood up to dance from her seat. “Woooooooo! Napoli, national champions!”

“I’ll drink to that!”, Zara announced. She raised her mug so fast she spilled some of it.

AS Napoli Femminile won the 1927–1928 Prima Divisione for women.

Chapter 25: Wanting Is Being Able To

22 July 1928

The air smelled good in Aosta. The sky was clear, the temperature was around 25 °C, and the forecast was good.

Catherine knocked on the door and entered the hospital room. Her brother Alain was reading a book in bed. He lowered the book and smiled. “Cathy. I’m glad to see you.”, he said.

“As am I, Alain.”, Catherine replied in her flat voice. “It’s good that I can visit you more often nowadays.”

Alain chuckled. “Yes, you’re no longer risking life and limb.”, he said. “No more shooting at planes.”

Catherine nodded. She approached the bed. “How are you, brother?”, she asked.

Alain reached out to hold her hand. “Oh, I’m fine, sister. Nothing much changed.”, he said. “We got some new books in the library though!”

“Have you?”, Catherine asked.

Alain held up the cover of the book he was reading. It was a book about aeronautics.

“As I expected.”, Catherine observed.

“You know it, sister.”, Alain joked. “I tell you, they rebuilt the hospital great.”

“Is that what the plants were about?”, she asked.

Alain nodded. “Yeah.”, he said. “They brought in experts and stuff. Try to make the place look less clinical.”

Catherine thought for a second. “Smell’s the same, though.”, she said.

Alain laughed. “Oh, can’t do much about that.”, he said. “Medicine’s gonna smell or taste awful, that’s how it is.” After a pause, he added, “Oh, do you have the time?”

Catherine reached into her pocket and pulled out a watch. “12:36.”, she said. She put it back.

“Ah, it’ll be soon time for my promenade.”, Alain said. He smiled. “Do you want to do it with me, sister?”

“I’d be happy to.”, Catherine replied.

Catherine took the wheelchair from the corner of the room and brought it near the bed. Alain put away his book. He lifted his blanket and moved himself onto the wheelchair.

Catherine started pushing the wheelchair. They left the room. They went through the hospital corridor. At the front desk, Alain announced, “By the way, tell La Jeânna I’ll be doing the walk earlier.”

They exited the hospital. Outside, Alain took a deep breath of the air, and grinned. Catherine pushed his wheelchair through the garden. Mont Blanc rose in the distance.

“How’s it been with the squadron, Cathy?”, Alain asked.

“It’s nice.”, Catherine replied. “We do airshows these days. Showcases. Encourage women to enter aviation. And escort Madame Lulu’s airship.”

Alain gave his sister a hopeful look. “I’d love to be able to travel on the D1 someday.”, he said. “Pride of Italy’s aviation.”

Catherine nodded. “That would be wonderful.”, she said. “I’ll ask if we ever have a stop in Aosta. It’s a shame your sanatorium’s so remote.”

Alain chuckled. “Ah, don’t worry, the mountain air does me good.”, he joked. “Heard talk they’re gonna try some form of physical therapy.”

Catherine’s blank face gave no hint of how that statement hit her. “You’ll be able to walk again?”, she asked.

“Mhm, if all goes well, I suppose…”, Alain said.

Catherine and Alain wandered further up the path, next to some trees.

Alain gained a mischievous thought. “You girls are pretty popular, aren’t you?”, he asked in a playful voice.

“Yes.”, Catherine replied in a flat voice. “The government does make us out to be heroines.”

“You must get a lotta attention.”, Alain said laughing. “A lot of making out, right?”

Catherine blinked. “Well, yes.”, she said. “Zara gets most of it.”

“Ah, that’s no surprise, she seeks it out!”, Alain quipped. “What about you, Cathy?”

“Oh, I get my fair share.”, she replied.

Alain looked surprised. “Really?”, he asked.

Catherine nodded. “Yes, brother.”, she said. “Some men seem to be fascinated by a woman with no expression.”

Alain laughed.

“I’ve been told it gives me an air of mystery.”, Catherine added.

Alain nodded.

“Madame Lulu encourages me to keep a stone face.”, she said. “Make men think they’ll turn my world upside down.”

They wandered further in silence.

“Anything interesting in that book, Alain?”, Catherine asked.

Alain’s face lit up. “Oh, yes, Cathy!”, he said. “It’s been giving me ideas about airships.”

“Go on.”, Catherine said.

“I’ve been making notes, in my room.”, Alain said. “I think I’m close to a design for increased passenger capacity.” He gave his sister a playful smile. “You think you could put in a good word for me with Madame Lulu?”

Chapter 26: The Woman Who Makes the Clothes

24 March 1929

The Hotel d’Inghilterra was one of Rome’s most prestigious and fashionable hotels. Today, one of its rooms played host to an unexpected meeting.

Giulia Martelli sat on the sofa. “I’m very glad to have run into you today, Madame Schiaparelli.”, she said.

Elsa Schiaparelli sat on the sofa opposite her. “Oh, you know I always have time for you, Prime Minister!”, she said. “You’re the woman one doesn’t say ‘no’ to.”

Giulia chuckled and waved her hand. “Please, please, Madame Schiaparelli, you make me sound like a dictator.”, she joked.

“Well, if I did say no to you, what would happen?”, Elsa said, making a playful gesture with her hand.

Giulia gave her a knowing grin. “I’d feel insulted.”, she quipped.

“Exactly!”, Elsa said with a laugh. “I know not to cross you, Madame Martelli. Only a moron would!”

Giulia laughed, and relaxed in the sofa. “Don’t fret, Madame.”, she quipped. “You’re one of the few people who’s earned the privilege to mouth off at me.”

Elsa let out a big boisterous laugh. She could hardly receive a greater compliment.

“Oh, I know where I’d be if I said no to you.”, she quipped. “I’d be in Paris!”

Giulia laughed and slapped her thigh. Elsa leaned back and watched. She admired Giulia, both for her force of personality and for her well-dressed look. This was high praise, coming from Italy’s greatest fashion designer. Elsa wore one of her own creations, of course. A modest bow-knot sweater, which equalled Giulia’s elegance.

“You’re a very persuasive woman, Madame Prime Minister.”, Elsa said. Her voice was both respectful and frisky. “You spared no effort, haha. You twisted my arm and stuffed my mouth with gold to get me to Rome.”

Giulia waved her hands. “It’s a matter of national pride, Madame Schiaparelli.”, she reassured. “To have Italy’s greatest costume-ist in exile was unacceptable.”

“Yes, yes.”, Elsa said with a chuckle. “It wouldn’t do. The Casa Schiaparelli is a national treasure.”

“One of our brightest jewels!”, Giulia added.

Elsa laughed. Both women relaxed in their sofas and passed a silent moment.

“How is the atelier doing, by the way?”, Giulia asked.

Elsa grinned. “Superb.”, she said.

Giulia nodded with a smile.

“I must say, Madame Martelli, you’ve been a godsend for the Casa Schiaparelli.”, Elsa said. Her tone was good-humoured, but her sentence was sincere. “I don’t have to run the whole show in a cooperative. I just come in, show them my designs, and the studio handles the rest.”

“Workers also feel more interest in the success of a cooperative.”, Giulia said. “The whole company does well, they all do well.”

Elsa nodded. “Yes, certainly.”, she said. She laughed. “Now the only things we argue about are credit, not money.”

Giulia laughed.

“I have these unholy rows with collaborators.”, Elsa continued. “If a priest heard them, he’d cross himself! They call me an arrogant glory hog, and I call them jumped up employees who don’t know their place… Good times.”

Giulia leaned her head on her hand, and looked curious. “Doesn’t that give you problems hiring?”, she asked.

“Oh, not at all!”, Elsa replied, waving her hands. “I understand the point, but it’s my name on the company for a reason.” She chuckled. “People don’t buy our clothes because they were sculpted or tailored by so-and-so. They buy them because they’re Schiaparelli. If anyone can do better, I welcome them to start their own atelier.”

“I see.”, Giulia said.

“I’m a costume-ist, Madame Martelli.”, Elsa quipped. “I have a reputation to maintain, I’m afraid. Any old costume-ist can start an atelier and be courteous and nice. But me? The media loves a rebel.”

Giulia rubbed her chin. “So… it’s all for show?”, she asked.

“Hahaha, it’s what’s expected of me.”, Elsa quipped. “Being moody, headstrong… people will tolerate a pain in the ass if you can back it up with talent.”

“Don’t I know it!”, Giulia joked.

They shared a laugh.

Elsa looked at nothing with a smile. Her face was contemplative. “Only three years ago, my French friends were telling me to stay in Paris.”, she recounted. “They feared the worst if I went to a socialist Italy. They thought it’d be a Bolshevik nightmare.”

Giulia made a sympathetic facial expression. The kind that said “thank god it didn’t happen.”

“And today, a socialist is one of my greatest allies.”, Elsa continued. She looked at Giulia, with sincere gratitude. “You must be doing Hercules’ labours, getting the party behind you.”

Giulia laughed. “Oh, yes.”, she said. “They grumble, they complain, they even yell. I shut them up by asking what they’d do instead. It makes most of ‘em back down. They know devil’s in the details. The rest… well, they’re Moscow’s asses. God makes ‘em and then marries ‘em.”

Elsa nodded as Giulia chuckled. She always enjoyed finding new ways to abuse the Leninists with words.

“Madame Martelli, I have some ideas.”, Elsa said.

“Oh?”, Giulia replied.

Elsa giggled. “I know, the state has a minority share in Schiaparelli, so you’ll know anyway.”, she said. “But the thing’s going so well… I’m thinking of running the horse.”

Giulia looked on with curiosity.

“Thanks to you, Casa Schiaparelli is one of the biggest fashion houses in Italy.”, Elsa said.

Giulia smiled, put her hand on her chest, and raised her other arm. Her gesture tried to imply modesty, and Elsa would have none of it.

“By god, I design, but it’s thanks to you, Prime Minister.”, she said. “You know how to pick winners! You brought all the airlines into SAI. You’ve got Poste Italiane for mail. SIT for telephones. FIAS for airships…”

“EIAR for radio!”, Giulia added, giggling.

Elsa continued. “Benetti for shipbuilding! Ansaldo for engineering! FIAT and ALFA and STAR and FLAG and…” She laughed. “I don’t even remember the others for cars.”

Giulia laughed. “Florio in Sicily…”, she added.

“My point is, Prime Minister, you do a great job picking winners.”, Elsa said. “Casa Schiaparelli is now one of Italy’s big clothing companies.”

Giulia nodded.

“And I feel it could go on to greater things.”, Elsa said.

Giulia looked at Elsa with a sly smile. “Well?”, she joked. “Don’t keep me in suspense!”

Elsa grinned. “Casa Schiaparelli could be Italy’s biggest clothing company, but more than that.”, she said. “I think we could do jewellery and perfumes, too.”

Giulia exhaled. “Good, good, you’re not asking to take over Prada or anything.”, she joked. “You know those go through the Competition Commission. I don’t interfere.”

Elsa chuckled. “Of course not, Prime Minister.”, she said. “That’s beneath my dignity. I’m just saying, I know Casa Schiaparelli can become a giant. It can go on to greater glory. It can lead the field of clothes and luxury in Italy.”

Giulia gave Elsa a mischievous look. “You’d still have to beat Bulgari and Panerai and others for that.”, she said.

“Details, details.”, Elsa joked. “It’s not about a fight. We push ourselves to great things. You say it yourself, Prime Minister. Italy’s name will mean Fiat, Buitoni, Ansaldo, Schiaparelli…”

Giulia nodded.

Elsa thought for a second, and laughed. “And that’s it, I suppose.”, she joked. “I’ve lost my train of thought.”

Giulia laughed. “You did make your point though.”, she reassured. “And I know you can do great things. I’m curious to see how your expansion goes.”

Elsa smiled. “Madame Martelli, someday we will be greatest of friends too.”, she said.

“I can’t wait.”, Giulia said with a grin.

“My friends call me ‘Schiap’, by the way.”, Elsa added.

Giulia laughed. “So when we’re friends, I can call you that too?”, she asked.

“Only if I can call you ‘Mart’.”, Elsa joked. “It’s only fair.”

Giulia thought. “Hmm… If you say them quickly, it sounds like ‘checkmate’, doesn’t it?”

Elsa tried saying “Schiap” – “Mart” in quick succession. She chuckled. “I guess so, a bit.”, she quipped.

Giulia gave Elsa a playful look. “I could give you another idea for expansion, if you want.”, she said.

“Oh?”, Elsa asked.

Giulia grinned. “You think there’d be any interest in copies of my suit?”, she joked.

Chapter 27: Radiant Days

9 May 1929

The sun rose.

In Rome, staff walked into the Hotel Excelsior on Via Veneto. They took their positions at the front desk and prepared for arrivals. A painter arrived to redo the letters “COOPERATIVA” on the front door.

In Torino, workers walked into the FIAT factory and punched in the clock. The first shift started. The workers and their stewards held a shop floor meeting. They debated and agreed on production targets for the day.

In the plain around Catania, workers worked to drain marshland.

In Ravenna, a repair crew worked on a local telegraph line.

In Cornaredo, villagers operated the local mill.

In Olbia, pupils began the school day. The first lesson was Sardinian literature.

In Serrenti, workers continued a land reclamation project.

In San Feliciano, former king Victor Emmanuel got on a boat to go fishing.

The sun reached zenith.

In Florence, sex workers sat around chatting in their house. They waited for both customers and for a colleague to return from health check. The brothel sported a proud “COOPERATIVA” sign at its entrance.

In Crotone, a doctor administered quinine to patients.

In Milano, Fio Piccolo worked in the Piaggio factory. She called in a colleague to help her fix an airship engine.

In Sutera, farmers retired to their houses. They finished the hard labour in the fields for the morning. It was time for lunch and the controra.

In Rome, parliament debated laws.

In Pescara, a volunteer collected signatures for a referendum proposal.

In Palermo, shipyard workers worked. They were building a new cruise ship for the Florio cooperative federation.

In Asmara, policemen intervened and broke up a scuffle. They brought to the police station three badly-beaten nationalists and four outraged Eritreans.

In Modena, a judge prepared to hear a case.

In Messina, journalists wrote articles for the evening edition of L’Ora.

The sun set.

In Rome, people set for the Via del Corso for the passeggiata.

In Bari, fishing ships arrived in port.

In Fiume, Gina sang her concert at the Hotel Adriano.

In Verona, a train arrived in the station on time. It left the station on schedule. The station director conferred in his office with a hired Swiss expert.

In Genova, workers closed up shop in a factory. One of them telegraphed the cooperative’s production figures for the day to Rome.

In Bologna, two tourists returned to their hotel after a shopping trip.

In Tripoli, Nadia Rahman left university with her notebooks. She headed home.

In Pola, an Italian and a Croat talked in awkward pidgin in a restaurant.

In Trieste, workers and families walked into an art exhibit. The poster at the entrance boasted that OND organised it.

The night fell.

In Cagliari, Zara hit the local pub. Emma joined to look after her health.

In Campobasso, a café enjoyed a good turnout of customers.

In Follina, two friends argued over dinner. They ended up laughing and changing the subject.

In Florence, a family turned on the radio to hear an opera broadcast.

In Siracusa, a family of tourists returned to their hotel. The husband remarked to his wife how every building seemed to have “COOPERATIVA” written on it.

In Rome, Giulia Martelli made love to her husband Franco.

Chapter 28: Let Us Continue

5 May 1930

Fio was in the kitchen with Gigliola, doing the dishes. She looked at the clock on the wall.

“Huh, shouldn’t it be time for the morning news?”, she asked.

Gigliola glanced at the clock. “Hmm.”, she said. “Yes, it’s time for it.”

Fio looked towards the open door, and shouted: “Grandpa! Can you put on the news?”

“What’s the rush, young lady?”, Andrea shouted back with a hearty laugh. “You’re not the only excited one around here, y’know!”

“Aww, please, grandpa?”, Fio shouted back.

Gigliola poked Fio in the shoulder and reminded her to pay attention. She didn’t want Fio to flood the house by accident.

Andrea walked over to the radio and turned it on. He tuned it to the EIAR station. He heard a newsreader with a strong Milanese accent.

Hearing the radio from the other room made Fio excitable. “Oh, man, big sis, I can’t wait!”, she said.

Gigliola chuckled. “Fio, will you please calm down?”, she said. Her tone was teasing but gentle.

Fio said nothing and went on washing the dishes.

Andrea listened to the news and relaxed in his seat. “Good.”, he muttered to himself, happy.

After a few minutes, Andrea shouted: “They got the results, Fio.”

“Did they?”, Fio shouted in response. “Tell me, grandpa!”

Andrea laughed. The old man treasured moments like these with his hot-headed granddaughter. “The FDP won. They got 60% of the vote.”

“Wooo!”, Fio cheered. Gigliola had to step in to make sure she didn’t break dishes by accident.

Fio was too delighted by the result to pay attention as Andrea continued. “They say the URA came second, with 12%.”

Andrea wondered for a second how on earth did the communists surpass the popularists.

Chapter 29: If You Do Something, Do It Well

5 September 1932

Nadia waited for the bus. She sat on the large suitcase in which she’d packed her belongings. Her body bathed in the glow of the golden hour in a fetching manner.

She wore a white shirt with a white bow, a brown jacket, and a dark patterned skirt. She reached for her bow and tugged on it, to tighten it. Satisfied, she leaned on her suitcase and assumed a proud pose.

How much things had changed. Four years ago she was still much the sullen girl entering the liceo. Back then she hated school uniforms and felt constricted by them. But she took her old headmaster’s words to heart. He had been the first adult who actually seemed to care. Who tried to meet Nadia where she was instead of punish her for not being what he wanted her to be.

A new school meant a new start. Nadia began to open her heart to others. It was a slow process, marred by her defensive streak. Sometimes she felt like she made no progress. There were misunderstandings. Words she later regretted. Still, she persevered. It was the one thing she knew how to do by instinct. Charge head-first at a problem and hope it would yield to her pressure.

At the liceo, Nadia discovered her love for reading and writing. She made her first friends. She graduated with top marks. And now, she was the stylish young lady waiting to go to the airport for her move to Italy.

Nadia looked once more at her brown jacket, and thought about how she loved wearing it. She felt the buttons to make sure they were well buttoned. She sat on her suitcase in a pose. She pretended she was a glamorous movie star, like Lia Franca or Elsa Merlini.

The bus arrived before she knew it. She felt somewhat bashful as she climbed onboard with her suitcase. She showed her discipline by only muttering one sarcastic remark, about the lack of help. What’s this world coming to when normal adult men do nothing to help a nice young lady?

Nadia arrived at Senussi Field. She showed her passport with pride – the one showing her dual citizenship. She passed through customs and queued to get on the airship.

By the time the airship took off, the sun had set. The golden glow seeped away, and the clouds and sky took on a red tinge. Nadia looked out the window at Tripoli – the city she’d come to call home. The white buildings and white foam of the sea formed a soft contrast to the harsh yellow sands of the desert.

Nadia hated to part from her hometown, but her old headmaster’s words lingered in her memory. The satisfaction of lording it over everyone who ever doubted or antagonised her. It was all too tempting to resist. When she was younger, the question mark of her past haunted Nadia. Literature became a way for her to fill the void that nature abhorred. She could be anything. She could be a Princess of Mars. She could be a Princess of Atlantis.

Scaling down her ambitions to match reality was not a retreat, not at all. It was, in fact, a clever pincer attack on reality. The 18-year old’s big dreams would never fit in Libya. No, it would never do. Only one university could ever match Nadia’s potential: La Sapienza.

Nadia daydreamed as she looked out the window. She saw Tripoli recede into the distance, replaced by the Mediterranean Sea. Dusk gave way to evening. Nadia turned her attention from the window to the airship. She ate a light meal and got into conversation with the other passengers.

By the time she landed in Rome, she only had enough time to reach her lodgings, undress, and sleep.

Chapter 30: The Time of Cherries

23 July 1933

Morning edged into noon, and Milano was alive. Only a month after the summer solstice, the sun still rose around 5 AM, and the city got up with it. The skies were blue and almost cloudless. Devout Catholics went to churches for Sunday service. Priests prepared for the Sext prayer. Children and their families filled Milano’s parks and play areas. Workers and youngsters alike went to OND events across the town. Factories lay idle on a day off. Women walked through streets lined with posters, meeting up with friends for a chat. They headed for the local markets.

Marco Pagotto and Andrea Piccolo enjoyed a casual stroll along the Ripa di Porta Ticinese. The street was free of cars. Two tram tracks and their overhead lines occupied the length of the street. Besides trams, only cyclists, scooter owners, and motorcyclists would pass by.

The good view of the Naviglio Grande made Marco feel nostalgic. “Hey, Andrea?”, he said.

“Yeah?”, Andrea responded.

Marco had a playful grin. “Remember that time I wanted to drive my plane up the Navigli?”, he joked.

Andrea laughed. “Oh, do I ever.”, he said, bumping Marco in the shoulder. “I thought you lost your brains, son!”

Marco laughed.

“Porco Dio, I told you you’d get splat on the stone walls!”, Andrea joked.

Marco gave his good friend a sly grin. “Your granddaughter liked the idea, at least.”, he quipped.

Andrea struggled and failed; he burst into laughter. “Oi, Marco!”, he shouted in a jocular voice. “Don’t go filling her head with nonsense when you visit, ya hear?”

Marco chuckled.

“She’s unruly enough as is!”, Andrea joked. “You wanna make Gigliola’s life harder?”

“Ah, come on, old pal.”, Marco said in a playful voice. “It’s gonna get easier. Fio’s growing up, you know.”

Andrea took a moment to finish chuckling. “She’s growing up, sure, but I don’t know if she’s growing old.”

Marco looked over the Naviglio Grande. He pointed to the other bank. “I love what they did with the Alzaia.”, he said.

Andrea nodded.

“They put more trees and grass around the pavement.”, Marco observed. “They did a great job.”

“Oh, yes.”, Andrea said. “Great make-work during this damned depression. Such good results from the public works, too.” His expression turned meditative. “I swear, the city’s never been as beautiful as it is now.”

Marco and Andrea walked past a footbridge. Marco pointed at it and joked, “See, my seaplane could’ve totally fit under that.”

Andrea laughed. “Vai a cagare, Marco,” he said jokingly, “you just ignored that big docked restaurant boat!”

“That wasn’t there back then.”, Marco retorted with a chuckle.

They walked on. On the other bank, they saw a parish church and people walking out of it. “Huh, didn’t expect this much turnout.”, Marco said.

Andrea chuckled. “Some things never change.”, he said. “I bet most of them voted FDP, too.”

Marco blinked, and gave Andrea a skeptical look.

“Yeah, people here vote FDP and go to church.”, Andrea quipped. “What, just ‘cause someone steps foot in a church doesn’t mean he’s automatically PPI.”

Marco thought for a moment. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised the PPI still goes on.”, he said.

“What do you mean?”, Andrea asked.

“Well…”, Marco said, “wasn’t the Pope in a snit about the Risorgimento? I thought he was telling Catholics it’s a sin to take part in politics.”

“Oh, that.”, Andrea said with a nod. “Yeah, I guess he tolerates Sturzo and De Gasperi at best.”

They walked past the Ponte Alda Merini. They were now in a pedestrianised area. They walked past cafés, restaurants, local artisans and traders with stalls.

“Outta curiosity… wha’d’you make of this concordat they made with Germany?”, Marco asked.

“What do I make of it?”, Andrea replied. “I think it’s a pile of crap!” He mimed spitting on the ground.

Marco nodded. “It surprised Gina too.”, he said. “She didn’t like reading about it in the newspapers.”

“I’ll tell ya what’s outrageous.”, Andrea said, a frustrated tone in his voice. “The Pope rushed to make an agreement with Germany before he made one with Italy!” He swung his fist at empty air. “Germany! After Hitler banned other parties and wiped out the trade unions!”

Marco blinked and looked at his good friend with surprise. “Wait, what?”, he asked. “There’s no concordat with Italy?”

“Nope!”, Andrea replied, shrugging. “Prime Minister gave him the Vatican, gave him an indemnity. Then they got bogged down on the rest. Neither will budge.”

Marco mulled over his friend’s words. “Sounds pretty bad.”, he offered.

They walked on up the Ripa di Porta Ticinese.

“I’ll tell you what I like about La Giulia.”, Andrea said, his tone more cheerful. “She played it smart. She outfoxed the Pope.”

“Really?”, Marco said, interested.

Andrea nodded. “Oh yeah.”, he said. “Every step of the way, she made herself look reasonable and the Pope look like a stubborn old mule.”

Marco looked at Andrea. He could tell his friend got some impish enjoyment out of this, and it made him happy too.

“She reined in the socialists and didn’t go after the church.”, Andrea continued. “Instead, she had the party bandy about all the Bible quotes about helping the poor and all that.”

Marco chuckled. “Making people think the Pope doesn’t practice what he preaches?”, he added.

“Hahaha, yeah, right on.”, Andrea said. “Making people think, what’s the Papacy need with all these palaces? Why does the Pope need a castle? So on. Her whole point’s, well, priests should have enough to live on and that’s it. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”

Marco laughed. “I wouldn’t know, old pal.”, he said. “I doubt me or Gina strike you as orthodox.”

Andrea tapped Marco on the shoulder. “And thank god for that!”, he joked.

They reached the Viale Gorizia, and paused for a moment to admire the Darsena. A few boats drifted at a relaxed pace towards the docks. They could see people on the other bank, walking by, cycling by, chatting, enjoying the day.

“I’m getting a bit hungry.”, Marco said.

Andrea looked up for a moment, shielding his eyes. “Yeah, it seems about lunch.”, he said. “Let’s go a bit up, there’s a farmer’s market in the square.”

“Great!”, Marco said.

They walked past a utility pole, helping carry the overhead tram lines. On the pole, they saw a poster for a Free Economy Union rally. The sight of the poster made Andrea chuckle.

“What’s the joke?”, Marco asked.

“Oh, it’s funny.”, Andrea replied. “It’s funny how every time I see Onorio Bravo’s face, I think he’s an insufferable, arrogant cretin. But every time I see La Giulia’s face, I feel delighted.”

Marco laughed. “I take it Onorio’s not as handsome as the Prime Minister?”, he asked.

“Marco, my old pal, there’s a beauty to a woman’s arrogance that a man could never hope to conjure.”, Andrea quipped.

Marco laughed, and thought of old times. He thought of Andrea’s wife, and how she embodied his good friend’s post with aplomb. He thought perhaps that may be why Andrea voted for Giulia Martelli. The charisma, the style, the bravado, the sprezzatura. Giulia reminded Andrea of his beloved wife.

For Andrea, Onorio Bravo’s efforts to affect the same bravado made him look like an unbearable jerk.

“I heard he’s angling hard for next year’s election.”, Marco said.

Andrea nodded. “Yeah…” His tone seemed more distracted. “I worry he’s gonna put up a strong fight, too.”

Marco raised his eyebrow. “You don’t mean you think the Prime Minister will lose?”, he asked.

“Pfft, heavens no!”, Andrea said, almost outraged by the implication. “Come on!” He let out a weak chuckle. “Put it this way. If the last two elections were football matches, they were massacres. It’d be 10–0, even more!”

The mental image gave Marco a good laugh.

“The Front dominated them.”, Andrea said. “But…” He sighed. “This damned depression’s got no end in sight. We’ve stayed above water, but it’s worn people out. If this election’s a football match, I worry Bravo would take it to extra time.”

Marco and Andrea reached the Piazza Ventiquattro Maggio. They walked across the bridge to the local market. They joined the crowd navigating through the market. The pulse of the crowd, passing the stalls of food, clothing, and homeware. The exuberant din of conversations in Milanese. It was like they were part of Milano’s heartbeat.

Marco and Andrea stopped over at a stall run by a seller from Cornaredo. They got some sandwiches with cold cuts.

“Oh, do you want lire or scudi?”, Marco asked, reaching into his wallet.

The seller chuckled. “Either’s fine.”, he replied. “I mean, that’s the point of scudi! You spend ‘em!”

Chapter 31: Red Barchetta

Notes:

(It's pronounced [barketa], by the way - Neil Peart sucks at Italian :P)

14 April 1934

The Hotel Adriano was one of the jewels of Fiume. A former sea fort, it had been rebuilt after the war into a lovely getaway. It was a short distance from a rocky shore and forested headland of Cantrida beach. It had several piers to accommodate boats and seaplanes. The hotel's Romanesque revival style gave it a quaint appearance. The front garden had a few tables with umbrellas. The back garden was lush. Elaborate decorations included a pond, flowers, fountains, grotesques carved into walls. At the back of the island lay a gazebo, offering a great view of the city shore.

It all sprang from the vision of Madame Gina. She was Fiume’s most genial hostess. It was her vision and dedication that had made the Hotel Adriano a landmark. It was her elegance and quiet strength that earned her the admiration of many. The Hotel Adriano welcomed all. Fiume’s powerful, rich, and beautiful. Ordinary Italians enjoying afforable and discounted vacations through OND. The celebrities and café society of Europe and beyond.

Gina and her husband Marco could spend the rest of their life on the Hotel Adriano. It was their masterpiece. In the quiet mornings and afternoons, they could walk together through the gardens. It was hard to tell where they had sex more often: their room or the gazebo. Marco would keep his old trusty seaplane functional, and fly now and then for old times’ sake.

A red boat docked in at the front. Madame Lulu stepped off onto the pier. Her blue jacket, draped over her shoulders, swayed in the wind. Her red dress and gloves were present as always, but her churchwarden pipe was missing this time.

She walked towards the entrance, up the stairs. A hotel employee met her at the top with a smile. “Good afternoon, welcome to Hotel Adriano.”, he said. “May I help you?”

Lulu smiled. “Thank you.”, she said. “May I speak to Madame Gina, please?”

 “Yes, you can.”, he said. “She’s in the back. You’ll find her there.”

Lulu giggled and gave the employee a friendly pat on the shoulder. Then she proceeded towards the gazebo.

Lulu slowed her walk to admire the back garden. The gentle stone paving. The pond. The trees and plants, everywhere. The sunshine and the gentle sound of the sea in the background. The quiet pouring water from the fountains around the walls.

She could swear it was a couple animals short of being a zoo, or a national park.

Lulu approached the gazebo, trying not to disturb. She found Gina reading and having tea. Gina wore a white dress with white gloves and a white sun hat. She looked breathtaking.

Gina looked up from her lecture and saw Lulu. She smiled. “Ah, Madame Lulu.”, she joked. “I could recognise the sound of your shoes anywhere.”

Lulu giggled. “Always a pleasure, Madame Gina.”, she replied.

Lulu walked over and hugged Gina, then sat next to her. They looked at each other and smiled like two worldly-wise madames.

“I see you finally cleared a bit of your busy schedule.”, Gina joked.

Lulu laughed. “I’m pretty fortunate, yes.”, she joked. “We’re finally at the point where the SAI sort of runs itself.”

Gina raised an eyebrow. “I’m trying to imagine you being even more relaxed than you already were.”, she quipped.

“Well, I made things look easy.”, Lulu joked, waving her arms. “Now things have become easier, thank god. I’m more of a figurehead president. I keep on top of things, motivate people. Now I get to watch the machine at work myself.”

Gina gave Lulu a sincere and warm smile. “That’s wonderful to hear.”, she said. “So you’re at the same point where I am with the Hotel Adriano.”

Lulu nodded. “You could say that.”, she said.

They passed a pleasant moment in silence. Lulu pointed to Gina’s lap. “Good reading?”, she asked. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Gina laughed. “Oh, my dear madame, you could never interrupt.”, she joked.

Gina gave Lulu an impish smile. She held up the cover for Lulu to see. It was Time magazine, the 8 January 1934 cover. It showed Lulu and Giulia Martelli.

Lulu held up her hand to her chest, as if surprised. Gina would allow none of it.

“My dear madame, I will not allow you to be bashful.”, Gina quipped, taking and lowering Lulu’s hand. She patted the hand twice and smiled at Lulu with eyes closed. “It’s disgraceful.”

Lulu grinned. “Right as ever, my dear madame.”, she joked. “Fortune favours the bold.”

“The brave.”, Gina replied.

“… both?”, Lulu offered.

They both laughed.

“You must pardon me, my dear madame.”, Gina said in a playful voice. “My Latin is very rusty.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.”, Lulu said, waving her hand. “At least yours is classical Latin. It’s outrageous how many people get taught that horrible ecclesiastical Latin.”

Gina giggled into her palm. “I never realised you were so specific.”, she said.

“I can’t stand people who pronounce audaces like it’s Italian.”, Lulu said. “The Romans didn’t have a ‘cia’ sound!”

“The solution to the problem would be using audentes.”, Gina joked.

Lulu laughed.

Gina gave Lulu an admiring gaze. “Anyway, congratulations, my dear madame.”, she said. “You and the best Prime Minister of Italy, on the cover of Time. That’s a milestone, it is.”

Lulu looked sincere and thankful. “Thank you.”, she said. “It means a lot. It’s nice, the recognition.” After a pause, she added: “It also gives us a good opening with the English world.”

Gina nodded. “Mhm.”, she said. “Is it easier now, for you? President of SAI and all that?”

She pointed to the tea cup, and Lulu nodded. She poured Lulu some tea.

Lulu relaxed into the bench. “Oh, god, it’s such a relief.”, she said. “My visits abroad go easier now, I can feel it. You won’t believe how spineless they could be. At least they’re not treating me like a leper anymore. The last few trade missions have been very pleasant, actually.”

Gina gave Lulu a silent sympathetic smile.

“All I can say is we’ve had such rotten luck with the times…”, Lulu said. She sighed and gazed upwards for a moment. “It was like Hercules’ labours to get the foreigners to stop fearing us. We had to fight to not get the cold shoulder from business. And now the entire world’s economy has gone straight to hel.”

“Don’t I know it.”, Gina said. “I’ve stayed above water, thank god, but business has suffered. We get the dregs of the beau monde nowadays…”

Lulu nodded, and drank from her tea.

“I don’t ask for much.”, Gina continued. “It takes a lot to get thrown out of the Hotel Adriano, you know that.”

Lulu giggled into her palm.

“But it’s supposed to be for everyone… always has.”, Gina continued. “The petite bourgeoisie’s hurting.”

Lulu felt amused, and thought she never took her friend to be a Marxist.

Gina sighed. “I miss the merchants, my dear madame.”, she said. “The small traders, the artisans, the shopkeepers. I love to have them here, the people who save some money and treat themselves. I tell you, they’re some of the most fascinating people you can meet. And to see the joy on their faces when they share a restaurant with old veterans or some socialite or another…”

Lulu sympathised, and Gina appreciated her showing it.

“The only ones I still get nowadays are Italians.”, Gina said, chuckling. “And our own. Marco hears it in the city committees, in the consortium. Trade’s suffered. And the damnedest is, we can’t fix it by ourselves.”

Lulu let out a sympathetic chuckle. “Please, Dio boia, get us out of this fucking depression already.”, she quipped.

Gina laughed, and looked out the window.

“At least the election is over soon.”, Lulu added. There was a resigned sarcasm in her voice.

“Mm. Worried?”, Gina asked.

“It’s been troublesome… more than the last two.”, Lulu admitted.

Gina returned her gaze to her friend. “Mhm?”

“It’s that damned Onorio Bravo.”, Lulu spat out. “He’s hauled in all the liberals in his Free Economy Union. Somehow managed to get into an alliance with the Popular Bloc.”

“The popularists went with him?”, Gina asked, surprised. “How’d that happen?”

“Losing the last election stung ‘em bad.”, Lulu said. “Ugh. We could at least deal with Sturzo’s christian democrats, but De Gasperi decided to jump on the bandwagon.” She drank from her tea. “The popularists are breaking from the depression too. They’re angry at us not getting anywhere with the Pope. Even though it’s the Pope who’s refusing to negotiate.”

Gina nodded, understanding.

“We’re planning a rally in Fiume near end of the month, actually.”, Lulu said. “Interested?”

Gina smiled and raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my.”, she said. “Thank you, my dear madame, but I don’t know what I could do there.”

Lulu giggled. “No worries, my dear madame.”, she said, patting Gina’s hand. “I know it’s beneath your dignity and all.”

Gina laughed.

“Here’s what bothers me though.”, Lulu said, sipping her tea. “We’ve got a big popular front, it was inevitable we’d lose some on the way. The anarchists, I doubt we could hang on to them.”

“It’s amazing they lasted as long as they did.”, Gina said.

Lulu nodded. “Yes. And now here comes Bravo. He tries to shovel all the right forces in his alliance, right? He’s got the liberals, he’s got a cartel with the popularists. Spends the campaign complaining about statism in the economy.”

“Mhm.”, Gina said with a nod.

“How far’s he gonna go?”, Lulu asked. “He’s got the democratic right forces in his corner, more or less. He can’t ally with the communists.” She burst into laughter at the thought. “Once he falls short, what’s his next move? Is he gonna go to the nationalists? To the fascists?”

Lulu felt apprehension.

Gina moved closer and put her hand on Lulu’s shoulder. Lulu looked at her and saw Gina’s warm smile. “No worries, my dear madame.”, Gina said. “You and your magnificent friend the Prime Minister have never met a problem you couldn’t lick.”

Lulu smiled. She felt touched. “That’s what I like to think.”, she said. “Thank you, my dear madame.”

Lulu drank some more tea. “But…”, she said, hesitant. “Ugh, we can do our utmost and still have to watch the world go to hel.”

Gina nodded.

“Germany and Austria are already lost.”, Lulu said. “France has the far-right leagues. Dio boia keep Italy safe, ya hear?!”

Chapter 32: Fortune Favours the Bold

26 April 1934

Giulia Martelli finished her address at La Sapienza University. This was her favourite part of campaigning. The chance to mingle with Italians. Addressing large crowds and thriving on their adulation. The perfect environment to swagger and flaunt her vast charisma. She had fun talking to students and answering their questions. She guaranteed that come election day, this class would give her 100% of the vote. She wanted the PSI to scoop up the youth vote.

Giulia saw the students filing out of the auditorium and prepared to be on her way as well. She heard an unexpected call: “Prime Minister!”

She saw a student running towards her with her right hand held high. “Prime Minister!”, she shouted, between gasps for air. Poor thing was so rushed it was a miracle she didn’t trip and fall on the way.

Giulia got a look at her as she approached. Her black skin led Giulia to guess she was Libyan. Already, she felt pleased. A Libyan girl attending La Sapienza. She thought this was a marvelous example of her government’s successes. Giulia liked her outfit too. A white shirt with a golden bow, a neat red jacket, and a long skirt. She thought she looked very natty and diligent.

“Prime Minister!”, the girl repeated as she came near.

Giulia smiled and stepped off the stage to meet her. “Yes, my dear?”, she said.

Giulia gave the girl her best warm smile. Still, the girl hesitated for a moment. There was a size difference, just enough to make Giulia tower over her. She felt nervous.

“Prime Minister, thank you for your wonderful discourse.”, the girl said, halting either for breaths or to muster her bravery. “I need your help. I wouldn’t have come to you if my situation wasn’t desperate.”

Giulia gave the girl another look as she caught her breath. She felt amused. More important, she liked the girl’s guts. She had the stones to come up and ask for Giulia’s help. Giulia felt intrigued. She wanted to know more.

“Don’t worry, my dear.”, Giulia said, with a light giggle. Her voice was soothing, a far cry from the delightful bombast of the earlier speech. She extended her hand. “And your name is…?”

The girl blinked and took a second to realise. She shook hands with Giulia. “I’m Nadia Rahman.”, she said. “Thank you for hearing me out, Prime Minister.”

“Nadia Rahman.”, Giulia repeated. She thought it was a pretty name. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Nadia nodded. “You see, Prime Minister, I was so busy doing my civic duty…”, she said. She paused for a moment, almost blushing. “…I’m now at risk of missing an exam.”

Giulia gave her a sympathetic chuckle. “Ah, that is so?”, she said. “I see. That would be most unfortunate. I won’t allow such a tragedy, signora Rahman.”

Nadia’s face lit up with pleasant surprise. “You’ll help me, Prime Minister?”, she said. Her hands were in almost a praying pose.

“Of course, of course!”, Giulia said. She reached out and disentangled Nadia’s hands, a subtle signal to tone it down a bit. She then nodded to her attendants to follow her.

“Lead the way, signora Rahman.”, she said.

Nadia couldn’t believe this was all happening. Still, she kept her cool and told Giulia where in the university building her exam would be.

Giulia used the walk to do more small talk. “Tell me, what are you studying, signora Rahman?”, she asked.

“Literature, Prime Minister.”, Nadia said. The whole situation was so surreal for her.

Giulia clapped her hands. “Ah, wonderful!”, she said. “You know, some of our great minds have attended such an illustrious university.”

Nadia’s eyes widened. “They have?”, she asked. “Of course, it’s Sapienza…” She scratched the back of her head.

“Hehehe, yes.”, Giulia said, smiling. “One of our great pedagogues, Montessori. The inventor of the barometre, Torricelli. One of France’s great statesmen, Mazzarini.”

The last one surprised Nadia. “He was?”, she said, curious.

“You may know him as Cardinal Mazarin.”, Giulia said.

Nadia chuckled.

“Forgive me my curiosity, signora.”, Giulia said. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Tripoli, Prime Minister.”, Nadia said. The question gave her a hint of bashfulness.

Giulia made a satisfied sound. “Mm, that is wonderful.”, she said. “Tripoli is a lovely city. A true jewel of the Mediterranean.”

Nadia nodded.

“It pleases me to see a bright Libyan such as yourself at La Sapienza, signora Rahman.”

Nadia felt the urge to look away, lest she blushed. Instead she gave Giulia a sincere, thankful smile. “Thank you very much, Prime Minister.”, she said.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing!”, Giulia reassured her. “I am committed to equality between Italians and Africans. Friendship is the root of the tree that will atone for our imperialism in Africa.”

Nadia looked in silent admiration.

She pointed to the corner up ahead. “Right in this corridor, Prime Minister.”

Giulia nodded, and reached out to nudge Nadia behind her. “Allow me to handle this, my dear.”

Nadia consented with a nod.

Giulia strutted into the corridor. There was a faculty member guarding the door. The sight of the Prime Minister of Italy swaggering his way startled him.

Giulia approached him and put her arms akimbo. She did her best to tower over him, and mustered her full splendour.

“Good morning, my dear professor!”, Giulia said. Her tone was friendly, but her performance was a fait accompli. “I wish to apologise. You see, this dear young lady…”

Nadia recognised the signal and stepped forward. Giulia put her arm around her shoulder and continued. “… signora Nadia Rahman, was doing some important work for me. Because of her civic duties, she has been unfortunately delayed for the exam.”

The faculty member felt overwhelmed. He was too tongue-tied to talk. His brain was racing just to process the situation.

“I give you my most profuse apologies for the delay.”, Giulia said, her tone honeyed with a hint of tenacious. “It would be a tragedy for this fine young student…”

She patted Nadia’s shoulder.

“… to have failed an exam because of her help to the state. Would it not?”

The faculty member stammered. “I-uh… yes, Prime Minister.”, he said. “It would be unbecoming.”

Giulia grinned. “Ah, wonderful!”, she said. “Thank you so much, my good professor.” She shook the faculty member’s hand with vigour. “Can you please make the necessary arrangements, so that signora Nadia Rahman can take the exam?”

The faculty member swallowed and nodded. “I understand, Prime Minister.”, he said. “I will attend to it myself.”

“Thank you very much.”, Giulia said. “You have done the state a great service.”

Giulia waited for a while to see the situation resolved. She kept Nadia close to her and kept her hands on Nadia’s shoulders. Nadia felt a mixture of jitters in the presence of power and comfort from Giulia. This was one of the most surreal and memorable days of her life.

In the end, the faculty allowed Nadia to take the exam by herself tomorrow.

When Nadia prepared to leave, Giulia tugged on her hand and kept her close. “Signora Rahman.”, she said.

“Yes?”, Nadia asked. She had no idea what else Giulia wanted.

Giulia smiled. “Please give me your address and telephone number.”

Nadia blinked. “Of course, Prime Minister.”, she said. She gave them out, and Giulia’s aide wrote it on a piece of paper.

In turn, Giulia picked up a pen and paper and wrote a quick note. She handed it to Nadia.

“Those are the numbers for my office and private villa.”, she said. “If you ever need help again, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll instruct staff to put through any call from Nadia Rahman.”

Nadia was struggling to keep her cool with how startled she was. “R-right!”, she said. “I will do that, Prime Minister!”

Giulia chuckled. “In fact, my dear…”, she said. “Are you busy this Saturday?”

“Ah!”, Nadia hesitated. “…no? No.”

Giulia grinned. “Wonderful.”, she said. “I’m inviting you to the villa. A car will come pick you up at 8 sharp.” She added a playful, “Don’t be late!”

Giulia walked away, and Nadia stood there with her jaw hanging open.

Chapter 33: The Act of Storytelling

16 July 1935

Nadia Rahman sat in a comfortable chair, together with Giulia Martelli. They faced a window that gave a great view of the Villa Doria Pamphilj gardens. Nadia alternated between paying attention to Giulia and writing in her notebook.

How fast things had changed. How fast Nadia had become used to it. In only a year, she went from a simple university student to being one of Giulia’s assistants. Now, she got to enjoy the green-clad Prime Minister’s delightful self-assurance often. She got to drink tea with Giulia. She got to chat with her dandy husband. She was on first-name terms with the small army of servants attending to Giulia at the Villa.

Their first “official” encounter had been memorable. Giulia got right to the point. She offered Nadia a position as her assistant, around her university courses. She emphasised to Nadia the tough and demanding nature of the job… in a playful voice that made it sound like it would be a breeze instead. Nadia couldn’t resist.

Now here she was, scampering about in Giulia’s tow around the Villa and taking notes. Giulia sat in her chair looking at the gardens, head resting against her palm. She talked and talked, and Nadia could listen for hours.

“… anyways, that’s enough theoretical work for today, my dear Nadia.”, Giulia said.

Nadia smiled and nodded. “Right, signora Martelli.”, she replied.

Giulia chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want the Olivetti?”, she asked, pointing to her notebook. “I don’t want you suffering an arm cramp because of me…”

Nadia laughed and gave a reassuring wave of the hand. “Oh, I do use it, signora Martelli.”, she said. “But I find it’s better for later stages.” She chuckled. “I can keep up with Gregg for you.”

Giulia grinned. Something about this charming young Libyan made their times together so enjoyable. “I assume you don’t write all your things in shorthand, though.”, she joked.

“No, not the literary!”, Nadia said, laughing. “By Allah, I could never edit a story if I wrote it in shorthand!”

Nadia and Giulia shared a laugh.

“Well, you’ll enjoy this one, my dear Nadia.”, Giulia said, giving her a playful look.

Nadia had an idea what was coming up, and it showed in her enthusiastic face.

“Let’s talk about old times again.”, Giulia said. Her smile was gentle and warm.

Nadia almost cheered. “Mhm!”, she said. She looked up from her notebook for a second. “What time this time, signora Martelli?”

Giulia thought for a second. “Well…”, she started. “Ah, I know!” She snapped her fingers. “Ten years ago, it was the time of plebiscites.”

Nadia chuckled as she wrote. Giulia had a certain talent for turns of phrase that was a gift to a writer. Especially a budding one.

“You see, my dear Nadia…”, Giulia began as was her wont. “When I took over as head of the Provisional Revolutionary Government, I had one principle.”

“We choose democracy?”, Nadia piped in, like an eager star student.

Giulia chuckled. “That’s right.”, she said. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s someone trying to set themselves up as some kind of Caesar or Pope. Someone trying to set up a synod and declare canon.”

Nadia wrote on.

“After I took over,” Giulia said, “I resisted Bolshevisation with all my might. In the heat of battle, in a full civil war, my dear Nadia…” She gestured with a wave of her hand. “…I understood that we had to train the people in democracy.”

Nadia nodded.

“So in 1924 and 1925, we held the plebiscites.”, Giulia continued. “We put our ideas before the people. We invited, no, encouraged their advice!” She put a strong emphasis on ‘encouraged’. “I said back then that Italy would never be Russia.” She chuckled with self-sastifaction. “This was the best way to show it. Night and day.”

“Didn’t the plebiscites start in late 1923?”, Nadia asked.

Giulia thought, rubbing her cheek. “I don’t remember.”, she admitted. “We’ll have to check.”

“Mhm.”, Nadia said.

Giulia returned to her tale. “I put my best arguments forward. I listened. I learned. Public debates were the fire that forged our iron into steel. Everything I have represented in government, I got the mandate from the plebiscites.”

Nadia wrote.

“The new civil code. The new constitution. Putting our trust in cooperatives and trade unions for the economy. Land reform. Giving the farmers as much land as they could work for their needs.”

Giulia relaxed in her chair and looked out the window. It put her in a contemplative mood.

“My dear Nadia.”, Giulia said, raising her finger as a rhetorical flourish. “The true test of greatness is opening yourself up to people.”

Nadia nodded.

“I didn’t arrest anyone.”, Giulia said, her voice turning jovial. “Sure, I kicked people off the Central Committee, but I didn’t kick anyone out of the party. I rejected democratic centralism. I said that we had to do things democratically or not at all. And if anyone preferred to worship at Lenin’s altar…” She pointed her finger in a certain direction. “… the exit is right there.”

“Didn’t you get grief for the abdication ceremony, signora Martelli?”, Nadia asked.

Giulia nodded. “Oh, I did.”, she said. She styled a stray bit of her dark hair. “There were always people who thought I held the party back. I reminded them again and again, we will never take the path of revolutionary terror. Engels himself said…” She groped for the phrase.

Nadia thought for a second. “The ‘useless cruelties’ quote.”, she said.

Giulia snapped her fingers, satisfied. “Perfect.”, she said. “We are socialists. Our quarrel is with systems, not people. As victors, we have a duty to be gracious to the defeated. You know the Macchiavelli quote.”

Nadia giggled.

“Obviously, I reject crushing people.”, Giulia quipped. “That leaves treating them well.” She crossed her hands and made a proud smile. “I have no fear of revenge. I have no need of a giant Cheka monstrosity.”

Giulia continued reminiscing and recounting as Nadia took notes.

Chapter 34: All You Fascists Bound to Lose

14 August 1936

Fio was in the canteen of the Piaggio factory. The place was clean and well-ventilated. The food was delicious. Fio sat down at a table with her colleagues. They all ate from plates with the OND logo on the bottom, and drank from cups and glasses with the OND logo.

Fio ate a cassoeula with polenta and red wine. She sat next to colleagues who had diverse orders. One of them ordered polenta e osei because he was vegetarian. They talked about diverse things. What was going on in their lives. What they planned for the weekend. How they enjoyed their OND events. Fio felt amused to hear a colleague talk about his difficulties learning rugby. What their vacations were like. What their vacations would be like.

The lunch break was long and relaxed. There was only one hitch. A man walked in distributing flyers. Fio took one of them. She read it:

“Against Fascism and Naziism – the enemy of the people abroad and at home

WORKERS! FREEDOM-LOVERS! PEACE-LOVERS!

THE ITALIAN COMMUNIST PARTY CALLS TO YOU–

Rally to Piazzale Loreto at 2:30 on SUNDAY. March to Porta Venezia,

where MILANO’S YOUTH WILL VOW THEIR SOLIDARITY WITH SPAIN’S PEOPLE

 

ANSWER EVOLA’S PROVOCATION – STAND AGAINST

FASCISM IN SPAIN AND ITALY – THE BUTCHER GENERAL FRANCO

and the JEW BAITER EVOLA”

Fio’s anger increased the more she read. She couldn’t believe the gall. The National Bloc trash grew more arrogant ever since Hitler had seized power in Germany.

“What these horrible fascists need is a damn good beating.”, she announced to the table. “It’s the only language they understand. We gotta speak their language.”

---

16 August 1936

“Here, comrade. You might need this.”

“Thanks, comrade.”, Fio replied with a nod. She took the wooden stick in her hand. She removed her straw boater and replaced it with a thick helmet.

Fio looked around her. She saw a crowd of Red Guards, carrying improvised weapons and shields, flags and banners.

The green centre of Piazzale Loreto had an eerie calm. The police stood around the marchers, but didn’t interfere. Red Guards began to erect barricades at the entrance to Via Padova.

Fio gulped. For a second she felt unease. She didn’t know which direction the fascist slime would come from. The fact that they were converging on Piazzale Loreto was unusual. Why not the centre of Milano?

Fio steeled herself, and took up position on a barricade towards Via Andrea Costa.

The hours passed in a quiet uproar. As time went on, locals from Loreto and Casoretto poured in to join the Red Guards. The sea of red flags and socialist banners added Yiddish banners.

Finally, a comrade shouted out the signal. The fascists were approaching from Viale Monza.

Fio rushed to get in position. Foremen stepped in and took on crowd management duties.

She squinted to see them in the distance. Their pathetic faces. Their pitiful black shirts. Their idiotic banners of fasces and swastikas. It made her laugh. Now they knew what flavour of National Bloc trash they were dealing with.

To join in any kind of left-wing politics in Milano was to learn the taxonomy of the far-right in detail. There were the national syndicalists and Political Futurists. There were the spectacle-obsessed dregs of d’Annunzio. There were the incoherent squadristi, the farmers and middle-class terrified of socialism.

There was Mussolini’s Fasci Italiani di Combattimento. Anyone who read their manifesto would see demands already met by the socialists. Universal suffrage, an 8-hour workday, a minimum wage, tax on capital, et al. Giulia Martelli did all that. What did Mussolini have left? Incoherence. Class collaboration, national rebirth, imperialism.

Then there were the Hitlerites. They loved Hitler. They wanted Italy to have its own Hitler. Who would take that role? d’Annunzio? Mussolini? Some other name plucked out of obscurity?

Fio thought she could see the fascists’ faces sink as they approached the barricade. Their small turnout proved no match for the larger crowd. And to think Giulio Evola had cooked up this whole idea to intimidate Milano’s Jewish community! Fio looked back, and smiled. It felt like she had 100.000 or more comrades with her. The pitiful fascists couldn’t muster more than a thousand or so.

---

Fio didn’t know what hurt worse. The pain from taking a hard punch to the forehead, or Gigliola giving her an earful about it.

Her older sister was saying things she’d heard before. You’re an irresponsible hothead, you had us worried sick, and so on.

Fio found herself smiling.

“…Fio?”, Gigliola said, baffled. “What’re you laughing about?”

“Oh, nothing, big sis.”, Fio joked. “I just appreciate your concern.”

Gigliola sighed.

Chapter 35: The Conquering-Hero Stuff

6 June 1937

Crowds packed the Piazza Sisto IV in Savona. It was an impressive display of unity from a fractious left. Thousands of people gathered in the square, a sea of red flags, black flags, and banners and signs. They had impromptu concerts, speeches, celebrations, fundraising. An observer could mistake it for a sagra, if not for the proclamations of solidarity with Spain.

The mayor of Savona stood on the makeshift podium and did his best to make himself heard above the din. “And now,” he said, “I give the word to a proud son of Savona. One of our best commanders in the volunteer corps. Lieutenant Sandro Pertini.” He stretched his hand to the side, cueing the guest’s appearance.

Sandro Pertini walked up to the podium and shook the mayor’s hand. Then he stood and waited for the cheers to subside. He stared right ahead, not so much at the crowd as above it. His gaze was that of a man who had fought in war and gained a healthy disgust for it.

“Comrades.”, he said when his voice was audible. “I need not remind of you of the cause for which we fight in Spain. We didn't send only weapons. We have sent our voluntary corps, our airforce, and our navy to aid the Spanish Republic.”

Scattered cheering took place.

“We’re not fighting any imperialist war.”, he continued. “Our purpose isn’t conquest. It isn’t some notion of national pride, or place in the sun. We fight to protect Spain’s freedom and honour.”

He stood silent and gave a nod, as if preparing himself.

“Last month’s disgusting events have proved the rightness of our cause. The dread hand of Moscow tried to reach into Spain to Bolshevise it. The dastardly communist attacks in Barcelona threatened revolutionary unity. They poisoned the air with suspicion and recrimation at a time when the demands of war are paramount.”

The anarchists and socialists booed in agreement. The Comintern sympathisers stood in sullen silence.

Sandro Pertini continued. “With Italy’s help, the Republic has advanced in the north. It has taken Pamplona and linked up with Asturias and León. Still, the balance is precarious. We cannot afford disunity or disorganisation. It is my hope that the anarchists will work together with the Popular Front. Together, they can crush the Bolsheviks and guarantee the revolution’s success.”

Two Red Guards intervened to break up a near-brawl in the back of the square.

“Comrades, the war will be long and it will be tough.”, he said. “Don’t expect any quick victories. France’s delay in intervention is shameful. To preach non-intervention is to throw Spain to the lions. Both Hitler and Stalin want to enslave Spain. Italy fights to defend the Spanish Republic. Italy shouldn’t have to bear this burden alone. Yet we do what we must.”

The crowd cheered. He turned to the mayor and asked, “Will that do?”

Chapter 36: Expecting to Fly

16 January 1938

Nadia Rahman and her husband Jean Lartigue walked to their favourite spot, hand in hand. It was a mild elevation in the Bab al Andalus Park. The ground was grassy, a nice break from Tripoli’s desert surroundings. “Grass” was too grandiose; “maquis” would be more accurate.

A gentle wind blew Nadia’s red skirt about. It caused her some embarrassment and Jean some amusement. They found a spot next to the Wadi al-Mjeneen. The gentle babbling of the brook was a soothing sound.

Nadia tugged on her husband’s arm. “Oh, look darling!”, she said, pointing with her left hand. “There’s one now!”

Jean looked, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. He chuckled. “Oh, yes, I see it, darling.”, he replied. “Do you think that’s the Norge?”

Nadia laughed. “Are you kidding?”, he said. “This isn’t Norway!”

Nadia and Jean’s private little getaway spot afforded them a good view of the Senussi Field. They could see the mooring masts and the airship hangars, and of course the airships coming in and going out.

Jean squinted, trying to get a better look. He laughed. “No, I can’t make out the model.”, he admitted. “It’s too far away.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Gianuccio.”, Nadia reassured him with a smile. “All airships look alike!”

Jean laughed. They shared a passion for air travel. Yet his wife was so nonchalant about airship differences. In turn, she had no idea how her husband could be such a maniac about technical stuff. It probably went with being an inventor.

Nadia held down her skirt and lowered herself to sit on the ground. Her husband followed.

They looked around in silence, enjoying each other’s company. On the other side of the river was the Grand Park. Its impressive statue commemorating Italo-Libyan friendship rose in the skyline. To their left was a small port, with a yachting club and hotel nearby. The bigger port was further east, beyond the Senussi Field. They couldn’t see that far.

Nadia tapped Jean’s back. “Darling, sit straight.”, she said.

“Oh! Terribly sorry.”, Jean said with a laugh. He straightened his posture. It was a terrible habit, to slump forward without thinking. He was so fortunate as a scatter-brained inventor to have a best friend like Nadia for his wife.

Jean looked at Nadia while she was busy looking at the sea. He thought she was so beautiful. The simple white shirt with a black bow went so well with her brown skin and dark hair. He thought about how much they’d changed since they first met. How he enjoyed Nadia’s good-natured nagging to dress better.

He laughed.

Surprised, Nadia turned to face him. “What’s so funny, darling?”, she quipped.

Jean smiled. “You, darling.”, he said.

Nadia blushed.

“You’re the funniest person I know.”, he continued. “And the loveliest, too.”

They looked at each other with affection and kissed.

Once finished, they returned to skygazing.

Nadia poked Jean in the shoulder. “Honey! Look, look!”, she said, pointing towards Senussi Field.

Jean saw the airship docking at the mooring mast in a nearly vertical position. He burst into laughter. “That’s gonna be awkward for the passengers!”, he quipped.

“Haha, yeah, I know!”, Nadia replied. “Remember when they docked like that in Rome? Good thing they gave us advance warning!”

“Yeah!”, Jean added, laughing. “Mother of god, that was such a steep docking. We got on in Libya on foot and got off in Italy by ladder!”

Nadia chuckled, and looked at Jean as he watched the airship. She felt like the luckiest girl in Libya.

It was an amazing thought. A decade ago, she was entering the liceo, after her awful collegio experience. Back then, she never would’ve dreamed she’d come this far.

Now here she was. A university graduate, working for the Prime Minister. Married to the best friend she ever had. The former delinquent and terror of teachers, now turned into the picture of decorum. So much so she now needled Jean to dress better like she did.

Nadia and Jean joked around some more, leading to playful touching. Finally, Nadia brought Jean to the ground and started kissing him.

They stood flat on the grass, arm in arm, watching the Libyan sky.

Chapter 37: Arsenal of Democracy

12 April 1938

Giulia Martelli walked out from under the airplane wing and stood upright. She put her hand on the wing. She tapped it twice out of curiosity, and felt satisfied with the metal sound that resulted.

“Yes, with a plane like this, we stand a fighting chance.”, she said.

Giulia was visiting an airplane factory in Torino. The factory produced military planes. Right now, their focus was the new Breda Ba.88 Lince. It had recently entered service for the Italian air force. The plan for the current batch was to send them first to the International Brigades in Spain. They needed the help in bombing the remaining nationalist holdouts. That was a good way to have the plane tested and give the pilots experience, too.

A few people accompanied Giulia. Defense minister Ferrucio Parri. Her usual aides. The factory’s union representative. The Cottone Squadron, for the propaganda value. Her assistant Nadia Rahman, scribbling down something in her notebook as always. Giulia continued walking and observing the workers. The union representative told her about the factory’s production quotas.

Italy needed all the help it could get. Storm clouds darkened Europe’s skies. Italy alone backed the Spanish Republic to the hilt in the civil war. The Republic’s victory was coming, but at a terrible cost. The Popular Front in France had disappointed in office and collapsed from power. The Stresa Front had collapsed.

Only last month, Germany had annexed Austria. The world crisis arrived at Italy’s doorstep. Crowds massed at the border to flee Austria. Giulia ordered border guards to let anyone through to safety. She held a conference with the governors of regions on the northern border. She ordered the urgent construction of fortifications across the Alps. Südtirol had begun propaganda that called it the last free outpost of a now-felled Austria.

The times were hard. The times demanded bold and imaginative leadership. Giulia’s government was ready to meet that demand.

Giulia asked the union representative if she could give a speech. He agreed, and planned to assemble the workers before lunch.

The workers gathered together at the agreed time. Giulia climbed onto the wing of a plane. She almost didn’t need to shout. Her already booming voice resonated across the factory floor quite well.

Giulia thanked the workers for their hard work and sacrifices. She spoke of the great threats facing Europe and the march of evil across the continent. She talked about the great feats of the Italians in the International Brigades. She praised the fire-forged friendship of Italy and the Spanish Republic.

She spoke fine and inspiring words, often interrupted by applause. Poor Nadia struggled at times to keep up and write down everything Giulia said. How she wished she had brought a typewriter!

The visit ended. Giulia and entourage left the factory. On the way back, Giulia approached Nadia and smiled.

“I do apologise for the burden on your hand, my dear Nadia.”, she said.

Nadia chuckled. “It’s nothing, signora Martelli.”, she reassured.

“Oh, but I insist.”, Giulia joked. “Let me make it up to you.”

Giulia took Nadia’s writing hand between her two palms and started massaging it.

Chapter 38: Know Your Opportunity

10 May 1938

Nadia Rahman walked the streets of Rome not knowing what to feel. There were so many options, all valid. Yesterday had been election day. She felt relieved that the Popular Democratic Front had been re-elected. It was a fourth victory in a row, that was a record. She felt relief that the exhausting campaign had ended. Seeing other people celebrating on the streets lifted her spirits somewhat.

Her own indecisiveness started to nag at her. The Popular Democratic Front had been re-elected. Why wasn’t she feeling… more? She watched as she walked. Even the street celebrations seemed to have… something missing. She couldn’t put her finger on it. There were less people attending them than four years ago.

Nadia reached the office of the Prime Minister. She went to a door, knocked on it, and let herself in.

“Good morning, Prime Minister.”, she said, giving a slight bow.

Nadia found Giulia Martelli in the room, lost in thought. She sat on a red fauteuil and was studying a large table, next to a coloured map of Italy. This was the official document of the final election results. The large stamp with the logo of the Interior Ministry proved it.

Nadia had never seen Giulia like this, and didn’t know what to think. Was it the early hour? Giulia’s customary vigour seemed absent. Giulia had a smile on her face, as always, but her concentration was unusual. She seemed somehow deflated.

At a loss for ideas, Nadia repeated, “Good morning, Prime Minister.”

Giulia turned and waved. “Good morning, my dear Nadia.”, she said, smiling. Nadia felt that Giulia’s voice somehow lacked the bombast and sheer zest for life she was accustomed to.

“The election results?”, Nadia said, pointing at the table.

Giulia chuckled. She seemed to be regaining some of her pep. “Yes, fresh from the Interior Ministry.”, she said.

Nadia came closer. She saw the map. The regions coloured in a crude manner, with 3 colours representing the major lists.

“Congratulations, Prime Minister.”, Nadia said, trying to build her own enthusiasm. “That was a wonderful victory.”

Giulia grinned. “Indeed.”, she said. “It was quite a victory.”

Nadia looked at the results table as well. It was a big garble of numbers. It reminded her of Jean’s invention drafts. From what she understood, the Popular Democratic Front finished first, with 62% of the vote. Second place went to the National Blocs, with 19%.

Nadia had never seen Giulia like this, and it unnerved her. She tried making some more conversation.

“Is there something wrong, signora Martelli?”, she asked. “You seem… disappointed.”

Giulia smiled. She closed her eyes and breathed for a second. Then she opened them again and looked at Nadia. “You’re right as always, my dear Nadia.”, she said. Her voice was sincere. “I’m fortunate to have your observant spirit by my side.”

Nadia almost blushed. “Thank you, signora Martelli.”, she said.

Giulia gestured towards the results table and map. “It is most troubling that the National Blocs came second.”, she said.

“But… you defeated Mussolini, did you not?”, Nadia asked, confused.

Giulia nodded. “That I did, my dear, that I did.”, she said. “But I didn’t manage a death blow.”

“Oh?”, Nadia said.

It seemed that talking with her secretary and scribbler unburdened Giulia. Her usual energy seemed to be returning.

“It concerns me that we lost Veneto and Calabria to the National Blocs…”, Giulia said. “It concerns me that the popularists and liberals have fallen far behind.”

Nadia looked at Giulia, trying to follow along.

Giulia could’ve said more. About how the Nazis were at the border, and now the National Blocs were at the back. About her fears of popularist voters breaking for Mussolini.

She’d tried to turn the campaign into a battle of good against evil. The Front’s campaign had ignored the economy, and all issues, in fact. The Front hammered on a simple, united theme. Giulia or chaos. Mussolini was Hitler’s man in Italy. Vote for the Front, unite for democracy.

And now after all the shouting was over… Mussolini was down, but not out.

The boxing match would go to the next round.

Giulia chuckled. “Oh, can you write this down, my dear?”, she asked. “I’ve figured out how I wanted to say it.”

“C-Certainly!”, Nadia said, snapped out of her calm. She brought out her pencil and notebook, and prepared to write.

“Put it down as follows.”, Giulia instructed with a grin. “I wanted to be Scipio Africanus. Instead, I found myself Fabius Cunctator.”

Chapter 39: The End Crowns the Work

16 May 1946

Dimitra La Vardia got out of her taxi. She stood at the gates for a moment. She gazed at the palace that Giulia Martelli had used as the seat of the Council of Ministers. The sun shone, but the temperature was lower than expected for the month.

Dimitra wore a thin trenchcoat over her maroon suit. She wore it loose, letting it hang off her shoulders but not putting her hands through the sleeves. She carried her sheathed sword in her left hand, using it as a walking stick.

Once her contemplative moment finished, she pressed the buzzer. She heard an electrical noise and the gate unlocked. She walked in and opened the door to the palace.

The door opened into a large hall with a dark red carpet guiding the main path. In front of her, she saw Giulia.

Giulia looked stunning as usual in her green outfit and hat. The years had been kind to her. Her long hair once stopped at her shoulders. Now it reached down to around the bottom button of her waistcoat. The relative absence of wrinkles on her face was remarkable. The few appeared around the dimples and mouth, the result of a lifetime of satisfied smiles. She hadn’t dyed her hair for the occasion. It was gray, which only made her look more like an elegant eminence.

Giulia rested her left arm akimbo on her left hip. She gave Dimitra a broad smile, with a delicious tinge of arrogance. “Dimitra.”, she said with satisfaction. “You’re early.”

Dimitra grinned as well. “Prime Minister.”, she said. She gave a bow, holding out her arms.

Giulia laughed. Her laugh was boisterous and warm as ever. “I’ve taught you well, my daughter.”, she quipped.

The remark almost made Dimitra blush. She returned to her upright position. The two grande dames of Italian politics looked at each other, happy. There was a warm glow of deep friendship around them.

“Anyway, that’s enough of that.”, Giulia said, joking. “Come tomorrow, you’ll be Prime Minister. I’ll only be ‘La Giulia’ from now on.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Dimitra. She cocked her eyebrows and put her hand to her heart. “Not to me.”, she said.

Giulia raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t like ‘La Giulia’?”, she said.

“I don’t feel I’ve earned the equality.”, Dimitra said. She sounded sincere. In fact, she sounded like she was mustering her sincerity on purpose. “I’ve got big shoes to fill.”

Giulia giggled. “I appreciate the butt-kissing, doll.”, she said. Behind her nonchalant tone was genuine affection. “You know Nadia still refuses to call me by first name? Hahaha, she has too high an opinion of me.”

Dimitra chuckled as well. “She’s not the only one.”, she replied.

Giulia gave Dimitra a playful look, like an old mentor sizing up her former pupil. “Alright.”, she conceded in a humorous tone. “Signora Martelli if you like.”

Dimitra looked happy. “Works for me.”, she joked. “Gives me something to work towards. To earn the right to address you as an equal.”

Giulia felt amused. “Yer being awful ceremonious about this, Dimitra.”, she quipped. “I’m not the queen, y’know. You don’t have to kneel and kiss my hand.”

Dimitra nodded, grinning. Giulia interrupted with a quick: “And don’t be getting any ideas, either!”

Both ladies laughed, the kind of laugh that showed their inner peace.

“Wanna go for a walk?”, Giulia asked.

“Sure.”, Dimitra said.

Giulia led Dimitra through the palace and into the inner courtyard. There, they would have privacy.

Giulia looked at the way Dimitra swung her sword and used it like a walking stick. She pointed towards it. “Nice walking stick, by the way.”, she said.

“Thanks.”, Dimitra replied.

“Don’t tell me you, of all people, need a walking stick.”, Giulia joked. “At your fresh, young age!”

Dimitra laughed. “What can I say.”, she played along. “You’ve been more of the spring chicken than me.”

“Oh, god.”, Giulia said, laughing. “It wasn’t enough that I was the biggest man in the cabinet?”

Dimitra smiled. “I’ve been seeing a lot of Giulia outfits now on the streets.”, she said. “Even men wearing them. Men in skirts, ascots, waistcoats… not the high heels, though.”

Giulia chuckled. “Ah, they have to draw a line somewhere.”, she joked. “I reckon we could encourage them to walk in our shoes. That’ll lead us to greater understanding between men and women.”

The thought gave Giulia a comforting glow, and she looked ahead, lost in thought.

They arrived in the inner courtyard and sat down on a bench. They enjoyed the view in silence.

Giulia turned towards Dimitra. “Anyway, congratulations, Dimitra.”, she said. Her tone was sincere. “Don’t worry about it. You’re the only one who can fill those big shoes.”

Dimitra looked at Giulia with an admiring expression. She nodded.

Giulia chuckled. “So, do you want me to drop the act for a bit?”, she asked. “Have a heart to heart? Give you advice?”

Dimitra giggled. The thought amused her. She waved her hand. “Oh, it’s fine.”, she reassured Giulia. “Feels like all our conversations were heart to heart in disguise. That’s what I’ve always admired about you, to be honest. I always felt you were honest under all the sprezzatura.” She smiled. “You have the biggest heart in Italy, signora Martelli.”

Giulia laughed, but there was a grateful sparkle in her eyes. “Thank you, Dimitra. I mean that.”, she replied. “I’ll be honest too. It helped me too sometimes. When I felt like I could hardly carry on. Being the ‘Iron Woman’ was my armour. My weapon.”

Dimitra listened with interest.

Giulia smiled. “That’s how I’ve been.”, she said. “I spill my guts and cry to my husband and my closest. But then I grit my teeth, swallow my tears, and put that smile back on. I peacock right through that pain.” She raised her index finger and announced, “There’s no pain that’ll get the better of Giulia Martelli!”

Dimitra chuckled, and looked at Giulia. Giulia looked at Dimitra. Minutes passed in congenial silence.

“Are you 100% certain about taking office tomorrow?”, Giulia joked.

Dimitra nodded, grinning. “I’m not superstitious, signora Martelli.”, she replied. “That’s how I’ll establish dominion first. Make Friday the 17^th kiss my butt.”

They shared a laugh.

“Can I ask for one thing, only?”, Giulia said. “Departing Prime Minister to successor?”

“Sure.”, Dimitra said. The unexpected question animated her with a bit of enthusiasm, but more curiosity. “What is it?”

“Can I still live in the Villa Doria Pamphilj?”, Giulia said. “I’m very fond of the place. My darling Franco is too.”

Dimitra smiled. “That’s not a problem at all.”, she said. “I wasn’t planning to live there anyway. Hahaha, I’d like something closer to Montecitorio.”

“Wise idea.”, Giulia replied.

They sat together some more.

“I was always impressed by how you lived in the lap of luxury.”, Dimitra said, half joking and half earnest. “You’re a real bourgeois socialist.”

Giulia laughed. “I practice what I preach!”, she said.

Dimitra nodded. She thought about Giulia’s impeccable clothing. Her living in the Villa Doria Pamphilj. Her small army of assistants. Her gourmand tastes. Her loving marriage to her husband.

A realisation dawned on Dimitra, and it made her burst into laughter. Giulia looked at her curious.

“You live la dolce vita.”, Dimitra managed to say between laughs.

Giulia smiled. She relaxed in the bench and looked skyward. “That’s what I fought for, Dimitra.”, she said. “I fought to make sure everybody could share la dolce vita.” She looked at Dimitra with a warm expression. “I couldn’t stand the thought that it would’ve been for me alone. That was a sad, disgusting thing. But to raise everyone to my level…” She left a moment, her face showing inner peace. “That’s the true joy. I’m not alone. I brought everyone with me.”

Chapter 40: Once Dance Left, This World Is Gonna Pull Through

Notes:

Suggested soundtrack

Epilogue

Giulia Martelli

Flamboyant, energetic, cocky. It’s no stretch to say Giulia Martelli (1886–1988) transformed Italy in her image.

Path to power

Giulia leapt from obscurity to prominence in 1921. She delivered a fiery speech at the Italian Socialist Party’s Livorno Congress. She denounced the Comintern’s 21 conditions, likening them to the July Ultimatum of 1914. She dismissed Russia as “the useless backwater of Europe”.

As the Italian revolution became a civil war, Giulia championed democratic socialism. She forced PSI leader Nicola Bombacci into a wartime election in 1922. Campaigning on forming a popular front, she won by 58% to 42%. She became the leader of the Provisional Revolutionary Government.

During the war, she fought for direct democracy. She called plebiscites to win popular support and have Italians shape policies. Several defining elements of her tenure took shape through these plebiscites. These included: a new Constitution and Civil Code, multi-party democracy, and cooperative economics.

The Italian Civil War lasted from 1920 to 1925. It pitted the leftist revolutionaries against the monarchy. The Red Army gained the upper hand due to greater cohesion and organisation. The right-wing suffered from internal splits and king Victor Emmanuel III’s indecisiveness. Autonomist insurrections in Sicily and Sardinia sealed its fate.

The war ended on 30 April 1925 with the Peace of Rome. Victor Emmanuel III abdicated and Italy proclaimed a republic. In the late stages and aftermath, Giulia set out to promote national reconciliation. She instructed leftists to restrain celebrations and be magnanimous towards their defeated rivals. Her speeches repeated one theme: victors have a duty towards the vanquished.

Prime Minister of Italy

Giulia took office as Prime Minister of Italy on 30 April 1925. She became Italy’s longest-serving Prime Minister. She won 5 elections back-to-back: 1926, 1930, 1934, 1938, and 1942. Her tenure ended in 1946. Her 24 years mark a record for a democratically-elected head of government.

Economic policy

Giulia’s government oversaw a major transformation of Italy’s economy. Giulia rejected the Soviet model of centralised planning. Instead, she promoted syndicalism, workers’ self-management, and cooperatives. Trade union membership became automatic. Trade unions took charge of their workplaces. Every company in Italy became a cooperative.

Her priorities at the beginning were reconstruction and closing the North–South gap. Due to ruinous public finances, the government pursued imaginative policies to improve Italy. It established a national leisure organisation, the Opera Nazionale Dopolavoro (OND). It overhauled and simplified the tax code. It abolished rents and implemented a land value tax. It made all tax returns public and implemented draconian anti-corruption laws.

The government also implemented redistributive policies. It imposed a wealth tax and wage ceiling, capping Italians’ income at 1 million lire. It created the Consiglio Nazionale dei Prezzi e dei Redditi (CNPR) to administer price controls.

The revolution in the South was violent. Giulia appointed “iron prefects” to eradicate organised crime. They destroyed the mafias and landlords, with brutal methods and up to 100.000 deaths. Land reform broke up the latifundia and encouraged the growth of agricultural cooperatives. Mobilisation of applied science transformed agriculture and made it more efficient. This provided capital and labour for the growth of industry. The government prioritised public works in the South to improve infrastructure.

Between 1925 and 1946, the North–South gap narrowed. In 1925, the South’s per capita income was 40% below the North. In 1946, it was only 10% below the North.

Great Depression

The Great Depression hit Italy hard. Still, it had some advantages compared to other countries. The lira had already left the gold standard. Cooperativisation and unionisation gave companies more flexibility. The revolutionary atmosphere encouraged daring experimentation.

Giulia’s government seized the opportunity of the Great Depression. It launched Europe’s greatest public works programme. It expanded Italy’s welfare state, making it Europe’s most comprehensive. The public works programme left a permanent imprint on Italy. Most of its buildings used Giulia’s favoured Art Deco style.

Giulia also launched a local currency scheme. Cities and regions issued local currencies, based on demurrage. This helped them raise money for public works and fund public services. The local currencies also allowed the federal government to contain the deficit.

Despite the significant advances, the Great Depression was still a setback. By 1939, Italy’s manufacturing levels were still 80% of those of 1913.

Domestic reforms

Giulia promoted decentralisation and direct democracy. She cited Switzerland as a model for Italy to follow. Her government merged the provinces into regions. The aim was to turn Italy into a federation.

The 1925 Constitution proclaimed the Italian Republic of Councils (Repubblica Italiana dei Consigli). Regions gained significant autonomy. They collected local taxes such as land value tax, and received all taxes levied there. Referendums and recall elections grew as means of direct democracy. An electoral reform encouraged united lists and electoral fusion. The Senate became a body of delegates from workers’ councils and professional bodies.

A social revolution took place, reflected in the new Civil Code. The Civil Code proclaimed equality of the sexes and separation of church and state. It legalised divorce and abortion. Women saw expansion of their rights and the feminist movement strengthened. Prostitution underwent legalisation and regulation. Brothels became cooperatives, and sex workers received healthcare.

The state provided free public education and healthcare. Public education became secular. The university system saw great expansion. Agrarian education graduates were sent to work in rural areas and improve agriculture.

Giulia sought to advance secularisation without provoking the Catholic Church. The Constitution made Italy a secular state. The new tax code abolished exemptions for religious organisations. Giulia’s speeches evoked christian socialism and thus reproached the church's wealth.

Culture thrived under Giulia’s tenure. The OND made recreation and culture available to Italians at affordable prices. The government set up EIAR as the national broadcaster. Radio broadcasting saw massive expansion nationwide. Parliament passed laws to protect minority languages and cultures. Giulia’s government launched an “internal revolution” at the Accademia della Crusca. It made the Accademia treat Italian languages as languages, not dialects. Regions received the responsibility of promoting local languages. Minorities gained the right to education in their native languages.

Giulia’s government followed a policy of coopting local institutions and notables. Notable beneficiaries included: Giulia's best friend Madame Lulu; fashion designer Elsa Schiaparelli; the Florio family of Sicily; and famous Italian marques like FIAT and ALFA.

Foreign policy

The revolutionaries’ victory alarmed Europe, spreading fears of Italy becoming a communist dictatorship. Giulia’s priority in her early years was reassuring other states. Lacking natural resources, Italy couldn’t afford autarky or isolation.

Giulia began her tenure seeking to improve Italy’s global standing. She returned the Dodecanese Islands to Greece, improving relations. She convinced other leaders Italy remained committed to democracy. She sought to improve ties with neighbours.

Relations with Yugoslavia improved. Giulia made strengthening the Free State of Fiume a priority. Italy and Yugoslavia succeeded in organising the consortium and administration. Residents of Fiume gained automatic Italian and Yugoslav citizenship. Giulia negotiated amendments to the Treaty of Rapallo. Their purpose was to protect Fiume's access to the hinterland.

Giulia repudiated Italy’s colonial history. She sought to transform Italy’s colonies into equal partners. She signed condominium agreements with Libya, Eritrea, and Somalia. Residents of the colonies received automatic dual citizenship. Italy partnered with local administrations to run the states. The government encouraged Italian settlement and miscegenation. Libya, Eritrea, and Somalia gained large populations of mixed Italo-African descent. New laws banned discrimination and guaranteed equality.

Relations with Ethiopia demonstrated Giulia’s flair for the dramatic. She and Haile Selassie I signed the Italo–Ethiopian Friendship Treaty on 1 March 1936 in Adwa. The location and date were deliberate: Adwa was Italy’s most humiliating defeat in 1896. Giulia’s speech at the signing emphasised Italy’s rejection of imperialism. She expressed hope that the League of Nations would improve cooperation between countries.

Giulia’s major success in foreign policy was Italy’s intervention in the Spanish Civil War. Italy provided aid and military forces to the Spanish Republic. The aid proved crucial in the Republicans’ victory. The Spanish Civil War thus brought several successes. Italy had protected a left-leaning government in the Mediterranean. By providing more aid, Italy shut out the Soviet Union’s influence. This preserved Spain’s democracy with a leftist tinge. As well, Italy and Spain forged a close alliance.

Giulia’s major failure in foreign policy was the Holy See. Negotiations suffered from mutual mistrust. The Holy See feared a socialist Italy. The Italian left had strong anticlerical elements. The two sides signed one treaty, establishing the Vatican state. This ended the pope’s “prisoner in the Vatican” status and allowed mutual recognition. Attempts to reach a concordat broke down again and again. The sticking points were state secularism, religious education, and Vatican properties in Italy. Giulia’s government refused to compromise.

World War II

Giulia watched with alarm the growth of authoritarianism in the 1930s. She felt disturbed by the Nazi takeover of Germany and the great powers’ acquiescence. After Germany and Austria became dictatorships, Italy received a high number of refugees.

Giulia attended the Évian Conference in 1938. She was the only representative willing to accept Jewish refugees. The conference’s failure disturbed her. After the Anschluss, she launched a program of fortifying Italy’s borders. She urged France and the United Commonwealth to defend Czechoslovakia, fruitlessly.

After the invasion of Poland, Giulia proclaimed neutrality and a general mobilisation. She knew Italy was in no shape for any military operations. The government introduced rationing and moved to a wartime economy. Italy’s strategy was to fortify the Alps and make them a national redoubt.

Giulia formed a national unity government in wartime. It included all parties in the Chamber of Deputies except the far-right. The government won all seats in the 1942 election. For the only time in Italian history, a government operated without opposition.

Italy spent most of World War II in a tense neutrality. After the Fall of France, Nazi Germany menaced Italy and Spain. Both governments had to remain neutral due to power imbalance. Both governments favoured the Allies. Italy provided a vital springboard for Allied troops to concentrate in Southern Europe. Allied troops massed in Italy at the northern borders.

Italy and Spain entered the war in 1943. They participated together in the liberation of France. Italy participated in the liberation of Yugoslavia and Austria. Faced with a war on three fronts, Nazi Germany crumbled.

After the war, Giulia took a hard line in settling Italy’s post-war borders. She returned South Tyrol to Austria. She rebuffed Yugoslav claims to the Julian March and Free State of Fiume.

Giulia retired from politics when her term ended in 1946. She turned over leadership to Dimitra La Vardia, one of her close allies.

Public and personal life

Giulia dominated Italian public life to a degree none of her successors ever did. She was a fastidious dresser, recognised by her distinctive Giulia outfit. She was flamboyant, energetic, and loved the limelight. Critics accused her of arrogance, but close friends attested to her generosity. She was passionate about efficiency and insisted on punctuality. She demanded her ministers dress to her high standards. She reprimanded colleagues for lateness. She sought to impose high standards in Italian politics and public service.

Giulia embraced an unabashed lavish lifestyle in office. She lived in the Villa Doria Pamphilj in Rome until her death. She took over the former royal and papal palaces and used them. She made many regional tours as Prime Minister, and loved the welcoming crowds. Observers noted how villagers treated her as a replacement monarch of sorts. She had strong gourmand tastes, and a fondness for tea and Italian wine. She enjoyed inviting prominent cultural figures to meet with her in office.

She received many nicknames during her tenure. The most frequent was “La Giulia”, a typical way of addressing women in northern Italy. Another notable one was “Iron Woman”, for her influence in the PSI.

Giulia married Franco Martelli in 1911. He took her surname. The marriage was happy and loving, and lasted until Franco’s death. They had no children.

Giulia rejected the dictatorial methods of Leninism and Stalinism. Instead, she embraced what Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels called “bourgeois socialism”. She advocated workers’ self-management, syndicalism, and cooperatism. She saw trade unions and cooperatives as the foundation of the economy. She put great emphasis on the ideal of la dolce vita. Her tenure saw beautification of cities, flourishing culture, and reduced working hours.

She named Oscar Wilde’s The Soul of Man Under Socialism as her biggest influence. Her tenure established Italy as a centre of socialist research and thought. She oversaw the publication of Marx’s 1844 manuscripts, which popularised Marxist humanism.

In retirement, she wrote her memoirs. They gained acclaim for their lively writing style and joie de vivre. Her 100^th birthday in 1986 was an occasion of great celebration across Italy. She died in 1988, before her 102^nd birthday. She received a state funeral, and a national day of mourning.

"Let our grandchildren say, 'Those were the golden days of Italian democracy, when the people did their utmost.' When they raised a great nation from the ashes and made it greater. When they made Italy happier, more prosperous, and more respected."

Quote from Giulia Martinelli's inaugural address to Parliament, 11 May 1926

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Giulia outfit

The Giulia outfit (Italian: completo Giulia) is an outfit introduced by Giulia Martelli. She wore it in public throughout her life, making it her iconic appearance.

The outfit consists of the following:

• A white shirt with an ascot tie
• A green waistcoat with three golden buttons
• A green tailcoat
• A green sun hat with a black ribbon
• A green skirt with four golden buttons

Giulia’s long tenure as Prime Minister of Italy popularised the outfit. It’s used as a political uniform among democratic socialist parties. It’s one of Italy’s most popular outfits. In Italy, it’s worn by women and men alike. Men wearing it often forego the green high-heels Giulia wore.

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Madame Lulu

Elegant, outgoing, charming. Madame Lulu was the first and longest-serving head of the Società Aerea Italiana (SAI). She was Giulia Martelli’s best friend, and one of the more intriguing figures of the Giulian era.

Lulu was an energetic and activist leader of the SAI. She and Giulia shared a passion for air transport and airships. Lulu regarded airships as the best means of civilian air transport. She thought they allowed people to travel in comfort and style. Thanks to Lulu, air transport saw priority in the government’s infrastructure program. The government built airship hangars and masts in Italian airports. It used airship lines for travel across Italy and to the African territories.

Lulu championed airship travel with vigour throughout the 1920s–1930s. She steered funds to research and improvement of airship technology. She earned recognition as a symbol of the Giulian era. She was often seen in public at important events. She was often accompanied by the Cottone Squadron, Italy’s first female air squadron. She traveled abroad often to promote Italian culture and encourage trade with Italy.

Despite Lulu’s valiant efforts, advances in airplane design caught up to the SAI. After World War II, the SAI cut down on airship budgets. The rise of jet airliners forced a change in Italian aviation. Lulu led a happy retirement with her husband and family. She lived in a ritzy area of Florence and hosted a salon. She counted many famous Italians and foreigners among her guests. She wrote her memoirs, gave interviews, and appeared often on television. She lived to the age of 85 and died of natural causes.

Lulu’s legacy remains stamped on Italian aviation. The SAI continues to operate airship routes across Italy and to the former colonies. Once dismissed as outdated, airships have seen a revival for their quaint charm. Italy’s airships are now a major attraction for foreign tourists.

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Dimitra La Vardia

Flamboyant, arrogant, barbed. Dimitra La Vardia (1898–1983) could fill big shoes, but not move mountains.

Dimitra made her name as the “Iron Prefect” of Sicily. Her brutal methods in destroying the Mafia led to her nickname "Bloody Dimitra". Her tactics of arming Sicilians and encouraging popular reprisals proved successful. She wiped out the Mafia and achieved land reform, at the cost of thousands dead. Unlike the other “Iron Prefects” and Giulia Martelli, she never expressed any remorse.

Dimitra served as Governor of Sicily in 1930–1938. Her policies included mechanising agriculture, boosting education, and promoting use of Sicilian. She moved to federal politics in 1938. She became supply minister in Giulia’s wartime government (1939–1945). She implemented rationing and a switch to a wartime economy. She pushed for a system where every Italian worked 4 hours a day, 4 days a week, followed by 3 days off. Classifying Italians into 7 groups, she hoped to maximise production and free time.

Dimitra established herself as Giulia’s successor. She took over the helm of the PSI, and the Popular Democratic Front (FDP). She led the FDP to victory in 1946, winning 55% of the vote. It was the last time an Italian electoral bloc won a majority of votes.

As Prime Minister, Dimitra presented herself as Giulia’s heir. She cultivated a similar image and sought to deepen Giulia’s policies. Her government invested in scientific research and worked to expand decentralised planning. In the Cold War, Dimitra opposed both Soviet communism and Western capitalism. She built on the Italo–Spanish alliance to establish the Mediterranean Union.

In office, Dimitra proved to be quite volatile. Her sharp manner lacked Giulia’s elegance and soft touch. Even with the 30^th anniversary of the Italian revolution, she fell to a plurality in 1950. She chose to retire after her second term. The FDP lost the 1954 election after three decades in power. A centrist coalition led by christian democrat Adone Zoli came next.

Dimitra retired to Sicily after her term. She wrote her memoirs, and defended her record until death. She remained a power broker in the Sicilian PSI. She built a faction that controlled it for decades. She also pursued her passions of sharpshooting and swordsmanship. She wrote books about weaponry. She advocated building a socialist gun culture in Italy, inspired by Switzerland. She also became a passionate mountaineer.

She died aged 85, of natural causes. Her husband had died before her. President Sandro Pertini and Prime Minister Enrico Berlinguer felt uncomfortable about official mourning. They had criticised Dimitra for her remorseless attitude towards "the Sicilian slaughter". In the end, they granted her a state funeral as a former Prime Minister. She remains one of Italy's most controversial Prime Ministers.

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Gina and Marco Pagotto

The war hero and the madame of the Hotel Adriano. Madame Gina and Marco Pagotto enjoyed a marriage made in heaven, and a great life together.

Gina earned her reputation as one of Fiume’s beloved luminaries. Her vision turned the Hotel Adriano into a jewel of the Kvarner Gulf. So popular it was, Gina welcomed the emergence of competitors post-war. She feared excessive popularity would hurt service quality. She kept the Hotel Adriano open to all, from average families to big names. Her concerts remained the highlight of nights at the hotel. She recorded a few albums performing standards. They became best-sellers in Italy and Yugoslavia. Her rendition of “Le temps des cerises” is the definitive performance for many.

Gina and Marco lived eventful lives. They grew to be living symbols of the Free State of Fiume. They saw Fiume’s worst lows and its greatest highs. Without preaching, they set an example of the Free State’s best qualities. Marco even served for a short time as President of Fiume. He beat a hasty retreat from the limelight. He hated to be away from his favourite spot: by his beloved Gina’s side.

Gina continued to run the Hotel Adriano until she felt she couldn’t. She turned it over to her most trusted protégés. Her days were now free to enjoy the Hotel’s gardens and be more of a society hostess. Late in life, she received a request to narrate a documentary about the history of Fiume. It was one of her proudest achievements.

Gina and Marco lived to a ripe old age and died of natural causes. Authorities found their bodies in each other’s arms with serene smiles. The Free State of Fiume gave them a state funeral.

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Fio Piccolo

Ambitious, lively, the pleasant kind of troublesome. Fio Piccolo’s dreams (and head) proved too big for her employer, Piaggio.

At last, Fio won over her family and dove headfirst into her greatest undertaking. She set up her own workshop and roped in her relatives to help. She dreamed of making Piccolo a name in Italian aeronautics to match the greats. Caproni, Piaggio… even Ansaldo.

Fio’s impassioned streak came with good foresight. Her love of airplanes made her realise they would dominate the future. Piccolo S.C.R.L. produced award-winning designs and gained plaudits. During World War II, it emerged as a major aeronautics manufacturer.

Fio married a husband as passionate about aeronautics as she was. She continued to win election as Piccolo S.C.R.L.’s managing director for years. Milano embraced her as one of its favourite daughters. Humourists credited Fio with making straw boaters a popular hat among Milanese.

Fio retired from Piccolo S.C.R.L. in her fifties, to pass the torch to newer generations. She entered local politics for the PSI. She was the Mayor of Milano in 1958–1970. In office, she focused on expanding infrastructure and urban beautification. She fought to restore and expand Milano’s navigli, with success. Her blunt speaking and occasional arguments with the local CGL amused Milanese voters.

The years passed. Fio’s red hair turned grey, but her straw boater and blue shirt stayed the same. She now drew plane diagrams to amuse herself. She worked sometimes as a consultant for SAI or a plane designer for films. She wrote a book on the history of Italian aviation, and another on the biennio rosso. She had to continue the family name after outliving her relatives. She lived a long happy life and died in her sleep at the age of 82.

The city built a statue of Fio outside Milano-Linate Airport to commemorate her.

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Donald Curtis

Loud, brash, not so bad once you get to know him. Former flying ace Donald Curtis reinvented himself in peacetime. After World War I, he pursued a career as a civilian pilot. His good fortune in business gave him an entrance to café society. He travelled often to Europe, and grew fond of Fiume. He fell in love with women at the drop of a hat, and had to retreat at the drop of a wedding ring. Later in life, he found out how often his mouth almost got him punched by Marco Pagotto.

Donald made Italy a home away from home. He learned Italian, although his thick American accent made Italians laugh. He watched a lot of telefoni bianchi movies. He married a few times. Big romantic that he was, it was unfortunate it took him a few tries to finally get it right. Convinced of the superiority of capitalism, it baffled him that Italy rejected it. He felt thankful his worst fears never happened. Italy never became a Stalinist police state. Italy continued to be the land of arts, design, cuisine, and fashion.

In the end, Donald followed the siren song of the silver screen. He settled in Los Angeles, California. He began working in the film industry. He worked his way up to being a producer, director, and even actor. His films found an unexpected audience in Italy. Donald commuted between Hollywood and Cinecittà. He enjoyed being the leading man. It meant working with beautiful Italian actresses with English stage names. The kind of English stage names that told you they were Italian.

Directing and producing later became too tiresome. Donald retired to Los Angeles with his wife and kids. He built himself an impressive mansion in Malibu, at the end of Inland Lane. He designed and gardened it to look like an Italian casino. It was a great place to live.

Donald didn’t have any complaints when he died of old age. He lived to see the election of John F. Kennedy. The universe was considerate enough to spare him the assassination.

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Nadia Rahman and Jean Roque Lartigue

Two orphans who found what they needed in each other. Nadia Rahman (1914–2002) and Jean Roque Lartigue (1914–2006) found their way in life. It led them to unexpected places.

The fiery Libyan rose above the hard knocks of her early life. Orphaned, without a past, Nadia saw first-hand the change in Italy's colonial policies. The right people in the right place helped steer her onto a better path. The former terror of the collegio blossomed in liceo. She discovered a love of literature. She made it to Italy's most prestigious university: La Sapienza.

Nadia couldn’t tell what was more important at La Sapienza. That she met Giulia Martelli, or that she met Jean Roque Lartigue. The Prime Minister became her employer and mentor. Nadia spent years at Giulia’s side, always writing things down or typing. Her notes were crucial for the writing of Giulia’s memoirs. Nadia later wrote her own biography of Giulia. She never could bring herself to call “signora Martelli” by her first name like everyone else.

Jean became Nadia’s husband and best friend. They bonded over their mutual experience as orphans and their shared idealism. Jean never quite got the hang of making money. He wanted to be a great inventor. He remained wedded to the trial-and-error method. It meant a lot of hassle to get an invention, but it also made Nadia laugh.

Working for the Prime Minister helped Nadia launch her career. She worked as a journalist for various newspapers and wrote in her spare time. She welded her love for Jules Verne to her journalism experience. Her debut was sensational. She came up with Donatella Grande, a red-haired, cocky and charismatic cat burglar. Donatella spawned a series of adventures that brought Nadia critical and commercial success. Nadia was happy that picaresque adventures in a steampunk universe became so popular.

Jean carried on inventing while Nadia wrote. They lived in various places. Rome, Paris, Tripoli. Nadia’s novels became films in Italy. Much later, they also became anime in Japan, thanks to NHK and Toho. Nadia found work as a screenwriter. Up to the end of her life, she wrote. She was a guest of honour at the premiere of Disney’s Atlantis: The Lost Empire. After all, she wrote the script.

Nadia and Jean had kids and made each other happy. The tireless inventor enjoyed playing second fiddle to the famous Italo-Libyan writer. Jean managed one last achievement that evaded Nadia. He made it past the age of 90.

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Rome–Moscow rivalry

The Rome–Moscow rivalry became a defining part of the Cold War. The conflict between Rome and Moscow had high stakes and great bitterness. Moscow never forgave Rome for being the first to challenge its dominance. Rome never forgave Moscow for its attempts to subordinate communism to its caprices.

Italy became the Soviet Union’s most steadfast rival. Italy’s revolution became a living rebuke to the Soviet Union. Italy’s rejection of totalitarianism sent shockwaves through the international left. Communism no longer meant only starvation and terror. Italian socialism staked its claim to cooperatives and champagne for all.

Giulia Martelli thrived on spitting in Moscow’s face. She welcomed dissidents like Anna Kulishova, Anjelica Balabanova, and Maxim Gorky. She even let Trotsky stay for a while, before the butcher of Kronstadt couldn't take the heat and fled. Even the Communist Party of Italy revolted against Moscow’s diktats. Led by Antonio Gramsci, the PCI declared independence. It fought to undermine the Comintern’s suicidal “third period”.

Giulia had the satisfaction of outliving both Lenin and Stalin. Stalin’s murderous rages only highlighted his impotence. Italy was beyond his grasp. He could never subjugate Italy. Italy became the Soviet Union’s worst nightmare. Italy helped save the Spanish Republic and crowned itself in glory. Italy and Spain joined hands and championed the cause of democratic socialism.

From the ruins of World War II, the Cold War emerged. It was no ordinary Cold War. It had three camps. The camp of the capitalists, the liberal democracies. The camp of the Stalinists, the authoritarians. The camp of the democratic socialists. Italy and Spain became beacons to the world. Even when conservatives won elections, Italy and Spain never abandoned the cause. Even their christian democrats learned to take pride in their countries’ stature.

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Italy

Italy struts on the world stage with newfound confidence and purpose. Once the core of the Roman Empire and the cradle of the Renaissance, Italy has found new glories. It needs no giant armies to conquer. It needs not raise its voice. Il Bel Paese has the power of an idea in motion.

Italy has overcome the misfortunes of history. The botched Risorgimento. The colonial shame. The mutilated victory. The civil war. Italy rose out of the ashes like a phoenix. It grasped its place in history and learned from its mistakes. It applied sober administration and far-sighted vision.

In the 1920s and 1930s, Italy remade itself. It became the land of airships, telephones, radios, railways, and cooperatives. The land of cars, fashion, and architecture. Italians gained experience in governing themselves. It took referendums and telegraphs and much trial and error. Coordinating an entire country isn’t easy. But Italians rose to the challenge. They exercised their muscle and learned the art of self-governing.

Il Bel Paese experimented, changed with the times, preserved its spirit. Airships still fly in Italian skies, as a point of pride. Telephones and radios give way to television and computers. Cars struggle to cope with narrow streets. Scooters, bicycles, trams, and metros are at home. The long lunches and midday naps are a national institution. Dolce far niente is the national aspiration. Italian ingenuity asks the only question that matters. How can we maximise free time for all while keeping the country going?

Italy seeks the best of both worlds: modernity and tradition. Italy takes pride in its place at the forefront of social experimentation. Its social liberalisation gives an example to Europe. In exchange for liberation, Italy asks for a bit of personal conservatism. Where Europe’s dress codes have loosened, Italy’s have tightened. Most Italians still dress to the nines in public as a matter of course. It’s not enforced by law or social pressure. It’s only a learned behaviour and a bit of national pride. Most Italians smile with amusement at the image of Italians as irascible hotheads. They prefer to be passionate sophisticates now, thank you. They’ve rediscovered the art of sprezzatura and made it a national pastime.

There’s no official national motto, but in practice it’s in varietate unitas. It turns out loosening the state’s grip strengthens the country. Making a place for minorities in the national story strengthens the country. You don’t have to speak one of the Italian languages to be an Italian. You can be Slav and be Italian. You can be Arbëresh and be Italian. You can be Libyan, Eritrean, Somalian, and be Italian. Reinventing a national narrative is hard. It’s tough work. It makes Italy more fortunate that it committed and saw it through. That’s how Italy became an important power in Europe after World War II. Not by guns. Not by threats. By the promise of a better life.

Isn’t that the whole point of having nothing to lose but one’s chains?

Notes:

Thanks to Ulmicola for correcting the Italian, Arrow S. Morgan, STMPD, Kaelynn_Laefon, Corgopolis (sorry the map fell through!), and the other denizens of Arrow's Discord server and the Hobby Drama Discord server :)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Based-verse