The Winter Sea Page 3

  ‘And we don’t have enough artillery,’ said the corporal’s friend.

  ‘I have also heard,’ said the corporal, who seemed to have an unlimited source of gossip, ‘that those socialists have now been sent up here to help with the fighting.’

  There was immediate outrage.

  ‘What good will they be?’

  ‘Are they being punished, or are we?’

  ‘We won’t be able to trust those socialists. They won’t fight.’

  Although all these complaints were very real and easily justified, Giuseppe knew that the biggest sense of injustice among the soldiers stemmed from the army command’s total neglect of them. No one was interested in their welfare or morale. Between battles there was no attempt to provide the men with any leisure activities, let alone allow them home on furlough, so they had nothing to do but play cards and worry about their families. Who would protect them and make sure that they had enough to eat?

  As the men continued to complain, the unit sergeant rose to his feet. He was a small, wiry man, well respected by his men.

  ‘Best you all get a good night’s sleep now. We’ll be attacking in the morning, but those Austrians won’t worry us, will they?’

  ‘No, Sergeant Tommasi,’ said the men as they settled themselves into their cold, damp dugouts. As far as they were concerned, the Austrians were inferior soldiers. Giuseppe always felt safe near the sergeant, who was a good leader in battle and knew what to do to stop his men from being killed.

  The enemy bombardment started early the next morning and lasted for two hours, but the Italians were used to enemy fire and they stayed safe in their dugouts. But then, everything changed. The bombardment was fiercer than anything they had experienced before and their meagre shelters were quickly destroyed. Suddenly, Giuseppe found that he couldn’t breathe. He clutched at his throat.

  ‘Mustard gas,’ yelled Sergeant Tommasi to his men, and put his gas mask over his face.

  Giuseppe felt paralysed, but the sergeant thrust a gas mask into his hands and did the same with many of the other men. But for some it was too late and they fell, writhing on the ground in agony, the poisonous gas damaging their lungs. Grabbing his rifle Giuseppe followed Tommasi. It was obvious that all their defences were broken; the enemy army came pouring towards them but they were ready to take them on. Then suddenly the Italians realised that these men charging towards them were not Austrian soldiers at all. They were wearing German uniforms!

  Everyone believed the Germans were vastly superior fighters to the Austrians and now their belief was proved true. The Germans moved rapidly down towards the valley, opening up the Italian line. Italian morale plummeted. They could fight the Austrians, but against the Germans they felt powerless. By nightfall thousands of Italians had given themselves up as prisoners. Their war was over.

  Tommasi, however, was prepared to take on the Germans. He and his unit fought hard all the next day, but it was clear that they were no match for the superior German tactics and equipment.

  As darkness fell, the corporal finally said what they had all been thinking. ‘Should we surrender to the Germans? We can’t beat them.’

  ‘Do you want to spend the rest of the war as a prisoner or do you want to go home?’ Tommasi asked what remained of his unit. Many of the men were wounded. They were tired and demoralised.

  ‘Home,’ whispered Giuseppe. The other men silently nodded their heads in agreement.

  ‘All right, then,’ said Tommasi. ‘Home it is.’

  Led by Sergeant Tommasi, Giuseppe and the remains of the unit picked their way along a narrow path. At times Giuseppe struggled to keep up, for the soles of his boots had now given way and sharp stones jabbed his feet. He gave a cry of pain and stopped, leaning on his rifle. The other men sat at the side of the path, sheltered by tall trees, and watched Sergeant Tommasi pull off Giuseppe’s boot to examine his bloodied foot. The combination of a rag, some dry grass and a tattered sock was the best repair Sergeant Tommasi could manage before he told them all to move forward.

  Suddenly the corporal grabbed Giuseppe’s rifle and flung it into the trees, and then did the same with his own.

  ‘Phhht!’ He pursed his lips. ‘We don’t need these anymore.’

  He gestured to the other men to do the same. After their initial surprise, they quickly followed suit.

  Ignoring the pain in his foot and with the aid of a stick, Giuseppe plodded down the valley road, joining an increasing flow of other soldiers who had also decided that war was no longer for them.

  Civilians, fleeing the advancing enemy with their possessions in carts and barrows, competed for road space with the retreating soldiers. Italian reinforcements, sent forward in an attempt to retrieve the situation, found it impossible to get through. But the retreat remained leisurely and orderly, as though the troops had all the time in the world to reclaim their own piece of sanity and peace by the fireside of home. The men helped themselves to food and drink as they passed through deserted villages. When they passed an officer, Sergeant Tommasi insisted that the men salute, which they did. Some officers, though surprised, returned the salute, others shouted at them, ordering them to return to the battle. But the men just kept marching south. At one stage, a staff car drove towards them and the men drew to the side of the road to let it pass. They recognised the hated General Cadorna in the back seat and, unbidden, they drew themselves up to attention and saluted as the car went by.

  Giuseppe marched on, listening to Tommasi insist that what they were doing was no disgrace. How much better would it be for their families that they should return to them, rather than be prisoners of the Germans?

  ‘After all, it has been the simple soldiers who have been let down by the army command, not the other way around,’ said Sergeant Tommasi.

  And this is the same government that let down the people of Messina, thought Giuseppe to himself. It does not care for ordinary people at all. And what will happen to them now? Then he remembered what Alfonso had said about America. Maybe he should go there, too, away from this country with so little to offer. Perhaps he could talk Angelica into going with him. The idea put a spring into his step. He could not wait to get back to his island so that he could talk to them both.

  *

  But when Giuseppe eventually returned to the island, tragedy awaited him. His father had terrible news. In Giuseppe’s absence, Angelica had died.

  ‘How? What happened?’ he asked, distraught.

  His father shook his head. ‘It was sudden. There was no treatment. It was God’s will. Will you go and see Alfonso?’

  Giuseppe walked the familiar track across the hillside and a fierce wind slowed his steps and echoed the cries in his heart. The stone cottage seemed to crouch low against the wind and for the first time he was not impatient to reach it. Alfonso saw him coming and stood waiting for him outside the hut, a lone figure silhouetted against the grey sky.

  Alfonso remained still, waiting until Giuseppe reached him before moving, lifting his shoulders in a gesture of helpless bewilderment. The younger man ached as he saw the deep pain etched on Alfonso’s face and swiftly embraced him.

  ‘My daughter is gone. She was the light of my life,’ said Alfonso, his voice choking in grief.

  Giuseppe nodded mutely, too sad to speak.

  ‘Angelica, my angel . . .’ Tears formed in Alfonso’s eyes. ‘She was a wild, free bird. Few could have tamed her.’ He paused. ‘She called your name . . . at the end.’ He couldn’t speak further and turned away.

  Together they walked to the cottage, the haven Giuseppe had often thought about often during the cold, harsh and dangerous times at the front. How he had longed for the wise companionship of Alfonso, the joy of discovering a world through the pages of books, and, always, the presence of Angelica. And he had allowed himself to dream, to plan, to think that one day he would make a new and different life with her in America.

  Giuseppe and Alfonso sat in their usual places. Giuseppe’s eyes were inevi
tably drawn to the little window where, so often, he had glimpsed Angelica, curls bouncing as she ran, hurrying the goats and sheep down from the high ground to the cottage so that she could spend time with him.

  Alfonso now seemed a man drained of energy and enthusiasm. It was as though his very essence had evaporated. He told Giuseppe that Angelica had cut her leg and it had become infected; no one knew how to stop the infection and in the end it had killed her.

  Giuseppe knew that for Alfonso, no one could replace Angelica’s company, with her keen intelligence and teasing sense of humour, but just the same, he offered to visit Alfonso regularly. To his surprise, Alfonso rejected his offer.

  ‘No! You must make a new life for yourself. I have nothing more to give you.’ Then the shepherd turned and walked away, back into his hut.

  *

  Even when the war came to an end, life on the island remained hard. Some of the fishermen who had served in the army returned to the sea. Others lay buried on the battlefields. Poverty on the island was worse than before, as some of the boats that had been requisitioned for the war effort were never returned. The islanders wondered what the whole point of the war had been. They had certainly got nothing from it.

  But discontent was not confined to the island. It had spread throughout the country. In spite of the subsequent resounding victory at Vittorio Veneto, the humiliation of Caporetto continued to bring shame on the men who’d been there. The crumbs given to Italy at the Versailles peace settlement were regarded as insulting. Half a million Italians dead, a ravaged countryside, a poor economy, high unemployment and inflation, and the disrespect of their allies were all there was to show for Italy’s war efforts. Moreover, increasing disillusionment with the weak government had led to growing unrest across the country with strikes and clashes between different political factions. Politically motivated street fights, even murders, were becoming common events in the cities.

  Giuseppe felt restless and wished Angelica was there to discuss these matters with him. Nor did he have Alfonso to talk to because, since her death, the shepherd had retreated from all society, drinking grappa and disappearing for long solitary walks in the hills, and refusing to speak to anyone.

  One evening at the kitchen table, after his mother and grandmother had dished up potatoes roasted with garlic and olives and tomato passata made from the few tomatoes they had grown, Giuseppe put down his fork and said quietly, ‘There is no future here for me. I want to leave. There is a big world beyond this island and I want to try my luck. I have been thinking about this for some time now.’

  ‘You have listened to Alfonso too much,’ said his father.

  ‘No one is making a decent living here,’ insisted Giuseppe.

  ‘Our great-grandfather, our grandfather and our father have managed here on this island,’ said his oldest brother as he dipped his spoon into his dish. ‘Our family is strong. We will survive.’ The other men around the table nodded their heads in furious agreement.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Giuseppe’s grandmother, Celestina, spoke up for him. ‘The people who have gone away from here are doing better than us,’ she said. ‘This island, it’s drier than a stone. We can hardly grow our own vegetables. Soon we will be eating rocks. We buy water when our tanks run dry. Fancy buying water! What a way to live! We have nothing. One day I asked the butcher for some old bones for soup and he laughed at me and told me to go to the cemetery for them!’ She shook her head. ‘And as for that shrivelled prune of a milk man!’ Celestina made a rude gesture with her hand and Giuseppe tried not to laugh. His father and brothers kept their heads down, as his mother joined the old woman in speaking her mind.

  ‘Yes, he is watering down the goats’ milk!’ she agreed. ‘Sometimes I think that things will never get better.’

  ‘Will you go to America?’ asked grandmother Celestina. She pursed her lips. ‘That is where everyone goes.’

  ‘But what would you do in America? You only know how to fish,’ asked one of his brothers.

  ‘Your brother-in-law’s relatives work in factories in America. They make good money. Where would his family be without the money they send back home?’ said Celestina before she added pointedly, ‘We could do with some of that.’

  ‘How can we afford to send Giuseppe to America?’ demanded his father.

  ‘You don’t even have a pair of shoes,’ scoffed one of his brothers.

  ‘He has his old army boots,’ said his mother. ‘They can be repaired.’

  Grandmother Celestina spoke again. ‘We all need to put everything we have kept under the bed towards his fare. Giuseppe has broad shoulders. He will go to America and work hard and make good money. He will send back his money to repay us, and then he will come back and choose a wife.’ She scraped the last of the potato onto Giuseppe’s plate and they all turned to look at Giuseppe’s father, who slowly nodded his head in agreement, and so the matter was decided.

  It took many months before the d’Aquino family raised enough money to purchase Giuseppe’s boat fare to America but in the meantime he was the centre of attention wherever he went in the village. He was envied, encouraged and sometimes made to feel that he was carrying the dreams and aspirations of all the other families in the little port as well as his own.

  It seemed to him that in one way or another all the villagers had contributed to making his trip possible, whether by giving a small donation, or a gift of clothing or practical items, or by entrusting him with the addresses of relatives. Their contributions ensured they all had a vested interest in Giuseppe’s journey. Everyone also anticipated that it wouldn’t be too long before Giuseppe set himself up and started sending money back to his family from America – which would then be shared in various ways throughout the village.

  Grandmother Celestina was proud of Giuseppe and boasted that he would make a big success of himself in America. Nonetheless, she fretted that she would not live long enough to see him return to the island and choose a wife.

  Her friends were quick to tease her. ‘He might choose an American wife,’ they commented. Whereupon Celestina sniffed that he would always choose a village girl, as they were much better cooks than American girls.

  Like most of the villagers, Giuseppe and his family had only a hazy idea of what America might be like. His brother-in-law told him of the letters he had received from his cousin, which described buildings as high as a hill, streets as wide as four barcas, shops and places to eat with an abundance of all kinds of food, including their own Sicilian dishes and even Neapolitan pizzas and a description of the busy factory in which he worked. Giuseppe was impressed, but hoped he would find work as a fisherman rather than working in a factory as he had no real idea what a factory was.

  As his departure drew closer the weight of leaving felt heavy on his shoulders. He knew that he needed to make good, not just for himself, but for all the family and friends on his island who had given him whatever they could manage from their meagre savings to pay for his passage.

  One day, Giuseppe was surprised when he was given a good second-hand suitcase by his father.

  ‘Where did this come from?’ he asked.

  ‘Alfonso,’ his father replied. ‘He came into the village quietly yesterday afternoon and said that he had heard that you wanted to go to America. He said that he had no further use for his suitcase, so here it is.’

  Giuseppe was grateful that he would no longer have to carry his clothes in a bundle. Later when he opened the case he found, tucked into an envelope, some money and a note wishing him all the best for his new life. Eventually he had just enough money to pay for a third-class ticket to America. It was arranged that someone from his brother-in-law’s family, who lived in New Jersey, would meet him in New York.

  ‘You stay with his family,’ said his mother firmly. ‘Until you make money, and come back home and choose your wife.’

  As the day of his departure approached, Giuseppe imprinted the scenes of the island in his head and on heart. His old cl
othes were darned, cleaned and folded but before they were placed in his suitcase his father told him that he had something else to pack.

  ‘I have made you this traffena,’ he said. ‘I hope that you will have the chance to hunt a great fish when you are in America.’

  Giuseppe looked at the familiar, fearsome weapon with its seven prongs and sighed. ‘Thank you, Father, it is wonderful.’

  Celestina also had a gift for him. She took him aside and pressed a yellowed envelope into his hand. ‘When you need to, sell this – but don’t let them cheat you.’

  Giuseppe was shocked when he unfolded the small square of paper and saw a gold ring set with a red stone. ‘I can’t take this!’ The last time he had seen his grandmother wear this ring she had been dressed in her best black dress and her fine lace collar, celebrating her wedding anniversary. Since Grandfather Bruno died, she’d never worn it again.

  ‘This ring belonged to my grandmother so it is very old. I hoped that I might be able to give it to your wife one day but it is more important for you now as you start your new life in America. Sell it when you need the money,’ she insisted.

  ‘Nonna, I don’t know what to say. I hope I never have to sell it and I will bring it back for you to wear on my wedding day,’ said Giuseppe.

  She gave him a wistful look and said, ‘I’ll be waiting for that day.’

  As the news soon spread around the village that Giuseppe was leaving the island on the inter-island ferry that day, emotions ran high. Some of his friends teased him. Some commiserated with him about how much he would miss his home and family. Others said they wished they had the same opportunity. Everyone agreed that leaving was a large and possibly irrevocable step in his life.

  His mother could not stop crying as she walked with him to the harbour where all the villagers were lined up along the sea wall to watch him clamber into the little boat that would take him to Messina. From there he would take the ferry to the mainland and then a train to Naples. For many of the islanders, the idea of travelling to the mainland and then on to the large port of Naples to board a liner for America was an adventure in itself.