The Winter Sea Page 4

  Giuseppe, his dark hair plastered in place, felt as uncomfortable as he looked, dressed in dark serge pants and a shirt with a tie. Along with a slightly too large jacket, his clothes had been gathered from boxes and cupboards where they had waited for special occasions. He was wearing shoes for the first time, rather than his mended army boots which were packed in his suitcase. The shoes had belonged to the baker’s brother who’d been killed in the war. They were too small for the baker but now they were polished and threaded with new twine shoelaces and fitted Giuseppe well enough.

  As his suitcase, labelled with ‘G. d’Aquino’ painted in white letters on it, was loaded onto the boat, his friends called out to him, wishing him luck and good fortune in America. Giuseppe farewelled his family and the islanders, wondering how long it would be before he saw them again.

  ‘You work hard,’ said his father as he hugged his son, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. ‘And God go with you.’

  The small wooden vessel moved out of the bay and Giuseppe watched the familiar shape of his rocky island home fade into the distance. He hoped that, from a hillside, Alfonso was watching as the boat carried him to a new adventure. He knew that he owed a debt to Alfonso and Angelica, for it had been they who had first sowed the idea that it was possible to make a new life in a different world where the horizon was not limited by poverty.

  Hours later he arrived at Messina, where he had to wait until the next day for a ferry to take him to the mainland.

  The trip to the Italian mainland in the overcrowded ferry did not take long and he made his way to the train station easily. He found, however, that there was not a train to Naples until the following morning, so he made himself comfortable on the platform and, after eating a couple of eggs, some cheese and some hard bread, which his mother had packed for him, he settled down for the night.

  At about six o’clock in the morning the train pulled into the station and Giuseppe realised that he had not yet bought a ticket. He raced to the ticket office, where there was quite a long queue.

  I should have bought the ticket last night, he thought to himself. Now I could miss the train.

  He almost did, for the queue moved very slowly, but at last he had the ticket in his hand and he ran for the train. By the time he had stowed his bag and taken his seat on the packed train, it had started to move, belching black smoke from its engine.

  Italian trains were in a parlous state after the war, and Giuseppe found the third-class carriage very dirty and crammed with people. He managed to squeeze onto the corner of a seat and he watched through a grimy window as the train chugged slowly through the countryside, passing towns and villages.

  Night fell and he ate only a little more of his mother’s food, deciding to save as much as he could because the trip was taking a lot longer than he had thought it would. For a while he was able to doze, but he awoke with a start to the clatter of complaining steel wheels as the wheezing engine pulled into a siding. Then the lights in the train went out.

  At first the passengers ignored this unscheduled stop but after an hour or so some got down and walked along the track to the conductor’s carriage demanding to know what was happening. Eventually the dim lights came on again. Through the window Giuseppe could see the swaying lanterns of the conductor and engine driver as they walked along the railway embankment, calling replies to questions from irate passengers.

  The water jugs in the carriage were soon emptied and what little food people still had was shared or eaten surreptitiously in the dark. Giuseppe shared the last of his food with an elderly woman. Then those people who had wandered along the tracks boarded the train again as whispers circulated about the possibility of attacks by the bandits who roamed the countryside in this region.

  It was daylight before there was a lurch and a grinding of wheels then, with a blast of steam and a mournful toot of its whistle, the train rolled forward. As it gathered momentum and turned back onto the main track, the click-clack of its wheels picked up speed, trying to make up for lost time.

  But Giuseppe was worried that he might not get to his ship in time. He’d lost too much time on his journey.

  As soon as he arrived in Naples, he asked for directions to the port. Twice he got lost and had to be redirected. When he finally arrived at the wharf he discovered that the SS Providence had sailed for New York earlier that morning. He stood staring at the empty pier, bewildered and disbelieving that the steamship that was to have taken him to his new life in America had left without him.

  ‘No, no, no!’ he cried.

  He ran from one end of the port to the other, desperately hoping that there had been some mistake, that the ship was tied up somewhere else, waiting for him. But the whole place was deserted.

  He slumped onto a crate and put his face in his hands. How was he going to explain what had happened to his family? He felt so foolish. He should have allowed more time to get to Naples, he told himself. There had been so many delays he hadn’t foreseen.

  Then his embarrassment was quickly replaced by fear. What was he going to do now? How long would he have to wait for the next ship? How much would it cost him to stay in Naples to wait for another boat? He might once have been a brave soldier, but now he felt like a little boy. He wished he could conjure up Alfonso or his father and ask them for advice. He thought of Angelica and wondered if she would be sympathetic or whether she would just laugh at him, sitting so dejectedly on the empty dockside. That thought galvanised Giuseppe into action. He stood up and headed for the shipping office, which he had seen at the entrance to the port, to find out if there was something he could do.

  When he got there, he blurted out his story to the shipping clerk who seemed totally disinterested and shrugged his shoulders at the naive young man who was so obviously a peasant. But an older woman, overhearing the conversation, took pity on Giuseppe. She came forward, smiling. Giuseppe was grateful for her sympathy and poured out his story to her. But when she told him there was not another ship sailing to New York for two weeks, Giuseppe’s face fell. He explained that he didn’t have enough money to be able to afford to stay in Naples for two weeks as well as buying a boat ticket.

  She understood his dilemma. ‘You could buy a ticket on the Ricconigi. It’s a cargo ship that takes some passengers and it’s due to sail at noon tomorrow.’

  ‘For America?’ asked Giuseppe, his eyes lighting up.

  ‘No. Australia. It’s all I can suggest. Because it’s a cargo ship, it will only cost you the same as the ticket to America.’

  ‘Australia.’ Giuseppe stared at her. He tried to recall what he’d heard about it. ‘It is so far from here, the bottom of the world. I don’t think that I know anyone who has been to Australia.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Many young men from the south of Italy have gone there, Sicilians, Calabrians. I am told that they work in the sugar cane fields. Hard work, but they make money.’

  ‘I’m a fisherman,’ said Giuseppe proudly.

  ‘Then maybe you’ll have the opportunity to fish in Australia,’ said the woman. ‘It’s up to you, of course.’

  Giuseppe thought for a moment, but it seemed he had few options and he couldn’t disappoint his family by returning home. Maybe he would make enough money in Australia to travel on to America.

  ‘I will go,’ he said.

  He paid for his passage and left his luggage with the kind woman at the ticket office.

  With twenty-four hours before the ship sailed, Giuseppe set off to explore the historic city of Naples. He was overwhelmed by the grandeur of the buildings, fountains, statues and ancient ruins and for the first time he became aware of the rich cultural heritage of his country. He realised how little he knew about its history other than what he’d learned from Alfonso. Later in the day he sat at a table in the Piazza Dante sipping a cold drink. He was shocked at the price of the food at the cafe, so he decided that he would wait until he was on the ship before he ate again.

  He watched the people hurrying
across the square and wondered what they all did and where they were going in such haste. Here everyone was on the move. Even when they were seated at tables they seemed to be busy, engaged in energetic conversations, so different from home where the men idled away the day, quietly chatting and smoking as they mended nets or contemplated the fishing conditions. Here in the city there was urgency in the air and music everywhere.

  Tears came to Giuseppe’s eyes as he listened to a man with a fine tenor voice on the other side of the square sing with all his heart, as passers-by dropped coins into the hat at his feet. But before the tenor had finished the song, a group of youths, wearing black shirts and shouting slogans, stormed around a corner, knocked him over and took his money.

  Seeing Giuseppe frown, the waiter leaned across to Giuseppe and said, ‘These are the thugs of Mussolini who are against the socialists and communists. The authorities let them get away with too much, even murder! These fascists assault anyone opposed to their own views. I do not think this is what we fought for.’

  Giuseppe nodded, although he was hazy about politics.

  ‘It is a disease, all this political unrest,’ added the waiter. ‘And we Italians will suffer because of it.’

  ‘I am leaving Italy,’ blurted out Giuseppe. ‘I am sailing to Australia.’

  The waiter wiped Giuseppe’s table with a wet rag. ‘Who do you know in Australia?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know anyone there. I was on my way to America and I missed the boat. My train was late.’

  The waiter shrugged. ‘Maybe it is fate that you will now go to Australia. Good luck, eh? Ciao.’

  ‘I hope so,’ muttered Giuseppe as he left the table and hurried across the square, avoiding the chanting youths who were shaking their fists outside a small shop. The shopkeeper had fled, leaving them to help themselves to his fruit.

  Giuseppe returned to the wharf that evening to sleep for the night while he waited for the Ricconigi to dock. As he walked across the pier, he saw another young man. He asked him if he was going to Australia, too.

  ‘Yes, I am. I am here early because I know that if you’re travelling on a cargo ship you want to board quickly to grab the best bunk. Six and more to a cabin gets pretty cosy.’

  ‘You’ve travelled before?’ asked Giuseppe.

  The other man shook his head. ‘My brother went out to Australia last year on a cargo ship and he warned me. He also told me to get to the meals early, too.’ He winked. ‘Stick with me, I know my way around a ship and I’ve never even been to sea!’ He laughed and stuck out his hand. ‘Antonio.’

  ‘Giuseppe. Giuseppe d’Aquino.’

  ‘You from Sicily?’ asked Antonio, recognising Giuseppe’s accent. ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘I was planning to go to America but I missed the boat. Now I have decided to go to Australia. I don’t know what I’ll do when I arrive. I’m a fisherman.’

  ‘I’m headed to Queensland to join my brother in the sugar cane fields. But I don’t plan on staying there,’ said Antonio. ‘I’ve heard there are plenty of other opportunities. Even looking for gold!’

  ‘I only know about fishing.’

  Antonio shrugged. ‘Well, you’re on your own there.’ He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘You want to eat a pizza? I know a cheap place,’ he added.

  Giuseppe was hungry and it seemed Antonio knew his way around Naples. ‘Okay. But I don’t have much to spend. Have you been in Naples long?’

  ‘A few weeks. I stayed with a friend from my town. He showed me around.’ He looked seriously at Giuseppe. ‘Where I am taking you, you won’t need much money, but be careful with what you’ve got. The pickpockets are good here.’

  Giuseppe was about to say that he kept his money in his shoe, but felt a little foolish, so he patted his jacket and said, ‘My grandmother sewed a special flap in the pocket for me.’

  ‘Yeah. Men like us get marked as country boys and easy targets. Where’s home?’

  As they walked back along the harbour front, Giuseppe told Antonio about his island, fishing with his father and brothers, and what a struggle life had been for them all.

  Antonio nodded. ‘Yeah, lots of people think the same. It’s no wonder people are leaving Italy by the thousands. There are only old people left in my village in Sardinia. Most of my friends have gone to America.’

  The pizzeria was as Antonio had described: a hole in the wall with a wood-fired oven, a small cart to carry the ingredients and a couple of wooden tables and chairs. One man was expertly punching and flipping balls of dough, stretching them to a circle, smearing on tomato paste, a handful of cheese, some onion and olives and then sliding them on his wooden paddle into the mouth of the oven in front of the burning bits of wood. In a few moments the pizzas were cooked and after a toss of basil leaves on top, they were served to the customers.

  Giuseppe handed over a few coins and bit into the thin crunchy crust. He closed his eyes in ecstasy. ‘You are right. This is good, very good indeed.’

  Antonio smiled. ‘I can show you more of Naples if you like.’

  When they had finished their pizzas, Antonio took him down a street where voluptuous girls in daring clothes leaned against doorways, and taunted and teased the two good-looking young men as they walked past.

  ‘They charge too much. Sailors have spoiled them,’ muttered Antonio, trying to sound very much a man of the world. ‘You had a girl yet?’

  Giuseppe shook his head. He knew what Antonio meant, but said, ‘I’d rather save my money. Maybe the girls in Australia will be happy to go with a nice Sicilian boy, eh?’

  Antonio gave a quick grin. ‘Maybe you could come to Queensland with me. We could team up together.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Giuseppe, glad he’d found a friend.

  Antonio chuckled. ‘We might get lucky at sea, eh? While the mammas are sick in their bunks!’

  They made their way back to the wharf and settled down for the night. Sometime in the small hours of the morning, the Ricconigi docked. Giuseppe raced to the ticket office to retrieve his suitcase and as soon as they were allowed, he and Antonio hurried on board to find their cabins, which were down a dim passageway but close to each other.

  ‘Take that top bunk, next to that porthole. Stash your gear under the bottom bunk and don’t trust your cabin mates. Always keep your money on you,’ Antonio advised Giuseppe.

  But even the ebullient Antonio had fallen silent when they’d seen the tiny and dingy space the bunks occupied. The narrow cabin smelt stale. The thin coir mattresses were covered with grey bedding that looked as though it hadn’t been washed for many journeys. The toilet and bathing facilities were rudimentary. Later they were told that if clothes needed to be washed, water had to be drawn from over the side of the vessel.

  When they went to eat, another shock awaited them. What passed as the dining room was a narrow space off the galley where the food was prepared. Passengers helped themselves in the small serving area and then either sat on the few chairs that were lined against the wall or took their meals to any space they could find. The evil smells from the greasy galley encouraged many to take their food up into the fresh air on the deck, even though their meals got cold more quickly there.

  The menu seldom varied. Breakfast was dry biscuits and weak coffee with sugar but no milk. The rest of the meals were variations of pasta, generally macaroni, teamed with boiled beans and chunks of meat. While regular meat initially seemed a luxury to many of the passengers, the grey glutinous mass soon lost its appeal, especially as it was always tough and sinewy.

  ‘No wonder the ticket was so cheap,’ muttered Antonio.

  The first day was a blur as Giuseppe followed Antonio around the ship and the Ricconigi steamed from the Bay of Naples past the towering hulk of Mount Vesuvius, capped in cloud. They realised they were sailing on an insalubrious vessel where the human cargo was of less value than the commercial cargo in the ship’s hull.

  The sixty or so passengers divided themselves into two sit
tings for meals, the women and children eating first, since they made up the larger number. Many of the mothers with children were going to join husbands who’d gone ahead to Australia, sometimes years before. Dressed in dark and modest clothes, they sat on chairs in the shelter of the deck, gradually forming small groups to knit and crochet as they talked and watched their children play with whatever the youngsters could find to entertain themselves.

  Giuseppe noticed a small group of Maltese on board. The Italians and the Maltese barely fraternised. The Maltese considered themselves superior to the southern Italians and kept to themselves, complaining bitterly to each other and to the crew about conditions on the ship.

  The Italian men formed a loud and cheerful group sharing similar stories. They all had plans and hopes to succeed in Australia. Everyone seemed to have relatives or to know someone there and they entertained each other by relating tales they’d heard of this new country. Giuseppe tried to learn as much as he could from these stories, picking up clues about where might be the best place to find work. From what he heard, Australia seemed to be full of dangerous animals, spiders, snakes and especially sharks.

  ‘Squali, yes, we have them also in Sicily – sometimes they swim with the tuna, but they are harmless,’ said Giuseppe.

  ‘You wouldn’t get me trying to catch one,’ said Antonio.

  Other men told stories they had heard of people dying in the desert, being attacked by wild dogs and ferocious pigs, and Giuseppe realised how little he knew about Australia. It did not sound an inviting place at all, but at least no one had heard about any earthquakes happening there.

  ‘What about the cities? Are they safe? I prefer to be in a town on the coast so I can fish.’

  ‘Giuseppe the fisherman!’ they laughed. ‘You’ll have to start as a deckhand. Maybe you should get off at Fremantle. They have fishing boats there.’

  Giuseppe thought that this was the best idea he had heard since he boarded the ship.