The Winter Sea (4 page)

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 inevitably 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 clothes 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.

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.’