The Winter Sea (8 page)

Giuseppe shook the young man’s hand.

‘Welcome to Australia,’ said Vincenzo.

‘Vincenzo’s taking us to his uncle who imports Italian wine. He has an office in his warehouse not far from here. He wants us to come for a drink to celebrate our arrival! Come on, you never know who you might meet in our new country!’

Antonio linked his arm through Giuseppe’s and the three young men sauntered along the waterfront.

Carrying their cases, dressed
in their best, Giuseppe and Antonio followed Vincenzo along the wharf to Vincenzo’s uncle’s office and warehouse. Although Giuseppe was still feeling despondent about not saying goodbye properly to Bridie, the enthusiasm of the others was infectious. And he was feeling strangely at home. The salty smell of the air, the bright blue sky and sunshine, and the activity around the harbour made him think that he might be able to find a job somewhere around here. He’d noticed men on the wharves doing the backbreaking work of loading and unloading cargo. He could see houses crowded together on the hill behind the wharves. The scene almost reminded him of his fishing village, although instead of the backdrop of wild exposed hillsides, here there were solid multi-storey buildings. But it wasn’t the city that interested Giuseppe as much as the waterfront.

The minute they walked into Vincenzo’s uncle’s darkened storage shed, Giuseppe and Antonio began to sigh. They could hear mandolin music and smell the rich tomato aromas of pasta asciutta. After the terrible food on the
Ricconigi
, their mouths began to water.

They entered a large back room, lined with crates and large wooden barrels and shelves stacked with wine bottles. In the centre of the room a long table was spread with food. Along the table empty chianti bottles wreathed in raffia had candles sticking out of them, wax running down their sides in fat, greasy rivulets. An older man was playing a sentimental tune on a mandolin, which wrenched at their hearts. There were a lot of people sitting at the table enjoying the food and wine. A plump, jolly-looking man waved at them to take a seat and told them to help themselves. Vincenzo took Giuseppe and Antonio over to meet him.

‘This is my uncle, Giovanni Bruscioli,’ he said. ‘Uncle, here are Giuseppe and Antonio, who have just arrived in Australia today.’

‘Welcome, welcome,’ responded Uncle Giovanni. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want. Introduce yourselves to my friends. Maltese, Italian, they all know each other and you will soon know them, too.’

Giuseppe quickly did as he was instructed. The pasta was delicious. If he could eat like this every day in Australia, he would be very happy. Spearing a piece of macaroni, he asked: ‘Who made this? It is as good as the food my nonna makes.’

‘Signor Rizzo, a friend of my uncle’s,’ replied Vincenzo. ‘He started a pasta factory not far from here in Stanley Street. It’s very successful. And if you are lucky, our friend Sando, here, will make you a beautiful sauce to go with it – and serenade you as well!’

Sando, the mandolin player, acknowledged the compliment.

‘This is a wonderful welcome party,’ Giuseppe said. ‘How fortunate for you to have family here, Vincenzo.’

‘I never knew my uncle until I came to Australia, but now I know how generous he is. He gives away his money and finds jobs for people who need help. Every Friday he has a party here in his warehouse. You will always be welcome,’ said Vincenzo.

Antonio nudged Giuseppe. ‘You could ask for a job.’

Giuseppe glanced at Giovanni, who was pouring glasses of red wine from a long-necked dark green bottle. He felt too shy to ask Giovanni about work while he was his guest.

‘I’ll wait a little while.’

‘No, let’s talk to him now,’ said Antonio.

So Giuseppe and Antonio wandered over to where Giovanni was sitting. He greeted them effusively, as though he had not seen them for ages.

‘Sit. Eat, eat – or Sando will be offended. Tell me, why have you come to Australia? What are your plans? Where are you going? You have family here?’

‘My cousin and my uncle are in north Queensland, a place called Innisfail,’ said Antonio. ‘Cane cutting.’

‘Ah, cutting sugar cane. Seasonal work, very hard work,’ said Giovanni. ‘But makes big muscles. I know some good boxers who used to cut cane. You are going to be a cane cutter?’

Antonio shrugged. ‘It’s a start. Maybe I’ll look for something else.’

‘What will you do in Australia, Giuseppe? What did you do in the old country?’

‘I am a fisherman.’

Giovanni nodded. ‘You will like Sydney. The harbour is full of seafood. There is so much that you can take oysters right off the rocks and from the pylons of the wharves. Sando cooks marinara all the time.’

‘At home I hunt for big fish, the
tonno
.’

‘Do you have family here in Australia?’

Giuseppe shook his head. ‘No, I am alone. Can you tell me where is the best place to go for fishing?’

‘Right here. All you need is a boat!’ roared Giovanni.

‘I cannot afford a boat. But I can work for someone.’

Giovanni dropped his cheerful tone and grew serious. ‘Are you a
good
fisherman?’

Giuseppe nodded vehemently. ‘Very good. I don’t know the waters here but I can learn quickly. The sea is in my blood,’ he said earnestly.

Giovanni leaned back in his chair. ‘Have some more wine, Giuseppe. I will ask around for you. Come back in a few days, okay? Where are you two going to stay?’

Giuseppe looked at Giovanni and suddenly realised that he had just landed in a strange country with only a couple of pounds in his pocket.

‘We haven’t found a place yet.’ He looked hopefully at Antonio.

Giovanni swallowed a mouthful of red wine. ‘I suggest you both go to Signora Pagano’s. She has a boarding house in a place called The Rocks. You can easily walk to it from here. Tell her I sent you. I’ll see you in a few days, Giuseppe, unless you find some work before then.’ He smiled at both young men.

‘You are very kind. Thank you, thank you,’ said Giuseppe.

‘Giuseppe, and you too, Antonio, I must give you a word of warning. It is hard to come to a new country and start a new life. In Australia things are done very differently from the way things are done in Italy, so be careful not to get into any trouble. You will learn.’

‘I will never forget my welcome to Australia, Signor Bruscioli,’ said Giuseppe, thinking how lucky he was to meet such a good man. He hoped Signor Bruscioli would prove to be as good as his word about finding a job for him.

*

Leaving Vincenzo with his uncle, Giuseppe and Antonio set out for The Rocks to find Signora Pagano’s boarding house. The streets were winding lanes, crowded with narrow-fronted houses, some small shops and a few hotels.

‘I see why this place is called The Rocks,’ said Antonio, looking up at the sandstone cliff that rose above a row of small brick and sandstone houses standing hard against it. They knocked on the door of one of these houses.

The woman who opened the door was short and stoutly built, with grey strands in her dark knot of hair. She threw up her hands and shook her head. ‘I have no room. I suppose you got off the
Ricconigi
this morning and have come here looking for a bed? Did someone send you?’

‘Signora, Signor Bruscioli sent us. This is my friend Antonio. Soon he will be travelling north. Maybe I will go with him. I am Giuseppe.’ He gave her his best smile. ‘We would like a room for a short time, please.’

‘Well, if that is the case, I have one room. You will have to share,’ she said as she ushered them into the tiny two-storey terrace. ‘You’re Sicilian, eh?’ she asked Giuseppe.

‘Yes. I’m a fisherman. But I will do any work,’ said Giuseppe quickly.

The house was small and dark and Giuseppe could see that the long passageway led to a tiny backyard where a clothesline, propped up by a tall sapling cut with a fork in its top, was strung with washing. Appetising aromas wafted from the kitchen and the house was clean. Their bedroom was compact with two small beds, a nightstand beside each, a trunk at the foot of each bed and a small wardrobe.

Signora Pagano handed them a sheet of paper on which was printed the weekly board, as well as some optional extras such as meals, laundry and ironing. ‘If you want to take the room, I’ll need a week’s rent in advance,’ she told them.

When Giuseppe and Antonio handed her their money, Signora Pagano’s demeanour became more warm and welcoming.

‘I’ll get Luciano for you. He might be useful and help you settle in. He is from Naples,’ she said.

‘We’ve both been to Naples!’ exclaimed Giuseppe.

‘Then you will have something to talk about.’

She went to the narrow stairs and shouted. Luciano, a powerfully built Italian about their age, descended the stairs, and greeted Giuseppe and Antonio like cousins.

‘Hello! You have just arrived? You have found the best home away from home. Signora is our mother. Also our father and nonna. She is the Big Boss.’ He laughed. ‘Do you have any plans?’

‘Antonio is planning to join his relatives in Queensland, in the cane fields. I may go with him if I don’t find any work in Sydney.’

‘What sort of work are you looking for?’ asked Luciano.

‘On a fishing boat. Do you know anyone?’ asked Giuseppe.

‘Maybe. The Greeks run the fishing boats around here.’ He paused. ‘How did you find out about this place?’

‘Our friend’s uncle, Signor Bruscioli, told us to come here,’ replied Antonio.

‘You have important friends then. Perhaps you would like to come with me for a beer and we can talk some more,’ suggested Luciano.

Giuseppe thought about his lack of funds, and decided that if Luciano could help him find work, the investment of a few pennies would be worthwhile. So the three of them set off for the nearest hotel.

‘Where are these Greeks who fish?’ asked Giuseppe as they walked.

‘Around the harbour and over at Manly. Out at Bondi the fishermen sell their catch up on the beach in front of the shops, no one seems to mind. It’s a good place, Bondi. You can take a tram right to the beach. There’s a couple of boatsheds up at Ben Buckler. The Greeks clean the fish and sell them straight to the housewives. Signora Pagano gets me to buy fish at Bondi most Fridays.’

‘Maybe I could exchange fish for board,’ said Giuseppe, laughing. ‘I am a good fisherman!’

‘The Greeks might give you a try. But the Australians won’t. They treat Italians like dirt because they think we’re here to take their jobs.’

Giuseppe remembered the immigration official in Fremantle. He felt disappointed that according to Luciano this attitude was not exceptional and it showed on his face.

‘Not all Australians think like that,’ said Luciano when he saw Giuseppe’s expression. ‘Some of them are good people. You just have to find them.’

*

The corner hotel was dark and quiet. Several men stood at the bar wearing rough clothes, braces showing and with their sleeves rolled up, but they all seemed to have a jacket and hat within easy reach for the homeward trip. Two older men sat rolling cigarettes at a corner table, schooners of dark beer in front of them.

Giuseppe stopped in surprise when he saw a woman behind the bar. She was older than his sisters, and she wore her hair cut short and bright red lipstick. She stopped wiping the wet cloth along the counter and gave Luciano a smile.

‘Hey there, Lucky. You’ve brought a couple of mates along. What’s it to be, fellas?’

Giuseppe and Antonio exchanged looks as Luciano leaned on the counter. ‘Give them the best beer you got on tap, Myrtle. This is Giuseppe from Sicily and Antonio from Sardinia.’

‘Dagoes, I thought as much. Do you good-looking boys speaka da lingo?’

Giuseppe looked at Luciano in bewilderment. He didn’t understand a word she was saying, let alone the fact she was there at all.

‘She’s asking if you want a beer,’ said Luciano.

‘Yes, thank you very much, I would like a beer, please.’ Giuseppe ran the words of the sentence together, which made her chuckle.

‘What’re your plans?’ she asked Antonio.

Antonio, who had virtually no English, had to wait for Luciano to translate. ‘Please tell her that I’m going north, to Queensland.’

When the barmaid had been given the answer, she commented to Luciano, ‘He doesn’t look much like a cane cutter to me.’ She glanced at Giuseppe. ‘And what’s your line?’ she shouted, as she pushed three glasses with thick creamy collars across the counter, as though by raising her voice he would understand what she was asking. ‘Who’s buying?’