The Winter Sea (9 page)

Luciano put some coins onto the counter. ‘Me. It’s a welcome to Australia drink.’

‘They staying with the signora? Must be getting a bit crowded down there.’

Myrtle wrung out the beery cloth into the slops bucket under the bar as she studied Giuseppe. He gave her a smile and a cheeky wink. She laughed and said, ‘He’ll do all right. What kind of work you after?’

Giuseppe took a moment to understand she was asking him about work. ‘I am a fisherman. I want to work on a fishing boat.’

‘Lot of fish in the sea here,’ Myrtle replied and yelled across to one of the old men in the corner. ‘Hey, Wally, this young fellow wants to work on a fishing boat. Know anybody?’

The old man took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Might. S’long as he pulls his weight. Uses his muscles and not his mouth.’

Giuseppe put his beer down and went over and extended his hand. ‘I am Giuseppe d’Aquino. I fish with my father, we catch the big tuna.’

Wally seemed a bit taken aback by his claim. ‘You want to work on a boat? Hard yakka, mate.’

‘Hard yakka? What is that?’ Giuseppe asked.

‘Bloody hard work,’ was the answer.

‘I work plenty hard,’ Giuseppe replied.

Wally’s companion shrugged. ‘Could send him down to Con. He’s always whingeing about his crew slacking off.’

Wally signalled to Luciano. ‘Hey Lucky, get your mate to go down to Con’s at Balmain. He’s got a couple of fishing boats. Could be something there.’

Giuseppe didn’t quite follow all of this, but he nodded enthusiastically and turned to Luciano. ‘Where do I go?’

‘I’ll draw you a map, luv,’ called Myrtle. ‘I know the area.’

Giuseppe tried to thank the two men, but they had turned back to their drinks. He swallowed his beer and drew a breath. ‘This
birra
, is strong, eh?’ he said to Myrtle. ‘You have vino?’

‘Wine? This is a pub, luv, only alkies drink that sort of stuff, usually out of a brown paper bag,’ Myrtle said.

When Luciano had explained what Myrtle had said, Giuseppe looked around at the empty bar and commented, ‘No wonder nobody is here to drink.’

Luciano smiled. ‘You wait till five. Then Myrtle gets really busy.’

She grimaced. ‘Runs me off me feet, the bloody six o’clock swill. Place is like a pigsty. Get your mates outta here before then,’ she advised.

‘What is this six o’clock swill?’ asked Giuseppe.

‘Pubs all shut at six,’ replied Luciano. ‘It’s the law. So when everyone finishes work they hit the pub, line up as many beers as possible and drink them as fast as they can.’

‘That is crazy,’ Giuseppe told Myrtle.

‘You got that right,’ agreed Myrtle. ‘Drink fast and go home sozzled. Give their families hell. Here. This is the address and directions to Balmain.’ She gave Giuseppe a dirty piece of paper with a map scrawled on it. ‘And,’ she added, ‘can you give this to Signora Pagano, too?’

To the young men’s shock she put her hand down her blouse, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Luciano.

‘These are her winnings from the fourth last Saturday. Don’t lose them!’

Confused, embarrassed and having no idea what Myrtle was talking about, Antonio and Giuseppe backed out of the bar.

‘Her boss is the local SP bookie,’ said Luciano. He explained that people were only allowed to bet on the horses at the race track, so the publican took bets for his customers who couldn’t get there.

‘Of course,’ he admitted, ‘it’s illegal to do this, but lots of people do it, in pubs, barber shops, tobacconists. The police mostly turn a blind eye.’

‘Myrtle is a kind lady,’ said Giuseppe.

‘Barmaids are not ladies,’ said Luciano. ‘It’s not something we would like our mothers and sisters doing.’

‘So you don’t see proper ladies in there?’ jumped in Antonio.

‘Not really,’ said Luciano lightly. ‘When women come into a pub they have a special room to drink in.’

‘Well, I thought Myrtle was nice,’ said Giuseppe. ‘But maybe I should try Bondi first. I’ll find Con later if I need to. Do you want to come too, Antonio?’

‘No, I think I’ll go and find Vincenzo. I’ll meet you for dinner tonight.’

Luciano told Giuseppe where to get the tram for Bondi and how much he would need to pay so Giuseppe had little trouble in finding the beach.

His first sight of Bondi Beach as the tram turned down Bondi Road took his breath away. He’d seen some beautiful bays and beaches in his homeland, but this huge expanse of golden sand flanked by rocky headlands caught him by surprise.

No wonder it was crowded with people enjoying themselves. There were motor vehicles parked along the foreshore. People were strolling along the promenade and children were building castles in the sand. There were places to eat and drink, tea rooms and hotels and a great many shops. The colours were so bright and the whole place had a holiday atmosphere. Yet it was still so close to the city.

Giuseppe saw a tea room called Ravesi’s, and walked over to it. He asked the Italian waiter working there where he could buy fresh fish.

‘There’s a Greek fish shop down the road, but you can also buy directly from the fishermen down on the beach or over by the rocks. They sell right from their boat. They should still be about,’ he told Giuseppe.

Giuseppe found a small boatshed and a clutter of boats, nets, ropes, baskets and boxes piled on the beach. There were men sitting around talking and smoking as they cleaned up from the night’s catch and morning’s fish sale. They all seemed to be Greek.

Giuseppe crouched down and poked through the last box of fish, which had been passed over by customers. ‘These for bait?’ he asked.

‘Help yourself,’ said a large man. ‘You want to fish? Or to eat?’

‘I like to do both,’ said Giuseppe in careful English. ‘I’m looking for work.’

‘You an Italian boy? Just arrived, hey?’

‘
Si
. Giuseppe d’Aquino. From Sicily. My father is a fisherman.’

To Giuseppe’s surprise the large Greek answered him in Italian. ‘I am Kostas. I have worked with Italian men in Australia. They show us all the tricks and places. You worked on a trawler?’

‘No. My father and brother have a
barca
. . . but we catch some big tuna. I am the capo,’ said Giuseppe proudly. ‘I work hard. What fish do you go after here?’

‘You’d be surprised what’s out there. The harbour is good, and there’s plenty of shellfish around the rocks. Rock fish. Outside the harbour, in places close to shore, we chase the big schools when they come by. My cousin has a trawler. Fantastic boat. But the sea out there,’ he lifted his chin towards the ocean, ‘she can be cruel.’

Giuseppe listened, nodding with interest. He knew that in these foreign waters there would be many species of fish he was unfamiliar with but he had no doubt he could work as hard as anyone else to catch them.

‘I want very much to work, to learn. I am happy on the water.’

Kostas laughed and turned to the other men and spoke to them in Greek. Then he said to Giuseppe, ‘Why should I hire you, a new kid who knows nothing of these waters? I know a dozen kids, family and friends of friends, I could hire.’

‘They don’t love the sea as I do! I learn fast, I can find fish and I work hard. I am strong. I can do many things. I will clean the fish, wash the boat, fix nets and ropes. Clean the bottom of the boat . . . anything you ask.’

Kostas held up his hand. ‘After you clean the fish, can you sell the fish? Tell the housewives how to cook this fish?’ He raised his dark bushy eyebrows.

Giuseppe wasn’t sure if he was making a joke or if that was part of the job. ‘I prefer to catch them and then eat them after they are cooked by a beautiful woman.’

Kostas roared with laughter. ‘I don’t think you’d have much trouble selling fish or anything else. But I want to see you catch them. Come here tonight ready to go fishing. We go for snapper and flathead.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come out on a trial run with us. We’ll see how you go.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’ Giuseppe eyed the small scrappy fish left in the box. ‘How much for some for my dinner?’

Kostas scooped up a handful of the little fish and rolled them in newspaper. ‘Here, take them.’

Giuseppe thanked him and sprinted back to the tram.

At the boarding house he handed the fish to Signora Pagano. ‘For supper. And if I get a job fishing with Kostas, we will eat many, many fish!’ he exclaimed proudly.

‘I will make zuppa di pesce for dinner tonight.’ She smiled at Giuseppe. ‘I hope you get the job with the Greeks.’

*

It was a calm night and turned out to be a lucky one. They went out from Ben Buckler and lined the boat up with part of the headland. Kostas used live bait from the tin bucket and he showed Giuseppe the best lure and lead to use.

‘Better to let the bait swim so the lead drags along the bottom. Give him a jig up and down every so often to get the flathead’s attention. He might make a couple of runs before he takes the bait, but he comes up easy if he swallows it. But if he comes to the boat, don’t pull his head out of the water, he’ll panic and shake his head and chew through the line. Wait to net him. You understand?’ explained Kostas.

It wasn’t long before Giuseppe caught his first flathead.

‘It’s not so big,’ he said, feeling disappointed.

‘It’s all right
.
Plate size tastes better than the big ones. Look out for the spike here on the head,’ said Kostas, quickly piercing the flat skull of the dark speckled fish.

The evening sped by. Giuseppe was happy to be back on the water and catching fish. They moved around to a few favoured spots, landing some silvery pink, bump-headed snapper and some flounder. He was amazed by the different species they caught and quickly realised how the seabed varied from reef to sandy weed and deeper holes. Giuseppe asked Kostas lots of questions and learned rapidly. The other three crew kept to themselves, though they seemed friendly and encouraging enough. In the early hours Kostas headed back to shore.

Giuseppe looked at the waves crashing on the rocks around the headland. ‘This is a good place for shellfish?’

Kostas nodded. ‘But dangerous. People get washed away. You have to know the tides and be careful of rogue waves.’

Giuseppe nodded and resolved he would have to study this coastline and learn as much as he could. He hoped that Kostas would hire him and then he could save money and invest in his own fishing gear.

Once they had brought their catch to shore, Kostas told Giuseppe to clean the fish. The men worked fast, so that by the time the sun came up all was ready for the first buyers. They mainly came from the local restaurants and fish shops around the eastern suburbs but also from the city. Kostas did all the selling.

When all the fish had been sold, Kostas handed Giuseppe some money.

‘You did okay. I saved a small snapper for you so you know how it tastes. If you want, come back tonight,’ he said.

Giuseppe broke into a wide smile. ‘I have a job fishing with you?’

‘For the time being,’ said Kostas.

Within a week Giuseppe had become one of Kostas’s permanent crew.

*

The following Friday afternoon, Giuseppe decided to visit Giovanni Bruscioli and share the good news that he was working as a fisherman.

Long before he reached Giovanni’s warehouse at the wharves, he could hear music and smell delicious food. Giovanni greeted him like a long-lost relative, poured him a glass of wine and sat him down to ask him what he’d been doing.

Giuseppe thanked Giovanni for the introduction to Signora Pagano and then handed him a parcel of fresh fish and told him about the job with Kostas.

‘The Greeks are good fishermen. But so are the Italians. You should go south one day and see where they have made their mark in Wollongong and further down the coast.’

‘Are these places far away? Because I have no money to travel. And I would rather find my way around this huge harbour. There are waterways that seem to go to the moon!’ exclaimed Giuseppe. ‘Kostas showed me his map.’

‘Yes, but it is not just Sydney Harbour that is magnificent! North is the Hawkesbury River and Pittwater in from West Head, the northern beaches – they all are incredible.’ He shouted across the table. ‘Stefano, where’s your brother’s boat? We want to take Giuseppe for a trip!’

*

On the next Sunday Giuseppe, Antonio and Luciano found themselves walking along the pier at Rose Bay, wondering if they were at the right place. They had imagined that they would be going out on a smelly fishing boat, with garlicky picnic food and no shelter from the sun or rain, in the company of other migrant fishermen. But here was a very different world. This place was full of sleek yachts and elegant motor boats.

They were stunned when they boarded Stefano’s brother’s boat. It was a converted ferry, trimmed with teak and brass fittings; it had comfortable tables and chairs on the deck and bunks below. Food and drinks were already spread out and, although it was not his boat, Giovanni held centre stage. He kept calling Giuseppe and Antonio to come close and then he introduced them to people who all smiled at the handsome new arrivals. Everyone was talking in voluble Italian.

One dark-eyed woman was dressed in a white silk dress with a wide lace hem, a stylish hat and carried a Chinese parasol. She lazily smoked a cigarette as she cast her eye over Giuseppe.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘I am Giuseppe.’ Tentatively he shook her hand.

She turned to Giovanni. ‘Where have you been hiding this sweet boy?’

Giovanni made a small gesture and replied, ‘He is fresh from Sicily, still learning the ropes as you say. Don’t frighten him away, Sophia. He is a fisherman.’

She turned her large eyes, outlined in black, to Giuseppe. ‘I love fresh fish. Where do you sell your fish, Giuseppe?’ She rolled his name off her tongue and another woman in a pleated skirt gave a throaty laugh.

‘I work for Kostas the Greek. He sells seafood from the beach at Bondi.’

‘Giuseppe, you need your own boat. He must start his own business, Giovanni. Why don’t you help him?’

‘Oh. No! It will be a long time before I have my own boat,’ exclaimed Giuseppe. ‘I am still learning where the fish are here.’