The Winter Sea (2 page)

Like the other young boys on the island, Giuseppe had received very little schooling. The nuns had taught him his letters and his numbers, but since he had become a productive family member there was no more time for such luxuries. Still, he was pleased that he had received even this rudimentary schooling. His parents had not bothered sending his sisters to school at all. They thought it was better for them to stay at home to help their mother, and get married as soon as possible, then start their own families. Giuseppe had only two sisters, and he was quite fond of them. He sometimes thought of his other three sisters and one brother who had failed to survive childhood. All the families he knew had lost young children to disease or malnutrition and this seemed to Giuseppe to be the normal state of things.

One morning Giuseppe was helping his father salt some fish, ignoring the teasing calls of the village girls, when he noticed Alfonso the shepherd, who lived in the hills, leading his donkey cart onto the dock. On the cart sat his daughter, her eyes averted and her face screened by a curtain of curls.

Giuseppe was surprised to see the shepherd speaking with his father.

‘Son, put those salted fish into Alfonso’s cart,’ his father directed. ‘I need to discuss a matter of business.’

Giuseppe moved slowly, taking his time to settle the fish into the back of the cart, while trying to see the young girl’s face. But the girl didn’t speak to, or look at him. He walked to the donkey and fondled its ears as the two men talked seriously. Eventually his father went to his boat and took out an old anchor, which he then put in the back of Alfonso’s cart with the fish.

‘I am sure that I will be able to do something with the anchor. I understand your idea,’ said Alfonso. Then, pushing his woollen hat back on his head, he spoke to the girl. She leaned down and lifted a cloth bag from beneath her feet and held it out for Giuseppe. For a moment he felt the touch of her fingers and caught a swift glimpse of her eyes, which reminded him of the blue-black waters of the sea before a storm. He clutched the soft bag, recognising the lanoline smell of freshly shorn wool, and tried to think of something to say to her. But before a word could come out, Alfonso had climbed onto the seat beside his daughter and the cart moved away, clanking over the cobblestones. As the donkey trotted away, Giuseppe watched the breeze lift the long dark curls that spilled over the shawl around the girl’s shoulders.

‘Take the wool to your mother,’ directed his father. ‘She is expecting it.’

It was many months before Giuseppe saw the girl again. Then it was winter and crystals of ice glittered on the stony ground as Giuseppe and his father climbed slowly up the rugged hill path leading to the small farm where Alfonso lived. One of Giuseppe’s sisters was to be married and a wedding feast was planned, so his father had come to buy a small goat for the celebrations. The villagers could rarely afford to purchase meat, so buying a goat to eat was a special occasion.

Giuseppe was grateful for the thick sweater he wore, spun and knitted by his mother from the wool his father had bought from Alfonso. As they reached the shepherd’s small home, they were greeted by Alfonso standing by a low stone wall. Giuseppe’s father explained what he wanted and the three of them walked into a field where the goats and sheep grazed on winter stubble.

Alfonso turned towards his hut and called, ‘Angelica, bring me a rope.’

Almost at once the young girl, who had so captivated Giuseppe with her curls, came hurrying out of the hut carrying a short rope, which she gave to her father. He selected one of the goats and tied the rope around its neck.

Giuseppe felt overwhelmed by her proximity but could think of nothing clever to say. He only asked, ‘Are you sad that this goat is going to be killed?’

She shrugged. ‘My father chose it for you. Do you care about the fish you catch and kill?’

Giuseppe answered, ‘Sometimes, yes. The big fish are very beautiful. Strong fighters. Have you ever been on a boat?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I like the hills. And the company of sheep, not fish.’ She paused then added, ‘The wool, it looks nice. Your mother is very clever.’ She hurried away, her curls bouncing, feet flying.

Before Giuseppe and his father left, the two men went to the back of Alfonso’s hut. Giuseppe followed them and, to his surprise, he saw that Alfonso had constructed a simple blacksmith’s forge there. From the back of the forge, the shepherd brought out a small anchor to show Giuseppe’s father.

‘It is not finished. It still needs adjusting,’ explained Alfonso. ‘But the swivel head, designed to release if the anchor snags, works.’ His normally dour expression creased into a smile. ‘I followed your instructions.’

After his father had examined the anchor, Giuseppe looked at it. He could see how the release bar would stop the anchor from being lost on the sea floor or on the reefs. Giuseppe was proud of the way his father was always thinking of ideas to improve his equipment to make it more efficient and reliable.

‘This is a great invention. You must come out on our boat to see it working,’ suggested Giuseppe’s father.

‘We are not sea people,’ said the shepherd.

Giuseppe glanced around the barren karsts rising from the steep hills and thought how desolate the windswept landscape looked; he guessed that Angelica and her father would feel as uncomfortable at sea as he did here.

Giuseppe and his father walked back home, leading the goat. When they came to the ridge that stood above the village Giuseppe looked down at the familiar sights of the little port below. He could see the narrow alleyways and steep steps where houses, festooned with poles of washing, stood cheek by jowl, so close that one could almost reach across to rap on the window of the house opposite. He could see his own small house where his family lived in two rooms and where the ceiling was always hung with fishing nets. A broader cobbled street circled the village. It ran along the harbour front, where crab pots were piled high and men squatted to gossip as they mended their nets. Small fishing boats were tied to the iron bollards along the stone sea wall. At one end of the wall on the steps worn down by centuries of seamen’s feet, young boys sat and fished. It was from these steps that each year the priest would bless the fishing fleet. Past the sea wall lay a pebbled beach, where upturned dinghies and small wooden boats were tied above the high-water mark. Near them a deep-water channel ran into the open sea beyond the arms of the cove. This small village was his home and as he walked with his father towards his family’s house, he felt happy with his little world.

*

The wedding of Giuseppe’s sister was an occasion for much festivity. The young girl was marrying a village boy, whom she had known all her life. Families on the island always intermarried. It was expected; the island was their world, where else was there to go? Giuseppe’s father was pleased with the alliance, for his daughter’s future husband came from another prominent fishing family. Everyone on the island believed that the only defence against poverty was family, so he had ensured that his daughter married into a hardworking and respected one.

The couple walked to the church in their best clothes. The priest stood among the incense and statues and blessed their marriage. Afterwards was the great feast. The goat had been slaughtered and was roasting on a spit over the coals, basted frequently with olive oil and rosemary. All the guests were waiting eagerly for it to be ready.

Giuseppe’s mother, Emilia, and her daughters had spent days preparing food, which was amazingly inventive considering the small variety of ingredients available on the island. There was sardine pasta with raisins and pine nuts; pasta with eggplant; couscous and pasta with swordfish, which was especially appreciated, for although the fishermen might catch swordfish, the fish was far too valuable for the families on the island to eat and were always sold. The feast would end with cannoli, fried pastry stuffed with ricotta cheese and honeyed figs. Giuseppe’s father had imported wine in a hog’s head for the event since the island could not produce grapes in any quantity. Although the wedding was extravagant by the standards of the village, it was always the custom for the father of the bride to put on such a feast for it showed not just the standing of the family in the little port, but also the importance of its patriarch, and Giuseppe’s father was determined to show that he was a noteworthy man.

*

One Sunday, several months after the wedding, Giuseppe’s mother asked him to take some salted fish to Alfonso in the hills to exchange for some wool and some goats’ cheese.

Giuseppe felt shy approaching the farm where Alfonso lived with his daughter. But when Alfonso saw him trudging up the hill he greeted Giuseppe cheerfully and led him into the kitchen, calling to his daughter to bring him some water.

The stone cottage was small, but dark and cool. A large fuel stove that provided heat in winter sat in one corner. Giuseppe had noticed a mud-brick oven outside the cottage where Alfonso cooked in summer. A wooden table and chairs sat in the middle of the room and a spinning wheel stood in a corner. But what really caught Giuseppe’s attention was a shelf on one of the walls, stacked high with books. There looked to be about twenty and he stared at them in astonishment.

Alfonso caught his expression and reached for a book that had an illustration of a pirate glued onto its cover. ‘Can you read, boy?’

Giuseppe nodded. ‘I know my letters and I can read numbers.’

‘That’s not reading. Have you read a book?’

‘No,’ Giuseppe said quietly.

‘Would you like to?’ asked Alfonso.

Giuseppe wasn’t sure. His parents respected those few people on the island who were fully literate, but the d’Aquinos thought that there was little need for their family to acquire the same skills. What use would they be for fishermen?

Slowly Giuseppe nodded.

Angelica, who had returned with the water, gave him an encouraging smile. ‘My father thinks that everyone should read books,’ she said.

‘Can you read those books?’ asked Giuseppe with a faint challenge in his voice.

‘Of course. I have read all of them,’ said Angelica.

Giuseppe was taken aback but Alfonso laughed.

‘That is not quite true, Angelica, but if you like, Giuseppe, you may come here and read any of my books. I could help you.’

So once a week, on Sundays after church, Giuseppe made the journey into the hills to read with Alfonso.

‘What do you want to read books for? We own no books, you will never be able to afford to buy books,’ said one of his brothers.

Giuseppe shrugged. ‘It might be useful one day.’

‘You just want to hang around his daughter,’ said another brother.

Giuseppe glared and stomped away. But the remark was partly true.

Angelica intrigued him. Giuseppe knew that she roamed with the sheep and goats and seemed as much a creature of the hills as they. Occasionally he came across her perched on an ancient stone wall watching the animals. He was self-conscious, afraid to speak to her for any length of time, aware that he might displease her father while she, who had seemed so shy the first time he met her at the dock, appeared at ease and chatted to him freely about his life on the fishing boats and in the village. Giuseppe realised that, although they were about the same age, her knowledge about most things, except fishing, made her seem much older than he was. He knew that his mother would never speak to his father with the same confidence and composure as she did with him.

Eventually one day he asked her, ‘Why are you able to talk like this? You seem to know so much about everything.’

She gave a short laugh. ‘I might live a quiet life away from the town, but I read books and I speak with my father. He is a clever man and tells me many stories.’

Giuseppe couldn’t imagine having long conversations with his own father. His father made pronouncements and all the family agreed with him. Giuseppe said defensively, ‘My father teaches me to fish. It takes many years to learn. You don’t need books to learn how to read the wind and clouds, to understand what the colours of the sea mean, to watch the birds to see the movement of the schools of fish, or to notice the clues that show where the big fish are feeding.’

Angelica jumped down from the wall. ‘That may be true, but my father can teach you many other things. I will come and listen to you read some time.’

And so, occasionally, Angelica would appear at her father’s door and listen to Giuseppe as he read, trying not to stumble over the words.

Within a year Giuseppe’s reading skills had vastly improved and Alfonso decided that it was time for him to borrow books rather than continuing to read aloud. Giuseppe’s visits to the farm became less frequent, but he still found time to climb into the hills to talk to Alfonso. Alfonso had lived away from the island. He had travelled, and was better educated than almost anyone else in the village. Giuseppe had no idea why Alfonso had left the island but he knew that he had returned when Angelica’s mother had died. Giuseppe loved to hear the stories of the time that the shepherd had spent in the north of Italy. Alfonso talked about Italy’s history and politics, and the country’s future, and Giuseppe concentrated as he listened to the shepherd.

Giuseppe tried to imagine the scenes of cities with streets crowded with people, shops filled with clothes and exotic food and furniture that was shining and new. Alfonso loved to speak of the theatres, music halls, opera houses and cinema houses showing silent films. He even tried to explain to Giuseppe about the motor cars he had seen, but Giuseppe found it hard to grasp such a concept. It was a world that Giuseppe could hardly believe, it was so far removed from the simple village where he’d been born and had always lived. Now Giuseppe even started to wonder about the authority of the elderly priest, who was considered to be the wisest and best educated man on the island, but whose horizons and experiences seemed severely limited when compared to those of Alfonso. Not that Giuseppe voiced these thoughts aloud. Nevertheless, talking with Alfonso, Giuseppe found himself increasingly curious about life beyond the confines of his village. If he couldn’t visit the places Alfonso had been to, he could at least read about them, and dream.