The Winter Sea (33 page)

Joe looked so pleased with the idea that Bridie said, ‘I don’t see how I can refuse such an offer, darling.’

Joe spoke quietly as he got the boat under way. The May morning was still chilly as they chugged through the channel towards the open sea. Bridie, rugged up against the cool wind, sat beside Joe in the shelter of the half cabin and watched him confidently steer the small launch across the harbour he knew as well as his own backyard. The sun was emerging above a puffy layer of clouds and the water gleamed where the bow parted its silky surface. The land gradually grew distant behind them as the little boat travelled towards the horizon.

Joe stared ahead, a slight crease in his forehead as he studied the ocean. Suddenly he pointed ahead and said triumphantly, ‘Birds.’

Bridie shaded her eyes against the glare and, finally, she too spotted the distant flicker of diving and soaring sea birds.

‘They’re after bait fish. A good sign. The big fellows will be in after them, too.’ Joe pointed the bow at the ruffled patch of water dotted with feasting birds and increased the speed of the boat.

He circled outside the shrieking birds and cut the engine, quickly jamming a baited fishing rod into the small holder he’d attached at the gunwale on the stern.

‘You take this one, I’ll get the other one out.’

Bridie shrugged out of her jacket but before she had taken the few steps to the stern, the rod jerked wildly, bowing to the water, the line streaming out.

‘Grab it and start winding,’ shouted Joe. ‘If he runs, let him.’ The second line, barely in the water, zinged away from the boat and Joe grabbed that rod, grinning. ‘This is what we want.’

Bridie felt the strain in her arms as she inched the line back onto the reel, bracing her knees and thighs against the boat to steady herself.

‘Don’t fight him, let him take some line, now pull back and up, now lower the rod and wind. Pull up, wind down,’ Joe told Bridie encouragingly.

‘It’s a tug of war,’ she panted, but slowly she began to gain line on the fish.

Joe nodded as he wound furiously with his own rod. ‘Tuna,’ he shouted as he caught his first glimpse of his fish while it flung itself around in a frenzy. He landed the fish, dispatched it swiftly with his knife and went to Bridie’s side.

‘This is heavy – or is it just me?’ Bridie asked.

‘No, you’re doing fine. He took a lot of line off you. Just keep winding.’ He watched her bite her lip as she strained at the bending rod. ‘Want me to help?’

She shook her head. ‘No, no, I’m gaining. I can feel it. Oh, there it is!’

There was a flash of silver in the water. Joe leaned over the side with his gaff, hooked the fish in the gills and heaved it over the side where it thrashed about at their feet.

Joe lifted the fish to get the hook out of its sharp, pointed mouth and said, ‘Be a good ten pounds. Well done, my darling! Mamma can stuff this and we’ll roast it over the fire. Let’s go again. Here, try some squid this time.’

‘My legs and arms ache after that effort. But I don’t care. This is so much fun. I can’t wait to catch something
else. Oh, Joe, this is so exhilarating. I can feel my adrenalin
pumping.’

Joe couldn’t help but smile at his wife’s enthusiasm.

They drifted for five minutes and then Bridie’s rod was hit with such force it almost jerked from her hands. Clearly more confident, Bridie started to reel in the shuddering, fighting fish as Joe let out a shout that his line was struck, too.

They landed three more similar-sized yellow fin tuna and then the excitement stopped. They drifted in silence, scanning the water, rods poised.

‘The fish have moved. Bring your line up and we’ll move too.’

He started the engine and cruised slowly eastwards. Bridie leaned over the side.

‘Don’t you just wish you could magically see down there, and see what the fish are doing, where they are,’ she said.

‘Hmm. You know, as a kid I always felt I could do that,’ said Joe. ‘I could feel when they were around. I saw a fish in a wave when a storm was coming once. I was with my father and that fish looked at me. It was like it knew me.’

‘Was it like a mermaid?’

‘No. More like Uncle Salvatore. It had an ugly face with bulging eyes and fat lips.’

‘Your uncle wouldn’t like to hear you say that!’

‘He drowned a long time ago. He was a good man. I used to think that perhaps the men who were lost at sea became fish.’ He looked away. ‘I had some imagination, eh?’ He cut the engine. ‘I reckon this is the place.’

Joe deftly re-baited their rods and dropped the lines over the side. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sea, trying to see through the blue layers to the world beneath. Bridie kept the line across her finger as Joe had shown her, ready to feel the slightest nibble or tug.

‘Do you think Patrick understands fishing the way you and your boys do?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Definitely. Certainly more than Pietro, who isn’t interested in the sea at all. Ricardo is really dedicated, I know he will run things when I retire and do it well. And Carlo, he likes the physical work of fishing. Patrick? He’s solid. He’s a fine boy, Bridie. I’m proud he is part of my family. My son.’ He smiled at Bridie.

Suddenly there was a mighty yank on her line and before she’d brought her fish to the surface Joe was hauling at his line. They landed some smaller fish and were kept busy baiting, dropping lines, pulling up more fish, sometimes landing them, sometimes not.

Joe was proud of Bridie, overjoyed that she was enjoying the day out with him. Then the fish suddenly disappeared again. They shared a thermos of hot soup and some sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs, as the boat bobbed quietly up and down while they waited for some more action.

‘Fishing is all about patience,’ said Joe.

‘I know. I wouldn’t normally be able to sit still like this, just waiting, with nothing going on around me,’ admitted Bridie. ‘But for some reason, this doesn’t bother me. It’s peaceful. I’m glad you suggested this. I can understand why you love the sea and the challenge of it all. Thank you, Joe dearest. I won’t forget today.’

Joe, smelling of fish and bait and the salty tang of the sea, leaned over and kissed her. ‘Nor will I.’

*

Two days later the weather closed in and the sunny day they’d enjoyed at sea seemed as though it had happened in another time and place. The wind howled and the rain lashed. But, surprisingly, despite the rough conditions, Joe’s crew netted a decent haul of fish. Another of his boats found some lobsters under a rock shelf and this, combined with a decent haul of prawns from the Wollongong boys, made a trip to the Sydney markets a worthwhile venture.

‘I’ll drive it up,’ said Joe.

‘Joe, I know that it’s probably not necessary now to report to the police station every day, but you haven’t yet been told officially not to. I wouldn’t like you to take the risk of driving to Sydney. If you got caught, it could be awkward. I can go. I know the road really well and it might be my last chance to do it.’

Joe knew she was right. He couldn’t afford to have problems with the authorities, even if he was almost sure that all the restrictions he had been placed under over the last few years would shortly be lifted.

‘You’re right, of course. But, Bridie, you will be very careful driving in this weather, won’t you?’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’ She kissed Joe lightly, hopped into the truck and drove away.

Patrick and Pietro were in the kitchen that evening, helping Nonna prepare spaghetti, meat sauce and roasted slabs of eggplant topped with tomato and cheese. Joe was about to tell them how good it smelled when there was a knock at the door. He wondered who would be calling at the evening mealtime.

Sergeant Anderson, the local policeman, was standing on the verandah with a stricken look on his face.

‘Joe, can you come outside?’

Joe shut the door behind him. ‘Is it Ricardo? Has something happened to him?’

The sergeant twisted his cap in his hands and cleared his throat, seeming unwilling to speak.

Joe glanced over his shoulder into the wet evening and knew at once that something terrible had happened to his beautiful Bridie.

‘Mrs Aquino
. . .
there’s been an accident.’ The sergeant’s voice cracked with anguish.

‘How bad is it? Where is she?’ Joe braced himself against the door.

‘It happened on the Bulli Pass. The fog was so thick, the road was slippery. Not her fault, a bus lost control . . .’

‘Tell me, tell me, Sergeant, how bad?’ Joe seemed unaware that his voice had risen. ‘Where is she?’

‘There was nothing anyone could do. She died at the scene. Joe, Joe, I am so sorry, I don’t know what to say. She’s been taken to Wollongong Hospital. I can take you there, but it’s late.’

Joe made a wild move towards the police car parked out the front. ‘Let’s go, take me to Bridie. Quickly.’

The sergeant paused, trying to find the words to say that there was no need to hurry anymore. ‘The boys, your mother, do you want me to tell them?’

The door behind Joe opened and Patrick came outside.

‘Papà Joe? What is it? We are ready to eat when Mum arrives.’

The sergeant reached out and steadied Joe while he turned to face Bridie’s son.

‘Patrick. Come here.’ Joe’s voice said it all.

Suddenly Patrick cried out, ‘No, no! My mother. It’s my mother, isn’t it? What’s happened?’ He pummelled Joe’s chest as he tried to hold him. Joe’s tongue stopped in his mouth, so it fell to Sergeant Anderson to tell the young man that his beloved mother was dead.

Patrick disappeared into the darkness at the end of the verandah as Carlo and Pietro came hurrying to see what was going on.

On hearing the news, Pietro tearfully embraced Joe and went back inside. A moment or so later, Emilia’s wail shattered the night.

‘I’ll wait here for you, Joe. You go and see your mother,’ said the policeman.

Joe felt as though he had entered a labyrinth of grief. Bridie had been the light of his life. He had loved her as he had never loved another person. He had no idea how he would live without her.

‘Mamma,’ he asked softly, as he approached his mother, herself shaking with grief. ‘What am I going to do? How can I go on without her?’

She looked at her son with dark, pained eyes. ‘I will help you, Giuseppe. I am here for you and the family.’

Tears streamed down Joe’s face as he went to her, knelt before her and, putting his head in her lap, wept. Slowly she stroked his hair with hands that had cooked and cleaned and sewed, hands that had dug in the earth, soothed babies and buried children. She crooned an old song she remembered from her childhood because there were no words she could say to her son that would ease the terrible pain in his heart. At last Joe rose to his feet.

‘Tomorrow I will need to go to Wollongong and see Bridie. I will take Patrick. You can look after the others, yes?’

His mother nodded.

‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ Joe said to the policeman still waiting patiently on the verandah. ‘Could you drive me and Patrick up to Wollongong in the morning? Thank you for all your kindness.’

After Sergeant Anderson had gone Joe found Patrick sitting on an old chair in the backyard in the soggy darkness as fog and sea mist wreathed around him. Joe pulled up another chair and sat beside him.

‘It’s not fair,’ said Patrick, anger, hurt and fear shaking his voice. ‘Everything was so good.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Joe. ‘It’s not fair.’

They sat in a heavy silence for a moment or two. Then, in a low voice, Patrick said, ‘Do you think she felt anything? The bus didn’t hurt her, did it?’

‘I don’t know, son, but I do know that her last thoughts would have been of you.’

‘What are we going to do?’ It was the cry of a little boy, wrenched from the heart of the strong youth trying to control himself.

‘We will go on, as your mother would want.’

There was a long pause.

‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time I left school and moved on. I don’t want to be an imposition to you or to Nonna. I’m not really your son.’

‘What rubbish,’ retorted Joe. ‘The day I married your mother, you became my son as much as the other boys. I always wanted you to take my name, Aquino, but your mother wasn’t so keen because she said that Ronan Sullivan was a good man and you should always carry his name. But I always thought of you as one of mine. When you have finished school, I would like you to work with me, unless, of course, you have different ideas.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘I like fishing and the sea. I have learned a lot from you.’

‘You’re smart, Patrick, so stay on at school for as long as you can, and remember this is your home and we are your family.’ He touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘I love your mother and I’m going to miss her every single day for the rest of my life. I know you will, too. Whatever you do in the future, just make her proud. Tomorrow morning I’m going up to Wollongong to identify her. Would you come with me? I could use your company.’

Patrick nodded and the two walked slowly back into the house.

*

The funeral was one of the biggest seen in Whitby Point for a long time. Before the requiem mass, which was held in the same church in which Joe and Bridie had been married, Joe and Patrick quietly said their private farewells.

‘You really loved her, didn’t you Papà Joe?’ Patrick said.

‘Yes. I loved her kindness, her bravery and her joy of living. She had so much to give. I will never forget seeing her red curls bounce away from me at the wharf when we first came to Australia, thinking that I would never see her again and that my life would be poorer for that. Her presence in my life has been such a blessing – not just for me but for all of us.’

‘She said we could never repay you for your kindness.’

‘You have no debt to repay. You are family,’ said Joe. Then he paused, watching Patrick, and asked, ‘What have you got there, son?’

Patrick had taken something from his pocket and was putting it into the coffin. He opened his hand to show Joe. It was the little wooden elephant, bought so far away, so long ago.

‘I wanted to give this back to her. I don’t need it anymore.’