“We did,” Alessandro says.
We all climb out of the jeep, and Marco hands out small hand-held rakes to everyone.
I take mine, waiting for some instruction.
“I’ll take it from here,” Stefano says to Marco, who nods.
“Sure thing.” He glances at me. “Good luck!”
I force a smile, the nerves bouncing around in my chest again.
“Pay attention, and follow instructions, and you’ll be fine,” Stefano says.
Marco and Alessandro and Anna start unfolding huge nets, Giovanni and Rosa helping to spread them out underneath the olive trees. They press pegs into the nets to hold them down.
“We spread out the nets to catch the olives as they fall from the trees,” Stefano explains. “Some olive groves use machines to shake the trees, and knock the olives onto the ground, but that can damage the trees a bit, and so instead we follow the method my family has used for generations.”
He grabs a net, and we head down the row to help peg them to the ground. It doesn’t take long before the row is done.
“We do this so we don’t have to stop and start with every tree,” he says. “Best to complete one task, before moving on to the next.”
He leads me to the nearest tree, and reaches up to grab a handful of the spindly branches. The he brings his rake through the branches, knocking leaves and olives onto the net below.
“See,” he says. “Easy. Now you try.”
I reach up, and copy his actions, grabbing a handful of branches and sweeping my rake through them, watching the leaves and olives fall to the ground.
“Knew you’d pick it up,” Stefano grins. “Your father says not to expect much, but I tell him, this work is easy!” He gives me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Now, this tree is yours. We have a tree each, call out when you are done, and I’ll show you the next step.”
I nod, looking around at the others to see we are all spread along the row, each to a tree of their own. I turn my attention back to my tree. It’s tall, but the fruit bearing branches seem to hang down to a reachable level. It seems easy enough.
I set to work, grabbing random clumps of branches and sweeping my rake through the leaves. There’s something satisfying about the plop, plop, plop as the olives hit the net.
I enjoy it, I realize, feeling the warm sun on my back, and listening to the family chatter away around me. They’ve reverted to Italian, which is a little annoying, because I have no idea what they’re saying, are they talking about me?
But the tone is friendly, so I push that thought aside.
After a few branches I stop and pull out my water bottle. There’s not much too it, stretching, raking, moving to the next section, and yet I can already feel the strain in my back.
“Thirsty work, no?” Stefano says. “Keep it up.”
I nod and turn back to my tree. I realize that I can’t actually see where I’ve been… I’ve taken clumps from here, there and everywhere, and there’s no spot on the tree that actually looks bare of olives. I take a deep breath, and focus more on working from one branch to the next, clearing that branch completely before moving on to the next one.
When I stop for another drink I’m pleased to see that now I can see where I’ve been, the empty branches clear against the ones that still bear fruit. I’m at least a third of the way through the tree, and when I check my phone I see it’s only been an hour.
A warmth spreads through my chest. I’m really enjoying this. It feels good. Nice to be working outside, doing something productive.
“Savannah!”
I glance up to see Stefano looking at me.
“No time for phone breaks,” he says, glancing pointedly at my phone.
“Oh, I was just checking the time,” I say, feeling a burn spread up my cheeks, and hoping he’s too far away to notice. That’s when I realize that everyone else has finished their first tree, and are already started on their second.
“You learn to tell the time by the sun, then you don’t need to waste time checking your phone. Long time till morning tea break. Keep working.”
I nod, and turn back to my tree.
All of a sudden I’m not feeling so good about myself. All I need to do is drag a rake through some branches, and knock some olives onto the ground. How hard can it be? Rosa and Giovanni are both working at the same speed as the others and they must easily be in their sixties.
I take a deep breath. I’m just new to this, I remind myself. I just need to practice, and focus, and work a bit faster.
I get back into it, ignoring the thirst that builds up. Around me the family are heading back to the jeep, and my first thought is it must be break time, but then I see they’re grabbing some crates.
I slow down my work as I watch them lift the nets, spilling the leaves and olives into the crates, before loading them back up onto the trailer.
They move further down the row, each to their third tree.
My heart sinks as I glance up at mine. I’m maybe halfway, at a guess.
“Would you like some help there?” I glance up to see Marco, a friendly smile across his face. He seems so sweet, and I’m glad that I’m not just stuck working for Stefano.
“That would be great.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry I’m so slow.”
“Ah, you are a beginner.” Marco waves away my comment. “It is normal for beginners to be slow. Do not worry about it.”
I force a smile, as Marco begins to help me to harvest. He is so fast. Reaches up, tears his rake through, onto the next one. I try to keep up, and find my rake catches on twigs and tangled branches, nearly wrenching the muscles in the back of my arm.
Still, with Marco’s help the tree is finished within minutes, and he directs me to collect a crate, while he begins to collect up the netting.
When I return, he shows me how to bunch up the netting so the olives all gather in one spot, and are easier to pour into the crate.
“That’s the way,” he says with a grin. “You’ll get the hang of it, you’ll see.”
He heads back to start on his next tree, and I lift the crate, heavy now with the weight of a trees worth of olives, and heave it back to the trailer. My back is so sore, all I want to do is stop and have a rest, and there’s a growing pain on my left heel.
When I get there, Stefano takes the crate from me and stacks it on the top of the others.
“My brother is too soft,” he says. “You cannot depend on him to help you with all your work.”
My face falls, and I nod, heading back along the row, past the family to the next full tree.
My back feels like it’s going to seize up, long before Stefano calls morning tea. I’ve only managed to do one more tree, to everyone else’s two or more, and I can feel them, disappearing along the row, leaving me behind.
Rosa pulls out cake, and several thermoses of coffee, and sit in the shade of a tree and eat.
“You are getting the hang of it,” Rosa says, as I slump down beside her.
I shake my head. “It’s taking me a long time.”
“Too long,” Stefano agrees, and I cringe.
“Ah don’t be foolish, Stefano,” Rosa chastises. “She is new.”
“Alessandro’s girls work faster.” He looks at me. “I didn’t believe your father when he said you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your life, but I see it now.” He shakes his head. “What have you done all your life?”
I look down at my cake, blinking away tears. What have I done all my life? Nothing to prepare me for anything like this, that’s for sure.
Too soon our break has passed, and when I try to stand I feel like my back has actually seized up. I push through the pain, and hobble back to my tree.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Marco take a step towards me, but Stefano grabs Marco’s arm, and shakes his head at him.
My heart sinks a little further.
I have a full day of this?
The next hours until lunch time are painfully slow. M
y muscles are sore, and the sun is getting higher and higher in the sky, and hotter and hotter.
I’m sweating so much my back and under arms are drenched, and all I want to do is go and shower, and sleep for the next week.
I push on, though I can feel myself getting slower, and slower.
Marco passes with another crate of olives, setting them down to give me a friendly pat on the back.
“It is hard today,” he says. “But soon your muscles will be used to this work, and they will know what to do, and it will not be so hard. And remember, do not worry about Stefano. He is a perfectionist when it comes to the olives, he forgets you have not worked this land since childhood. He will come around.”
I offer Marco a weak smile, but I do not believe it. I think Stefano is exactly like my father, just with a different focus. My father worked me as hard studying law, as Stefano is with the olives, it’s just a physical exhaustion I’m feeling now, instead of a mental one.
Marco continues on his way, and I let out a huge sigh.
Finally, I finish the tree, and I head up to the jeep to collect a crate, almost instantly tripping over something by my feet.
I land on my bottom, and funnily enough the netting has trapped the grass so it almost cushions my fall.
When I look to see what has tripped me I almost laugh. An empty crate. Marco must’ve left it here when he stopped by.
I feel such a rush of affection for him, as I gather up the net and pour the olives into the crate.
Even this task is harder than it looks, with olives spilling out either side of the net and onto the ground if I’m not careful. I spend at least ten minutes gathering up those from the grass, before heaving my load back to the jeep.
“That was slower than this morning,” Stefano says. “You must increase your speed, Savannah, else you’ll never get anywhere.”
I turn back to find the next tree, but Stefano stops me.
“Everyone is coming back for lunch now,” he points to Rosa and Giovanni heading up the row. “You may as well stay.”
I nod. It takes all of my effort not to let my chin crumple and tears fall.
I’ve never been so tired or sore in my entire life.
I grab my lunch from the jeep and collapse under the nearest tree. The sun is high in the sky now, burning down on us. I take another drink of water, and realize my bottle is almost empty, already.
The rest of the family gathers round, their chatter dropping to silence as they grab their own food and start to eat.
“We’re making good progress again today,” Alessandro says. “Another tree or two and we’ll have to send someone back to unload and bring more crates.”
Stefano nods. “Could be faster,” he says, glancing at me. I look back down to the ground.
Soon we hear the rumbling of a bus, and I realize we aren’t too far from the road here. It pulls up nearby, and there’s a chatter of children, and then the bus pulls away. Moments later, Stella and Sofia appear. They pull a pair of overalls out of the jeep and slide them on over their school uniforms, racing over to give everyone a hug.
“How was school today my bambinas?” Rosa asks, covering them both in kisses.
“Fine,” Stella says.
Sofia says something in Italian, and Giovanni lowers his head to peer at her.
“What did I say about speaking in front of our guest?”
“Sorry, Savannah,” Sofia glances at me. She then goes on to speak about her friends, and I realize I’m not actually that interested in the conversation anyway.
“Are we ready for a busy afternoon?” Stefano asks, and the girls actually cheer. If I didn’t know better I’d say they’ve never done this before, and they’re just excited about a task that sounds easy, but isn’t.
“Glad to hear it.” He claps his hands. “All right everybody, back into it. Let’s get this trailer filled, and see if we can do another trailer load before dark.”
I groan at the thought, though everyone else seems to have jumped up with excitement. I head down the row, to find the last tree of the row has been left to me, and the family are spreading out the nets on the row behind me.
Soon the girls are into their trees, climbing up the strong main branches to get to the olives just out of their reach.
And they are fast.
They share a tree, but still they’ve spread out their nets, and harvested the olives, and loaded them into a crate before I’m even halfway through my tree.
When I’m finally ready to load up my crate, I see they’re already finished their second.
They are fast.
I sniff. I can feel tears building up, and I really don’t want to cry, but I’m not sure I can hold it back. Thankfully everyone seems to be right in under their trees as this point, even Stefano, so no one sees as the tears slide down my face. I wipe at my cheeks before I grab a crate, and keep my gaze to the ground as I head back along the row to fill it.
I’m so tired I’m fumbling, and I manage to spill half the net out onto the grass, and now the tears really are flowing as I scoop up huge handfuls to dump into the crate.
I want to go home, I want to see my friends, and my family, to sleep in my own bed, and to never, ever, see an olive ever again in my entire life.
Once again I scrub my face dry as I lug the crate back up the row, but this time when I get there both Alessandro and Rosa are standing by the jeep.
“Let me take that.” Alessandro reaches out to take the crate from me.
“Oh dear girl.” Rosa wraps her arms around me, pressing my face into her shoulder. “Come. We are going back to the mill, to take these olives, and collect more empty crates. Then I will stay and cook dinner. You come help me for the afternoon.”
“But Stefano...”
“Let me deal with Stefano,” she says, stalking down between the rows. I hear low conversation, Rosa’s voice sharp against Stefano’s deeper tone.
When she returns she gestures for me to climb into the vehicle.
I feel such a wash of relief as I climb into the jeep between Alessandro and Rosa.
“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know how I could keep going today.”
Rosa pats my knee. “You have done marvelously for your first day,” she says. “Don’t you worry about my boy. He’s a hard worker, and he’d like everyone else to work to the same speed, even if they’re only starting out. But there’s plenty of work to do around a farm, all of it important, but not all of it so physically draining. We’ll find other work, for this afternoon.”
I nod my gratitude.
It doesn’t take long to get back to the mill. I help Rosa and Alessandro heft the crates from the trailer to stack them inside the building. I’m still slower, but neither Rosa nor Alessandro seem to mind.
“We’ll wait until the end of this week to start processing the olives,” Alessandro says. “Better to harvest the fruit while the weather is good. We can process it anytime.”
Once the trailer’s empty, I then help fill it with empty crates. It’s a much easier job, even carrying stacks of four or five, but still I’m relieved when Alessandro drives off, and Rosa and I walk back towards the masseria.
“Now, go and shower, and freshen up. Take your time. My son does not need to know. We have a little time before we must start to cook the dinner, and I have washing I need to bring in.”
I almost run to Marco and Stefano’s small house. I take off my boots at the door, where I realize the pain on my left heel was a huge blister. Inside I peel off my sweaty, stinky clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor as I climb into the shower, stretching my back and shoulders this way and that, making use of the shower to give myself a massage.
I wash my hair, closing my eyes to hold my face under the stream of water.
Thank god for Rosa.
I’m certain I’d have collapsed from exhaustion if I’d stayed out there much longer.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’ve scrubbed myself clean, an
d have soaked in the warmth.
Time must be passing.
I climb out, dress in clean clothes, and scrounge around in the brother’s cupboards to find a plaster for my blister. Once I’m in more comfortable shoes I head off to find Rosa.
“Ah! Here you are.” she says. “I was about to come and find you.”
“Sorry. The shower was so nice, I lost track of time.”
“Ah, nothing to worry about, eh? I told you to take your time. And you are here now. Come with me.”
We head out the back door of the house, and Rosa gathers a basket from just inside the door, and passes it to me.
“Life is very different living in the country, to living in the city, no?” she says. “In the city there is not so much labor intensive work to be done. It is easier, in some ways. And yet harder too.”
I shrug. “I don’t know about harder.”
Rosa nods. “You do not know where your food comes from, how it has been treated. You eat, and yet what are you eating?”
She pushes open a gate and we walk through into a huge garden, raised garden beds separated by stone paths, overflowing with plants. They grow up over archways, and lattice work, and swell out of pots, leaves of every shade of green, red and yellow tomatoes, and capsicum and chilli, apples and pears and oranges. Blueberries and raspberries. So much food.
“This is how we feed our family,” Rosa says. “Food grown by our own hands, fertilized by our own scraps. We never need go hungry here, and we never need pay to fill our bellies.”
We wander the garden, where she selects the most delicious smelling tomatoes and capsicum and chillies, along with spinach, and mushrooms, to fill up the basket. We head to what looks like a shed, and inside we follow a set of stairs down into the ground, to a dark root cellar, where Rosa picks a couple of large brown onions, and some garlic.
Emerging into the bright afternoon I have to blink before I can see again, and already Rosa is waiting for me by another gate, and this time we push through into a yard full of chickens, scratching around in the dirt.
Her Double Punishment Page 6