‘Suits me,’ said Pietro with alacrity.
‘But we’ve caught nothing. I told you we should have gone where I said,’ grumbled Carlo to Ricardo.
‘You want to take over, little brother?’ snapped Ricardo.
‘Let’s just head back,’ pleaded Pietro, pulling up his line. ‘I think I’m dying.’
Everyone’s mood was as bleak as the weather when Ricardo turned the Celestine towards the coast. The rain lashed them in spewing gusts; waves washed across the bow and surged along the deck. Pietro huddled against the leeside of the cockpit, hugging a rainjacket around himself. Carlo struggled unsuccessfully to light a cigarette and Patrick started packing the gear away.
‘Hey, Pat,’ shouted Ricardo from the wheelhouse, ‘leave some lines and the gaff out. There’s one last spot we can try on the way in. Can’t let Pietro go back to the US without catching a decent fish.’
‘Don’t worry about that, Ricardo, let’s just go home,’ called Pietro. ‘The weather is atrocious.’
‘Why are we going to some spot you know when everywhere you’ve taken us has been no good?’ shouted Carlo. ‘Go to the spot I told you about. Why don’t you ever listen to me, Ricardo?’
‘I’m the skipper,’ Ricardo reminded him. ‘You don’t know everything, Carlo.’
‘It’s too rough, we won’t land anything in this weather, no matter where we go,’ said Patrick.
‘We’re not going back without something to show for our time out here. I’m not going to disappoint Pietro. Set some rods, come on, let’s trawl,’ Ricardo yelled to his brothers.
‘If anything hits one of the rods, it’s going to be the devil to land it in this sea,’ Patrick said to Pietro. ‘But he’s the boss.’
Ricardo slowed the boat, angling it against the wind, and quickly threw out his favourite lure and jammed the rod into a holder before he went back to the wheel. Patrick and Carlo set their lines. Pietro tried to keep out of the wind, refusing to fish.
Carlo was fishing next to Ricardo’s rod. Suddenly, with a high-pitched scream of the line, Ricardo’s rod bent in a deep curve, bowing towards the water. Carlo grabbed the rod to lock the spinning, unravelling line.
‘Don’t touch my rod, I’m coming!’ Ricardo yelled, jamming the engine into neutral. Leaping to the side of the boat, he pushed Carlo to one side as he lifted the rod from its holder.
‘Fuck off, Ricardo! First hand on the rod gets to play it.’
‘Well, I’m here now and I’m playing it.’
Suddenly, before the argument could develop any further, Carlo’s rod pinged and his line began to scream off the reel. He reached for the rod, trying to get purchase on the slippery deck as he strained against the weight and speed of the big fish he’d hooked.
‘What is it?’ Pietro shouted to Patrick, who was reeling in his own line in order to help Ricardo and Carlo.
‘Probably a yellowfin.’
Ricardo and Carlo stood beside each other, wildly playing the fish fighting at the ends of their lines.
‘We can land only one of these. Let yours go,’ panted Ricardo. ‘Or I’ll cut your line.’
‘Back off,’ screamed Carlo, fighting to turn the ratchet on his reel a full circle. ‘I’ve got this one and I’m not letting it go just because you say so.’
Patrick picked up the gaff and stood behind both men as they fought to bring in their fish. ‘Don’t know how you’re going to be able to land two big energetic fish side by side. Carlo, you could make room by walking your rod down to the stern.’
‘Piss off, Pat. Tell Ricardo to get out of my way.’
‘We only need one fish,’ shouted Pietro.
With the wheel unattended the boat began to circle, turning broadside into the wind.
‘Pietro, grab the wheel, straighten us up,’ called Patrick. ‘I’ll wait here with the gaff and see if I can help land at least one of these fish.’
Ricardo turned to look towards the bow of the Celestine, which took his attention away from his rod. In those couple of seconds he misjudged the tension on his line and with a loud bang his line broke, sending him staggering backwards.
As Patrick jumped to grab hold of Ricardo’s rod, he dropped the gaff hook overboard. He swore to himself.
Ricardo regained his footing and looked around for Patrick, who handed him back his rod. Patrick then went to where Carlo had moved further along the side of the little vessel. He was struggling against the wind and the sea but gradually, little by little, he began to reel in the fish.
‘Ricardo, get that wheel from Pietro and turn the boat. Pat, give me a hand and be ready to strike this bastard when I get him alongside,’ shouted Carlo.
‘Where’s the net?’ Patrick looked quickly around for it. Pietro and Carlo let out a whoop as the fish on Carlo’s line leapt through the surface of the thrashing sea.
It was a big fish and Carlo was now reefing it in quickly. ‘Don’t want to lose this one! Help me get it over the side!’
‘Pietro, take the wheel again. Just keep it pointed in the same direction. Pat’s lost the gaff so I’ll go and help land the monster, and then stab it in the brain with this,’ said Ricardo as he grabbed the long-bladed bait knife.
In all the confusion Patrick couldn’t find the landing net so he braced himself against the gunwale, leaning over the side of the boat, ready to help grasp Carlo’s line as the massive fish banged against the hull.
Ricardo pushed himself against the side of the boat to help land the fish, but Carlo elbowed him to one side.
‘It’s mine!’ he screamed. ‘Leave it alone. I want to land it myself.’
At that moment the sea and the wind and the momentum of the rolling boat seemed to converge and rock the men together as one. Carlo heaved his rod back into the boat, Patrick grabbed a fin of the tuna in his gloved hand and Ricardo fell against Carlo. They all went down on the deck, the fish pounding and quivering beneath them.
Pietro struggled with the wheel. He had forgotten how hard it was to keep the boat pointing into the wind and he glanced over his shoulder to see if someone was coming to help him. He could see the blood from the fish running down the deck as it continued to thrash about.
Patrick regained his feet first and hauled Ricardo off Carlo. ‘Jesus, what happened? That’s some fish!’
Ricardo pulled himself up, the bait knife still in his hand, and they both went to help Carlo as the fish slid towards the stern. But as they did so, they realised that the blood sluicing along the deck came not from the fish, but from a wound under Carlo’s chest.
‘Oh, dear God! Carlo!’ Ricardo bent over his brother, cradling him in his arms and looking from Carlo to Patrick with horror-struck eyes.
‘Full throttle, Pietro. Go! Go!’ shouted Patrick.
The Celestine surged forward, crashing into waves, her hull banging over the rising waves and racing down the troughs, her occupants heedless of the water pouring over them.
Ricardo held his limp brother in his arms, while blood gushed from the deep knife wound beneath Carlo’s ribs. ‘Carlo, Carlo. Pat, get the first aid kit.’
Patrick was already using a towel to try and stop the flow of blood.
‘Carlo, Carlo. It’ll be okay, speak to me, Carlo,’ cried Ricardo.
Patrick continued to push on the wound. ‘He doesn’t look good, Ricardo.’
‘This was an accident. Mother of God! Hurry up, Pietro!’ Ricardo screamed.
‘We can’t go faster!’ called Pietro. ‘Can’t you stop the bleeding?’
‘We’re trying.’ Patrick looked at Ricardo. They both knew that time was running out for Carlo. The towel was soaked in his blood, his breathing was shallow and he was deathly pale.
‘This can’t be happening. Oh God, Papà, Papà, Papà, help us.’ Ricardo began praying, his words whipped away by the wind.
‘There’s the coast, we’ll get out of the worst of this soon,’ said Patrick.
But then Carlo’s head lolled to one side. Ricardo sank back on
his heels, his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving. ‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘He’s gone.’ The whole incident had taken just a couple of minutes.
The wind and a wall of water hit the Celestine. Pietro struggled at the wheel, glancing back to where Ricardo and Patrick were huddled over Carlo. Pietro felt bile rise in his throat. Then Patrick came into the wheelhouse.
‘Should I radio for help, Pat?’ cried Pietro. But as he looked at Patrick’s face, he put the radio down. Tears streamed down Pietro’s face as he handed the wheel to Patrick.
Slipping and staggering from the rough bouncing of the boat and feeling sick to his stomach and almost ready to faint, Pietro reached his brothers. He fell to his knees beside Carlo.
‘He’s gone,’ said Ricardo brokenly. ‘It is my fault.’
‘It was an accident, Ricardo. Oh my God, Papà . . . this will shatter him,’ said Pietro.
‘Oh my God! This is a nightmare!’ Ricardo was almost hysterical.
For several moments, they both stared helplessly at the lifeless body of their brother, unable to believe what had happened.
There was a brief lull in the wind and over it Ricardo and Pietro could hear Patrick’s voice, calm and remarkably in control. ‘Ricardo, Pietro,’ Patrick called. ‘Get the blanket, put it over Carlo. We must talk about this.’ He slowed the engine.
Leaving Carlo’s body, Ricardo and Pietro huddled beside Patrick as he watched the sea ahead, steering the boat between the waves.
‘We will have to think very carefully about what we say,’ said Patrick.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Ricardo. ‘It was an accident. The knife was meant for the fish.’ His eyes widened. ‘Won’t people believe us?’
‘Yes, it was an accident.’ Patrick replied firmly. ‘But consider the ramifications if we tell the authorities the truth. You will be closely questioned. You have dependants, Ricardo. How will it be if Rosina and the children are dragged into this? And Papà? What will it do to him to learn that one of his sons has killed the other, no matter how accidental? How will he cope?’ He looked from one brother to the other. ‘Pietro, do you want everyone to know that you were on the boat when the accident occurred? You are flying home shortly and an enquiry will be sure to delay you. And what if those Academy people in Hollywood find out about your involvement in this? Any scandal could ruin your chances of an Oscar.’
‘I suppose so,’ Pietro replied slowly. ‘But what do you propose to do? We can’t throw Carlo overboard.’
‘No, of course not. I’m going to say that I was the one who was holding the knife. There will have to be an enquiry. Ricardo will back my story and say that it was an accident and that will be the end of it. Even though I am part of this family, my name is not Aquino. If I say I was responsible for Carlo’s death the Aquino name will not be disgraced and Papà won’t be shamed. Joe Aquino is the only father I know, and I won’t let him down. Pietro, you can say that you went to the pictures or something. If we don’t tell anyone that you were on the boat, you can’t be involved in any scandal.’
‘I can’t let you take the blame, Pat,’ said Ricardo vehemently. ‘That’s a stupid idea.’
‘Think about it, Ricardo. Patrick has a point,’ said Pietro. ‘Do we really want Papà to have to face the knowledge that no matter how accidental the death of Carlo was, one of his own sons was responsible? No, I think we should spare our father that. As Patrick says, if we get our stories straight nothing will come of it anyway.’
‘But I was the one arguing with Carlo. Over that damn fish . . . ’
Ricardo’s voice cracked and suddenly he rushed to the stern of the boat where the fish lay shuddering, gasping for oxygen. He grabbed the knife, stabbing the fish and shouting incoherently, as Pietro and Patrick watched. Finally he lifted the fish and flung it overboard.
Ricardo leaned down to pick up the knife but Patrick shouted, ‘No, no! Don’t throw it, Ricardo. No! It will make things look worse!’ Patrick gave the wheel to Pietro and made his way to the stern where Ricardo stood with the bloodied knife, crying soundlessly.
Gently, Patrick took the knife from him. ‘Ricardo, listen to me. This is what we must do. I will say it was me. We have to do this for Papà, Rosina and your family. But we have to keep this a secret between the three of us for the rest of our lives. Understand? Believe me, it will be for the best.’
‘Pat, will this work? Is it the best thing? I am a man. I should stand up and say I was holding the knife.’
‘And break your father’s heart? You can’t do that.’
Ricardo nodded. ‘Poor Nonna and Papà. What about Greta? Who will tell them?’
‘You must. I will go to the police when we land,’ said Patrick. ‘The weather’s turned so foul there probably won’t be anyone around to see us come in, so Pietro can slip ashore quietly. Come on, Ricardo, trust me. This is the best way for everyone. And nothing will come of it. It was an accident, after all.’
*
Pietro’s gaze returned from the past but he continued to look out the window as if to avoid the shocked faces of Michael and Cassie.
‘Uncle Pietro,’ said Michael carefully, ‘you’re telling us that you and Uncle Ricardo let a man go to gaol for something he didn’t do and never gave anyone a word of explanation? To say that I’m appalled is to put it mildly. Cassie, are you all right?’
‘Not really. It seems that my father sacrificed a lot, all those wasted years in gaol, starting a new life and never being able to tell his wife or daughter what had really happened. He suffered in silence and we could never share his pain, while the Aquino family prospered.’ Cassie almost spat the words out. ‘It doesn’t seem at all fair to me.’
Michael stared hard at his great-uncle. ‘Uncle Pietro, I don’t understand why you all let it happen,’ he said.
Pietro held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Neither Ricardo nor I wanted things to work out as they did, but events spiralled out of our control. At first everyone believed that what had happened on the boat was an accident, but then a police sergeant from Wollongong took over the investigation. It became evident that he thought a conviction would be a shortcut to a promotion and he started to ask questions about your father. He found out that Carlo and your father used to argue. It didn’t matter that Carlo argued with everyone. Michael, I know that he was your grandfather, but it has to be said that he was aggressive and liked to have his own way and make his own point about everything. Unfortunately, just before the accident on the Celestine, Carlo and Pat had a very public fight at a dance and the police used that piece of evidence against Pat to show that there had been longstanding hostility between the two of them.’
‘But if the case was going pear-shaped, why didn’t you or Ricardo speak out and tell the truth?’ asked Michael.
Pietro shook his head sadly. ‘Michael, please don’t think that didn’t occur to us. Ricardo called me after the first day of the trial. He was not at all happy with the way things were going. He told Pat that he was going into court to tell the truth. Pat told him not to be so stupid and that if he did that the jurors would think that he was covering up for Pat and it wouldn’t help either of them. According to Ricardo, they had quite a row. Ricardo asked me what he should do. He hated what was happening to Pat and I said that if he really felt that way, he should tell the truth.’
Cassie was about to ask what had stopped Ricardo from telling the truth in court, when she suddenly realised the answer. ‘Dad pleaded guilty to prevent Ricardo from saying anything, didn’t he?’ she whispered. ‘He didn’t want Ricardo to incriminate himself.’
Pietro nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what he did. He thought that if Ricardo testified, the issue would become even more complicated. Unfortunately his change of plea had a negative effect on the judge and resulted in a much harsher sentence. I’m so sorry, Cassie. Maybe this is not what you really wanted to hear.’
Cassie looked at Pietro and saw tears silently trickling down his wrinkled cheeks. ‘My poor
, poor father,’ she whispered. ‘And he never broke his word. He never told anyone the truth.’
George broke in, ‘Well, it’s about time that the truth was told. I mean all of the truth, Pietro.’
‘What else is there to tell?’ asked Michael.
Pietro slowly nodded his head. ‘George is right. The story didn’t end with Pat going to gaol. Ricardo and I were devastated by what had happened, as you can imagine. Ricardo talked our father into letting him move his family to Sydney to fish, but really it was so that he could be closer to Long Bay Gaol and able to visit Pat more frequently. But the fishing off Sydney was not good and Ricardo couldn’t justify staying there. It was Patrick who suggested that Ricardo should start a tuna-fishing business in South Australia. The two of them worked on Papà, who eventually agreed that it would be a sensible move. So Ricardo and his family moved to Port Lincoln for a few years. Pat was right. It did turn out to be a profitable venture for the Aquinos.’
‘What happened to my father when he was released from prison?’ Cassie said.
‘Your father didn’t want to go back to Whitby Point because everyone in the town believed he was responsible for Carlo’s death. Patrick said there was no future for him there, and he didn’t want to have to face Papà anymore. Although Papà still loved him and wanted him to be part of the family, I think your father found that Papà’s visits to him in gaol were just too difficult. Maybe it was just too hard for your father to keep the truth from Papà. All the lies, keeping the secret. It was too much for Pat to see the loss and pain in Papà’s eyes. Patrick felt that it was easier to just walk away, leave everything behind and start a new life.’
Pietro blinked hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand, before he continued. ‘But Ricardo refused to let Patrick just disappear. He told him that he would put up some money to enable Pat to start a business. Patrick accepted his offer on the condition that Ricardo never tell Joe. Patrick decided that he would open a fish and chip shop in Manly because it combined the two things he knew, fish and cooking. Then when your father mentioned to Ricardo that he would like to expand into a seafood restaurant, Ricardo helped him finance that as well. Over the years, Ricardo often met up with your father in Sydney and they would talk about the Seven Seas and Pat would tell Ricardo about you and your mother as well. Ricardo was always so pleased with all of Pat’s success.’
The Winter Sea Page 38