Nine Summers Page 22

  ****

  A heavy mist hung over the lagoon as we motored past the black and white buoy at the start of our journey towards Greece and Turkey. Our last view of the golden city was of cupolas and campaniles outlined in dark grey, as Monet would have painted them. Out at sea, fishing boats drifted on glassy water, some visible to the eye, others only on the radar. We hadn’t been out long when I started a migraine. ‘I was due for one. Haven’t had one for a while.’

  ‘Here’s a tablet, sweetie. I’ve covered the portholes, go and lie down.’ I made for the darkened aft cabin, closed my eyes and covered my head with a pillow. Some time later I sensed a change in Galatea’s movement. A breeze had come up. I heard Felix put up sails and switch off the thumping engine. Hours later, when I came up on deck, we were approaching the entrance to Porto Garibaldi.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Soft in the head, but the pain’s better.’

  ‘Will you jump ashore and tie up or shall I?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  We made for the pier. I tried to jump but the wind pushed us away. We tried again, and again I missed. A man standing on the pier watched and turned away.

  ‘He can see we want to tie up, can’t he give us a hand?’ Then I remembered. Of course. He’s an Italian who thinks we’d lose face if he offered unrequested help.

  ‘Scusi signor, can you help me, please.’

  ‘Con piacere, with pleasure.’ He rushed towards us, and I threw him a line. He caught it and tied us to a bollard, just as I was about to bring up my breakfast.

  In spite of the heat and noise on the packed marina, we slept in late the following morning. ‘Let’s hire bikes and look around the place.’

  ‘You know I can’t ride a bike. It’s my deprived childhood.’

  ‘You can get a tricycle,’ Felix assured me.

  ‘OK.’

  When Felix got onto his bicycle, he fell.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I don’t know. Can’t balance. I’ll try a tricycle too.’

  When he tried a tricycle, he noticed a loss of control in his left arm and numbness on the left side of his face. We switched to a four-wheeler with a sunroof, but returned it after ten minutes. Felix was feeling progressively worse. My stomach sank. I locked myself in the toilet to pull myself together. ‘Is this another Grande Motte? What next?’ I wondered. Felix was very quiet. He didn’t mention the need to get medical attention. If he’d thought it was necessary, he would have suggested it. So I said nothing.

  On the following day the numbness in his face was gone but his coordination was still bad. We decided to stay put until he felt better.

  When we set out for Cattolica a week later the wind was gentle. An hour later the wind was howling and we were making 7 knots. Two hours later it was dead calm, the sea a pond. We turned on the engine.

  ‘Typical Mediterranean!’ At 12, I went down to get lunch. ‘Shit, Puss, the red alarm light’s on! There’s always some damn thing!’

  ‘OK, switch off the engine, come up and keep an eye on the fishing boats. I’ll have a look.’ Felix opened the panels around the engine to look for the problem. I kept watch while we drifted. ‘It’s a broken fan belt.’ Felix popped his head out. ‘I’ll get the spare. Lucky it’s so still. Wouldn’t have been so easy fixing it this morning when it was blowing.’

  I kept watch as a sheet of still satin haze enveloped us, and through the mist, fishing boats and coastline appeared like dark grey ink lines on a soft cream Chinese scroll. In the late afternoon the wind came up again just as we turned into the port of Cattolica, a small square working harbour that didn’t cater for visiting yachts. Fishermen sat on decks, some with glasses in their hands, others mending nets.

  ‘There’s no room to manoeuvre. The place is packed with fishing boats. Where the hell do we go?’ Just then we heard a voice call out, ‘Australia! Australia! Qui, qui, here, here!’ A fisherman waved and motioned us towards his boat.

  ‘Can’t see any space there, but I guess he knows what he’s doing.’ We were in a tight spot and could hardly move, but Felix managed to turn Galatea. As we came closer, two men on an adjoining boat helped those on the first boat grab our stays and squeeze us between the two vessels. They took our lines and fixed them to their cleats.

  ‘Grazie, molto grazie.’

  Five curious, furrowed faces, ravaged by weather, hung silently over the rails to inspect Galatea. This was not the first time we’d noticed how differently older fishermen behaved from younger ones. They were shy and ill at ease, their shirts and trousers worn — no T-shirts and jeans for this lot.

  ‘Would you like to come over and drink vino with us?’ Felix asked.

  They looked at each other. ‘Perche no? Why not?’

  Felix went down to get a couple of bottles, and I brought up olives and nuts. Meanwhile, the men had changed into different shirts and combed their hair. They presented us with a parcel of filleted fish. ‘Very good fish, caught this morning.’

  ‘Oh, grazie, molto, molto gentile.’ We were touched. Then we all shook hands and introduced ourselves. At first they were very quiet, sniffed the wine, said it was molto buono, and helped themselves to olives and nuts.

  But as the glasses were replenished, they loosened up. They talked about their lives, how much harder it was for them now. There were fewer fish in the sea, more regulations and bigger, faster boats with a lot of equipment they couldn’t afford. It was hard.

  Then Antonio asked Felix what he did for a living. ‘I am retired now, but I was un chirurgo, a surgeon.’ No sooner had he uttered the word chirurgo than Antonio pulled up his blue shirt with one hand and pulled down his striped trousers with the other, exposing a long, thick scar. ‘What do you think? In your opinion is this a good operation?’

  Felix took his time to look at the scar and then pronounced it to be an excellent operation. Antonio beamed from ear to ear. ‘The professore himself did it because it needed a very long scar.’

  When we’d emptied the bottles, they stood up. ‘We must leave very early tomorrow. At 6 o’clock. You will have to leave also because you can’t tie up to this side.’

  ‘Molto grazie, thanks a lot for the fish.’

  In the morning we woke before the alarm rang at 5. The fishermen were already getting ready to leave. They untied our lines and slipped past us, as we also prepared to move. Along the horizon the clouds had thinned to silky grey and pink stripes. An apricot ball appeared through the veil. A light easterly breeze swept silver ripples on an oily sea. I looked around. ‘It’s going to be a magnificent day.’ Felix had already turned on the engine. Not long after we passed the marker buoy, we cut the motor, hoisted sails and were registering 5 knots.

  But the weather was erratic all along the east coast of Italy, either blowing a stiff bora or so calm the sea was a pond. As we moved south, we had a clear view of the Gran Sasso mountain range and the ancient walled villages scattered on its peaks. We pulled into harbours along the coast: Ancona, San Benedetto del Tronto, Ortona, Termoli, Vieste. We tied up in the circular harbour in the centre of Trani late one afternoon. Its marina was crowded with people. It was time for the passeggiata.

  Small harbours and marinas have a great attraction for people. ‘What is that attraction?’ I wondered. ‘Do the sea and boats spell adventure and mystery? Is it the idea of leaving worries, old life, responsibilities behind? The sea has a power over the imagination. Fear, death, adventure, a new life, escape? Young and old strolled past and looked into the cabin. Were they curious about the mad, the fortunate, the adventurous, the irresponsible, the daring? Frequently, they started a conversation. An Australian ensign always fascinated them. If we told them where we intended to go, they’d often tell us about a fish restaurant there. ‘Tell Mario that Giuseppe sent you, he’ll look after you and tell you which fish to have…’

  Finally, we made it to Brindisi. We had always wanted to visit Alberobello to see the trulli, those circular white houses with cone
-shaped roofs for which the hills of Apulia are famous. The only way to get there was by taxi, and that was expensive, but we were determined to go. In Alberobello we had a great meal at a restaurant that belonged to a friend of our taxi driver. It had been a great day and we were on a high when we stepped back on board.

  Later that evening, when Felix wanted to pay for a drink at the Brindisi Yacht Club, he realised that he’d lost his wallet with all his cards, so he asked the barman about reporting it to the police. ‘What did the taxi driver look like?’ he asked. We described him, the colour of his taxi, and also mentioned that his wife was expecting a baby in a few days.

  ‘Ah, yes, I know who he is. I’ll go and see him. Don’t worry, I’ll try and find your wallet.’ He came back half an hour later. ‘The wallet had fallen between the door and the seat,’ he said. Then it was drinks and cheers all round.

  ****

  Felix looked pleased. He’d fixed the cracked lid of the water intake filter.

  ‘How’d you do it?’

  ‘Made a lid out of wood. Hope it works.’

  ‘Always knew I’d married a genius.’

  ‘Is that bacon and eggs I can smell for breakfast?’

  ‘Sure is. With tomatoes, fetta and basil. That’s bacon and eggs à la Mediterranée.’

  ‘Love the smell of bacon and eggs. Always reminds me of boarding school at 5.30 am after milking the cows. And the smell of basil is one of God’s gifts to the Mediterranean.’ Felix rubbed his hands as he slid along the bunk to his side of the table.

  ‘Voila, the coffee and toast, I think that’s everything. Just noticed we’re running out of marmalade. Should’ve stocked up on those great Corsican jams.’ The voice of Pavarotti filled the saloon: ‘Finiculi, finicula…’

  ‘Very appropriate,’ Felix said through a mouthful of bacon and eggs, waving his hands as he conducted. ‘Do you realise we’ve now circumnavigated the Adriatic. The entire Venetian lake.’

  Suddenly, the commotion of boats outside sent everything sliding across the table. A thud against the hull toppled the coffee pot. Felix stopped conducting and looked up. As he did so, I caught a fleeting glimpse of his left eye. It looked strange. A shudder went through me. I dived for paper towels to mop up the coffee, but my hands shook. Felix rushed upstairs to check what was going on. I kept on mopping.

  ‘It’s nothing, the wind pushed a boat against us, but we both had fenders, there’s no damage,’ he reported. I looked at him again. Yes, there was no doubt. His eye was swollen. I said nothing. I had a premonition this was bad news. ‘Dear God, please let it be nothing.’

  The following morning was cool, and a breeze blew into the cabin, relief from the night’s heat. I stuck my head out and took a deep breath. The air smelt of sea, and I tasted the salt. Seagulls squawked and flew in circles.

  Felix woke, had a long stretch and beamed. He looked so happy and well. I couldn’t avoid looking at that eye.

  ‘Hi, sweetie, give us a hug!’ I gave him a hug and a big kiss. ‘You know, I think we may well go on to Turkey. I feel fine and if we can get to Turkey we’ll meet up with Susie and Simon. We shouldn’t feel that we have to stop in Corfu this year.’ This was the old enthusiastic Felix talking.

  ‘We’ll see. We don’t have to plan anything at this point. We aren’t in Corfu yet, and it’s not long since you were tired and had problems with your balance.’ I looked away. I was confused. How could I tell him? Persuade him to look in the mirror? He was on such a high, what would a new blow do to him? On the other hand, perhaps it was nothing. Too much sun, not wearing sunglasses. The thought cheered me. Yes, perhaps I was too pessimistic.

  ‘Honey, what’s bugging you? You look so worried. What is it?’

  ‘You know me, I just worry sometimes, usually for no good reason. It’s probably nothing, I wasn’t going to mention it, but maybe I should. I noticed that that eye looks a bit swollen,’ I said, pointing to it. ‘I’ve been telling you to wear sunglasses. Anyway, you have a look in the mirror. See what you think.’

  ‘OK, I’ll look in the mirror to reassure you.’

  Felix was in the bathroom a long time. I felt my hands shake as I set the table. The smell of coffee bubbling up in the espresso machine made me nauseous. I couldn’t understand what took Felix so long. The swelling was obvious. How could he have missed it when he shaved?

  Then I heard the toilet flush. He’d obviously been sitting there trying to think. We all do that. Sit alone in a small confined place to think.

  Had it been good news, he would have come out and said, ‘Don’t be silly, it’s nothing!’ But he hadn’t come out, he hadn’t said that.

  Then the door opened. He looked crestfallen. This morning’s joie de vivre, confidence and optimism were all gone. He didn’t need to say anything. I rushed to him, put my arms around him, but he’d withdrawn and that terrified me. After a long silence he said, ‘It’s OK, sweetie, it’ll be OK. You’re right. It’s swollen, I’m surprised I hadn’t noticed it myself. I’ll need to phone Mike Hunt and ask him whether I should return to London. What a bugger!! Half an hour ago I thought we might make it to Turkey.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Puss, so, so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I noticed it yesterday but wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Let’s have breakfast, and then I’ll go and phone London.’

  He was stooped, his face drawn and lined, thinner than usual, as he walked back from the phone booth. I didn’t need to ask whether he’d spoken to Mike. When he stepped on board, I buried my face in his chest, and he put his arms around me. ‘Mike’s going on holidays, he’ll be back in two weeks and he’ll see me then. He thinks I need to come back. It’s very likely to be a recurrence, and it’ll mean radiotherapy and perhaps chemotherapy. He’ll decide when he sees me.’

  I tried but couldn’t bring out any words. Felix said, ‘Honey, we’ve been there before, and we may be there again, but we always cope. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘What we need to do now is to find a place where we can leave Galatea for the rest of the summer and winter…We’ll be back in April, you’ll see. I’ve just been to the club office. It’s the same story all over the east coast of Italy. Since the start of the Bosnian war last year, all the boats that used to be on Yugoslav marinas have escaped to Italy to avoid the conflict, and there isn’t one free berth anywhere along this coast. We’ll have to get ourselves to Corfu and try to find something there.’

  ‘Yes.’ Next to us a group of people were tying up their boat. All were laughing. Even their poodle jumped up and down, barking with joy. I looked at them. How transient, how ephemeral it all was!

  We left Brindisi early the following morning and tied up to three fishing vessels in Otranto. It blew 25 to 30 knots all night and neither of us slept. The rain was relentless. We were anxious to move on and get to Corfu to find a winter berth for Galatea. To do that we had to sail through the NATO blockade.

  ‘I’ll go across to the fishing boats to let them know we’ll be leaving early in the morning. Maybe they intend to leave early too, but with this weather it’s going to be hell to untangle the anchor chains.’ Felix put on wet gear, then stepped out on deck.

  ‘Meanwhile I’ll plot the courses and put in the waypoints to Fano and to Corfu. I guess it’s possible we may go all the way,’ I said.

  On the radio, stern voices from French and Italian warships patrolling the southern Adriatic called all vessels appearing on their radar to declare their course, nationality, destination and cargo. I was still busy plotting courses when Felix returned. ‘The fishermen and the German boats are leaving early, so we’ll all be on deck at the same time. It shouldn’t take too long. It’s raining cats and dogs, but the locals expect it to stop by morning. They say it usually does when it’s like this the night before.’

  ‘I’ve almost finished doing the courses and putting in the waypoints, you can check them. I’ll cut sandwiches for tomorrow.’ I took out tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs and cheese — n
othing spicy or sharp, no smelly cheese — and started slicing bread.

  ‘Here, honey, antinausea tablets. I’ve taken mine. We’ve been more seasick than usual this year. Should have an early night tonight.’

  ‘What would you like for dinner? I don’t want anything,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got to eat something. Soup, something light.’

  ‘Wish it was easier to talk to the kids. I’m homesick. At least when we’re in London we can pick up the phone.’

  ‘Just as well we bought the flat. At least we can go back to London any time now without having to stay in hotels or bludge on friends.’

  Felix had no problem falling asleep. I tossed and turned; I was nervous. The weather made me nervous, the warships made me nervous, but underneath it all I knew that I was frightened. Frightened of what London had in store for us.

  On deck the boom banged and swung back and forth. I didn’t feel like getting out of bed and fixing it in the rain. And Felix, who would have gone out, didn’t hear. As I lay awake, I went through our routine for leaving port. Ticked each item in my mind. Then I remembered that I’d again forgotten to fill the thermos with boiling water for tea on the long crossing. I got up, and put on the kettle.

  The alarm rang at 5.30. Felix was already up, listening to the forecast. The rain had stopped as the fishermen had predicted, but the wind whistled through the stays. There was a lot of shouting outside, and the clanking of anchor chains.

  Felix switched off the radio. ‘Weather should be OK. It’ll blow, but the wind’s in our direction. I’m going up on deck.’

  I jumped out of bed, put on a tracksuit and made for the galley to get a tea and cornflakes breakfast. Felix had already prepared more antinausea tablets.