Novel - The Ozone Café, Voyage to Sunrise

Voyage to Sunrise

Vincenzo left his rocky shores without Maria, who remained unconvinced that Australia could ever offer her a land of milk and honey. (If it had been gorgonzola cheese, she might have considered). Instead her husband's words fell like drops of frustrated spit to the ground. He was sick of clasping his hands together, forever explaining that his older brother Renato would see to a new house for them. She could have the colosseum front porch, like his, the same arbor and pergola, the same 1 acre backyard, enough room for the cottage vegetable industry, (already Vincenzo's legs pacing out a future subdivision). But all the dropping to his knees on wobbly pins like his marriage proposal, only left Maria housing a permanent sun squint, as if to say, 'Vinnybum, this woman has made up her mind, read my furrows.'
In the fifties, most Italians left by ship for America or to Australia. Vincenzo's ship was called the Columbo. A marvellous steel bulk of bolts and nuts, with a wide steerage, cramped 4-berth cabins, windworn decks & rooms of table tennis, darts and Baccarat.
On the Sunday at 1.00pm, or close to that time, Vincenzo arrived by bus with Pomadina tucked firmly in the shoulder bag. He looked out on the colourful lines of streamers that left passengers' hands in quick successive throws. He had no one to say goodbye. Although Joanna, his fourth daughter, had telephoned to say she'd be there to wave goodbye, the sunny spot near the big hanger shed, was empty of her shade.
He bundled Pomadina in a blanket, together with her favourite bowl & leash and proceeded to the lower deck. He rang the bell. He rang it again. Then he read the notice - the baggage room was unattended due to illness.
What - in all of Italy- could he do now with Pomadina. There was only one thing he could do, and that was for this little dog to join him in his cabin. How nice, he thought, imagining her sleeping at the end of his bed. Like back home.