Novel - The Ozone Café, Winifred, Casey & Nicolas

Winifred, Casey and Nicolas

‘What are you doing?’

‘Yeah, how come you pulled down our cubby?'

‘Where have all the oranges gone. Hey mister, you own this place?’

Lots of little voices tracking in the wind. Vincenzo hasn’t seen these children before. Two girls, and a boy in a wheelchair, just appearing out of sea air. He puts down his shovel, calling Pomadina to stop her barking. ‘Yeah, this my place. Next week we start foundations. You kids better not be in here. Big trucks coming by, my brother, big boss man, he don’t like kids on his building site.

‘What have you done with our shells?’

‘Aah,’ says Vincenzo, putting two and two together. The beautiful collection of sea-shells that he saved to impregnate into the walls of his café. They belong to these children. They are the ones who had made beds in the old laundry, draped Mexican blankets and old pillows around, and kept a bunch of odd cups and saucers in a concrete trough. ‘Before I tell you about the shells, tell me your names,’ he says, watching Pomadina jump on the boy’s lap.

‘I’m Winifred, and this is my friend Casey. And that’s Nicolas over there, holding your dog.’

‘How you get in here with that wheelchair all of the time?’
‘It’s got a big rubber wheel at the back, so we can get through sand,’ says Winifred. ‘See,’ she says, swiveling Nicolas around on the spot.

‘He got a broken leg or something?’

‘No, he’s got MD. You always wanted to have doctor’s initials, didn’t you, Nick?’

Nicolas is quietly patting the dog and not taking any notice.

‘What does that mean?’ asks Vincenzo.

‘Means he can’t walk, so we push him all the time, down the beach, along the jetty, to the park. Where else Casey?’ Casey just shrugs.

‘How old are you children?’

‘I’m twelve. Casey’s, um…nearly eleven and Nicolas is…how old are you, Nicolas?’

‘Don’t know, don’t care.’

‘He’s our age,’ says Winifred. ‘Have you got our shells?’

‘I tell you what I do. We make a deal. You been trespassing on my land, so you come to my place at No. 46.’ Vincenzo points down the street, as they walk through the sand to the front. ‘And…’

‘That big bloke, is he your brother? Winifred huffs, and turns facing Vincenzo with her hands on both hips.

‘You know my brother?’

‘Yeah, sort of.’

‘We know his boat,’ says Casey, suddenly pushing Nicolas across the road to the pines, Pomadina running after them.

‘Hey, you two! We’re going to No. 46, this bloke’s got our shells.’

* * *

Back at the house, Vincenzo shows the children where he keeps the shells. Some are on the laundry shelf drying, some in the sink, and others are in the house. While he is discussing the future of the shells, the children notice the birdhouse and a faint squawking coming from within. While they gather round, little Maria twitters over their heads and hops along Vincenzo’s arm.

‘How did you do that?’ gasps Nicolas.

‘Shush, little boy. I don’t want you to scare my little Bella. Just take it easy, huh? She not used to children. But if you’re very quiet, I show you some of her tricks.’

Vincenzo makes a slight click with his tongue and the bird flies up like a stooka-bomber up over the laundry, over the toilet block, back through the jacaranda, makes a sweeping flutter over their heads, landing like a hovercraft on his shirtsleeve. The children’s mouths are agape. Winifred jiggles on the spot, while Casey holds her hand over her mouth.

‘She’s got babies,’ says Nicolas, looking up into the box.

‘Oh,’ says Winifred. ‘Can we take a peek, Mr. Pol…’

‘Hey, call me Vincenzo. And yes, have a look-see, but easy.’

‘He’s cute,’ says Casey. ‘Oh, look at that little one snuggled up to its brother. Casey turns her head back towards Vincenzo. ‘Are they boys or girls?’

‘I dunno yet,’ says Vincenzo. ‘I didn’t know if my little Bella was really a girl until she sat on her eggs.’

‘Oh, they’re so cute,’ says Winifred. ‘Can we have our shells now?’

‘Shells, shells. That all you think about, little girl?’

‘Well, they are ours.’

‘Come with me. You kids want a lemonade? Some potato chips?’

‘Yes, please!’ they all yell.

Inside the house, Vincenzo clears the kitchen table, and unravels a large roll of paper. He spreads it out with both hands, placing glasses at each corner. Casey and Nicolas pull their chairs in, while Winifred is practically shoulder to shoulder with Vincenzo. ‘See there. That’s my house at the back. And along here,’ he says, dragging a ruler down the plans to stop the edges curling. ‘This is my Café. What you think, nice hey?’

‘What are those round things on the side,’ says Winifred.

‘They’re tables, or maybe umbrellas. It’s a schematic drawing done by my brother. Where the peoples sits outside.’

‘What’s the name gonna be,’ says Nicolas.

‘Well, I first thought of 'The Sea Breeze Café'. Rennie didn’t like it that much. So we came up with the same name as our café back home. Ozono Caffé. But the Ozone Café sounds better in English, huh?’

‘Yeah, we like it,’ says Winifred. ‘But why do you want our shells?’

‘Aah. It’s like this. Back home we have many artists. My wife she’s a painter. A lot of culture in Italy. So, you know what I thought. On this side,’ says Vincenzo, pointing to the plan. ‘I mould two mermaids into the wall. And of course, the shells will be scattered along the shore near the ladies. I wanna beach scene, you know, like the Esplanade.

‘You could make a necklace of shells,’ says Winifred.

‘Wait.’ From a drawer in the cabinet, Vincenzo pulls out more rolled paper. He places a large tin in front of the children, and unravels his drawings of two mermaids reclined on sea rocks. He has drawn the very same shells limning the edges of the sea. He scatters the shells across the table dividing the limpets from the periwinkles. He swirls then into patterns; a crescent moon, a star fish, a sea-horse, and an upside down v as a shark’s fin; explaining as he goes that Casey and Winifred are the mermaids, while Nicolas is the star fish. The two girls begin to shape their own pile of shells, when suddenly Nicolas flips the paper drawing in the air, spilling the contents to the floor.

‘Nick!’ yells Winifred. ‘Whatcha do that for?’

‘It’s okay for you two,’ he grumbles. ‘Two mermaids, and I got to be some thorny star fish.’

‘Wait, wait,’ says Vincenzo, following Nicolas’s quick thrust of wheels out the door.

‘Hey boy. No need to get upset. You can be the shark, hey? With big teeth.’

‘No, no, no!’ yells Nicolas. ‘I don’t want to be no bloody shark, or a shitty star fish.’

Vincenzo stops the boy’s wheels with his feet, not letting him move forward. He throws his hands into the air, and groans a few words in his regional dialect. What did they have on the walls? Barca da pesca - a fishing boat, some nets. Was it one of the Roman gods? He couldn’t remember, but he knew that this boy was feeling worse about his position on the wall, than his sitting position for the rest of his life. ‘I got it’, he says. ‘King Neptune, with a crown, and …and his fork. What you say, you be a legend on my café, hey Nick?’

‘Nicolas, that’d be great,’ says Casey, while Winifred clasps her hands to her forehead.

‘A King. I only wanted to be a King,’ says Nicolas, grinning, and spinning his wheelchair on the spot.

All of sudden Vincenzo sinks down into a flowered cane lounge, Pomadina traveling across his lap. ‘You kids happy now. You can go,’ he says. ‘I need a siesta.’