Pescador's Wake (6 page)

Julia looks at her watch, and back out through the bus window across the seamless stretch of white sand beach that lines the Río de la Plata. The water appears polished in the morning light, and she thinks that, on days like today, the harbour separating Uruguay from Argentina was indeed well named: The Río de la Plata, the River of Silver. If she didn't have to be back home this afternoon, she'd be tempted to stay on the bus for longer, and leave the drab city buildings of Montevideo well and truly behind. She and María could head east along the Atlantic coast to even better beaches. If there was time, they could go all the way to La Paloma.'

‘We'll have a couple of hours on the beach, and then we'll have to catch the bus home again,
mi chica
,' she tells her daughter. ‘Sofia's coming over to play this afternoon, remember?' Julia keeps to herself her annoyance about Cecilia's last-minute child-minding request, taking off her watch and zipping it into the beach bag. She won't let that woman's expectations ruin this precious time. If they get home slightly late, then Cecilia can wait.

‘Is she bringing her Barbie dolls?'

‘I'm sure she will. She brings them every time she comes, doesn't she?'

‘
Si,
and she always has a new one. Why do I only have one?'

‘Sofia doesn't need so many.' Julia reaches down, lifting the yellow brim of María's sunhat and kissing her on the forehead. In truth, Julia can't stomach the North American dolls, with their anatomically impossible forms and sparkly clothes and accessories. But she knows she can't force her own values on her child, who seems to derive real pleasure from twisting the long bodies into bone-cracking arrangements of dress and undress.

Julia remembers her best friend Paula's story of giving a Barbie to her son in front of her parents in an effort to break the gender stereotypes that her father was trying to impose. He'd wanted to give the boy a gun, but Paula said no. She couldn't understand why her father, having lived through the years of military dictatorship and having survived an attack by the
Tupamaros,
Uruguay's urban terrorists, hadn't rejected guns for life. Her son had possession of the Barbie for less than a second before he bent the doll backwards, pointed her toes towards his audience, and proceeded to shoot the entire family with his politically correct ‘gun'.

Bus number sixty-four grinds to a halt along the coastal highway, and Julia and María step onto the palm-lined esplanade. The sea air whips off María's hat and Julia treads on it, pinning it to the grass.

‘That was close,' she says, handing over the hat and fitting it firmly back onto her daughter's head. ‘You'll need that today. It's nice and sunny.'

There's no shelter from the wind on the beach, but Julia lays out her towel, anyway, quickly lying on it to keep it from blowing away. Even with the wind, her body relishes the first of the warmer weather, absorbing its touch as if it is a lover's caress. She surveys the families dotted along the sand while María, holding her hat on her head, struggles to make a sand castle one-handed. Julia watches as a man of about her own age massages sunscreen onto a young woman's back. He unlaces her red string bikini and Julia can imagine the sensation of his fingers on her skin. She wonders how much longer Carlos will be away. She thinks too of Eduardo, and how, at first glance, he could be Carlos's brother. It has occurred to her before. Both are dark-featured, large men, although Eduardo is broader in frame than her husband. And Eduardo's face is set more squarely. His hair is short, but his eyelashes, Julia thinks, would be the envy of many a South American beauty. She is still staring at the couple on the beach when the woman looks up at her. Julia turns away, focusing instead on the rhythmic beat of the waves against the shore. She shivers as she imagines how different the seas must be where Carlos and Eduardo are, on a different ocean, on what must surely seem a different planet. She says a prayer for Carlos. And another for Eduardo.
Cecilia arrives late at Julia's apartment, all set for a tennis match. She is a flurry of white shoes, fake-tanned legs and heaving bosom, which bounds under her tight lemon-coloured singlet long after she has stopped running up the front path. Julia can't imagine how Cecilia sees the ball coming beyond that voluminous bust, or how she bends or stretches as she plays without embarrassing herself wearing a skirt that only just covers her backside.

‘
Hola,
Julia. The match is about to start. Did I mention we might stay for dinner afterwards? I hope that's all right with you.'

Julia is overcome by a cloud of nauseatingly sweet, but no doubt expensive, perfume. ‘Fine.' She forces a smile, adding Cecilia's lack of an apology for her lateness to the growing list of irritations about this woman. ‘I'm sure we can scrape together something for Sofía to eat.'

Cecilia scrunches her heavily made-up face, as if momentarily revolted at the thought of Julia resorting to scraping up leftovers out of an almost-bare fridge. Sofia, too, seems nervous.

‘Just joking!' Julia laughs. ‘There's a lovely fresh apple cake for you girls. But maybe we'll have some
tostados
first. What do you think?' She is annoyed by Cecilia's assumption that she'll always have enough food in the house to feed Sofia, who
eats twice as much as María. Cecilia can afford whatever food she likes, placing the shopping order with a live-in nanny who also prepares the Moltenis' meals.

Julia waves a goodbye and is just about to close the door when Cecilia takes a step towards her. The heavy perfume makes Julia cough.

‘Terrible business about the boat being chased,' Cecilia says.

‘What boat?'

‘Oh. I thought Carlos was
capitán
of Señor Migiliaro's
Pescador
.'

‘
Si,
he is.' Julia feels sick. ‘What have you heard?'

‘Oh.' Cecilia's hands are flat on either side of her face, talons reaching all the way to her bottle-blonde hairline. ‘Francisco was talking about it with some workmates a few days ago at one of our dinner parties. I thought you'd have heard by now.' Cecilia seems to be enjoying the torment she's dishing out on Julia's front step. Like it's a game. ‘Carlos's boat was caught fishing in Australian waters. They've been ordered to Australia to face charges, but
we've
ordered the
Pescador
home, so we can sort it all out here, under our law.'

Julia's fingers tighten around the door frame, and she feels herself going weak.

Cecilia turns her knife. ‘But it seems the Australians are going to chase them all the way here if necessary!' She holds her hands out at her sides to indicate the ridiculousness of the
situation. ‘You poor girl. What a worry for you. And with a baby on the way.' Her hand is over her mouth now in an unconvincing display of concern. ‘But I'm sure the handsome Carlos will be okay. Although Francisco did say the weather can go from calm to gale-force in an instant down there.'

Julia is shaking, but tries to hide it. Of course Cecilia knew that it was Carlos's boat, and that she couldn't have heard about the chase, except through Carlos or Francisco or someone else in the Fisheries Department. Yet Cecilia had been sitting on the news for days, waiting until now to reveal all in this flippant just-dashing-out-to-tennis way. Julia is shocked by the cruelty of the woman. She can hear Cecilia's words, spoken as if she is one of the Fisheries Department officials herself: ‘
We've
ordered the
Pescador
home.' How dare she? The Barbie of a wife has probably never even seen a whole fish up close, let alone scaled and gutted one.

‘How far south are they?' Julia asks.

‘Well, Francisco said something about icebergs, so I suppose—'

‘Is Francisco at work?'

Cecilia stalls, and for a moment her confident façade wavers. She studies Julia's naturally attractive face closely and an ugly, jealous crease forms in the make-up at the corners of her painted mouth. ‘
Si,
but he doesn't like to be bothered there. I get into the biggest trouble if I phone him.' Cecilia retreats behind a girlish giggle. ‘I'll ask him to call you if
there's any news.' She places a perfectly manicured hand on Julia's forearm and Julia resists the urge to bat it away. ‘Anyway, I'd better get to this game.' Cecilia combs her fingers through her hair and drags the blonde mane back into a tight ponytail. ‘Maybe you should have a lie-down. You're pale. This won't help your pregnancy, will it? And you've had such a bad run in that department, you poor girl.' Cecilia motions to give Julia a vacuous hug and an air kiss, but Julia turns to go inside, closing the door behind her. In truth, Julia is barely aware of Francisco's wife any more. The woman is unimportant, like a small moth stirring up the air around her.

The girls have already disappeared into María's bedroom with the designer shopping bag crammed full of Barbies, their blonde heads poking out, jostling for attention. The resemblance to Cecilia is frightening.

Through the lounge-room window Julia catches sight of Cecilia reapplying her lipstick in the rear-vision mirror of her silver Mercedes. It seems Francisco is well paid for his efforts policing Uruguay's fishing industry. She wonders how much of the money comes over the table, and how much under it. The Mercedes starts up and Cecilia drives too fast down the narrow street. It's surprising, Julia thinks, that she deigns to be seen in this neighbourhood at all.

Julia inhales for five seconds, and counts to seven as she releases the warm air. It's a relaxation technique that Paula showed her. She opens the telephone directory and dials the
number for Uruguayan Fisheries, and asks to speak urgently with Francisco Molteni.

He answers the phone without delay.

‘
Hola,
Francisco. Cecilia has told me about the chase. What's going on? Are they okay?'

‘Cecilia should mind her own business.
Lo siento,
Julia,' Francisco apologises. ‘I was going to call you today. They're safe. Carlos is okay. But he's taking a big risk going so far south. We've ordered them back to Montevideo so we can sort out the matter here. Our government is dealing at a diplomatic level with the Australians to try to convince them to get off Carlos's tail. But at this stage they're continuing the chase.'

‘Can I speak with him?'

‘We've advised Carlos not to make satellite calls, except to us. It's possible the communications will be intercepted, and any conversations he has could be used against the
Pescador
in court. We've officially arrested the boat on the basis of the accusations against it, and the fact that it wasn't identifying itself to the Australians.'

‘Do the Australians have a case?'

‘We don't know. The vessel-monitoring system was off when the supposed illegal fishing took place. We have no record of the
Pescador
even being in Australian waters.' Francisco's voice softens. ‘As I said, I was going to tell you about all this today, now that we've made contact with the
Pescador
.'

Julia thinks of the opportunities Francisco had to tell her about the chase when he collected Sofía just a few days ago. She had invited him in for a drink and he had accepted, relaxing into Carlos's empty chair as if grateful for the chance to chat.

‘If you keep me in the dark again, I'll never forgive you, Francisco.'

‘I know. Try not to get ahead of yourself.
Señor
Migiliaro's ship is strong—'

‘
Señor
Migiliaro can go to hell. You and I both know he's only concerned about getting his hands on the fish. And the
Pescador
is just an old boat dressed up. If she goes down, Migiliaro won't lose a night's sleep. We both know he has plenty more rotten vessels in his fleet. A few months fishing on another boat, and he'll have paid for his loss.'

‘You're angry, but remember Carlos agreed to whatever arrangement was made with
Señor
Migiliaro. Your husband is no fool. He knew what he was getting into.'

‘Don't think I'm not angry with Carlos too.' Julia's voice is quiet, almost a whisper. ‘I'll call the first mate's wife. To let her know.
Adiós,
Francisco.'

‘
Hasta luego
.'

Julia ends the phone call, and consciously deepens her shallow inhalations to calm herself. She dials Virginia's number and imagines her answering the call from her small wooden house at La Paloma. Julia pictures the beach where
they all met during school holidays, every detail still clear in her mind. She sees the fishing boats and Eduardo's father's fishing shed nestled in its soft bed of white sand. She knows her news will shatter the calm, striking Virginia like a tsunami crashing in from the sea.

‘
Hola,
Virginia. It's Julia.' Julia can hear Virginia's daughters laughing in the background. ‘I've just had news of the boat. They've been spotted fishing illegally in Australian waters. They're being chased.'

‘Oh my God.' There is panic in Eduardo's wife's voice.

‘It's not great news, I know. I'm sorry.'

‘I have to talk with him.'

‘The Fisheries Department has asked them not to make calls. In case they're intercepted. Have you got Francisco Molteni's number?'

‘
Si.
'

‘Well, he's probably the best source of information. Call him if you're worried. Carlos and Eduardo are okay though, the stupid fools. It's just not all going to plan. They're on their way back here.'

‘So, they're probably a couple of weeks away, do you think?'

‘At least. They're a long way south right now.'

‘
Jesús
.' Virginia's voice is brittle with fear. ‘Eduardo.'