I hope this doesn't sound like an advertisement for Amazon, (some people view them negatively) but my take on this company is that they are by far more professional when it comes to helping Indi authors. I haven’t yet looked into Smashwords or Ingram Spark who offer a similar service, but the fact that (at the moment)with Amazon it’s free, and Kindle Unlimited (per se KDP Select) as a promotional tool is also “free” for authors, I would say, how can one go wrong? It’s the buying readership market who are paying to read our Kindle books.
This is Amazon’s explanation of Kindle Unlimited.
Kindle Unlimited is a subscription program for readers that allows them to read as many books as they want. When you enrol in KDP Select, your books are automatically included in Kindle Unlimited. Your books will still be available for anyone to buy in the Kindle Store, and you’ll continue to earn royalties from those sales like you do today. For more information about Kindle Unlimited, click here.
The Ozone Café
Chapter 1
‘To all the
pleasures and treasures of a new country,’ said Rennie, a large glass raised in
drunken salutation.
‘To Australia, my new life here and to you,
my brother,’ said Vincenzo. He drank deeply from his own glass, a middle-aged
man trying hard to focus on the joyful occasion after sharing several bottles
of Grappa. Vincenzo Polamo was indeed happy. Even though a large fly had
resided on his nose for several minutes, and the bright sunshine had made him
sweat, he could still raise another glass and toast a cheerful saluti to his new homeland. ‘I’m very grateful,’ he said, a slur of other
words following, like prost and nostrovia.
‘Take it easy, old man,’ said Rennie, patting
his brother’s knee.
Vincenzo scrunched his eyes into the glare.
He liked being with his younger brother, and although older he was taller and
hairier. Vincenzo remembered, as a boy, his deep set eyes and his thick eyelashes
continually flicked. Two main vital parts of his nature mattered to Vincenzo. His
brother’s warmth and emotion, a softening after a drink like the old days, and a
trickle of tears when they first hugged dockside. Vincenzo had arrived only
three days before in the middle of a sailing regatta in Sydney harbour and couldn’t
quite believe he was here. In the relaxed atmosphere of warm weather and
alcohol, he reflected on his past journey, meeting new Sicilian friends
onboard, his brother’s crazy bear-hug on the wharf and then a sight-seeing tour
across Sydney Harbour Bridge.
On the upper deck where the two men sat
drinking, Vincenzo witnessed the idyllic life of his brother, a successful model
he’d worked hard for in the ten years since migrating. His north shore mansion
was especially ornate with statues of cherubs, angels and crouched griffins,
each one facing towards the treetops. The frontage featured high walls, twisted
brickwork, automatic wrought iron gates, and reclining lions atop of two
pillars. The street spanned into a wide cul-de-sac with other houses of similar
build, backyards facing the river, some with their own private jetties.
The afternoon sun shone hot on Vincenzo’s
face. He didn’t mind after a cold blustery sea voyage. He had his feet firmly
on terra ferma, and it was good to
reconnect with someone from his family, while his own remained in Italy.
A downstairs telephone rang, interrupting
the men’s reverie. ‘That’s just business,’ his brother said. ‘I’ll be back soon,
won’t be long.’
Vincenzo loved his brother, but he
couldn’t help notice the extra weight he was carrying; a paunch at his belly, wide
across the shoulders and chest. H he was no longer the skinny little brother
from ten years ago. Renato still had his thick wavy hair, and although
Vincenzo’s was thinning on top, they had the same inherited nose, slightly
elongated, robust tip with hairy nostrils.
Both could claim a further family resemblance to their father’s and grandfather’s
five o’clock shadow, a dark stubble appearing within hours of shaving.
In his inebriated state, Vincenzo lay back
with his arms behind his head. His wife Maria hadn’t wanted to migrate with
him. Before the voyage, he should have revealed the terrible stress he was
under with the Camino brothers. He owed them extortion money. They had visited
his car repairs, taken stock and machine parts; smashed everything in sight,
leaving him shocked and humiliated, powerless to stand up to them. He
remembered their combat boots kicking over every piece of furniture in his
office. The truth was he needed to get
out of the country.
He did not deny now that he’d made a big
mistake being frantic and pig-headed in front of his family about living in
Sydney. But since arriving in Australia he knew he could make a fresh start
with his brother’s help.
The hot afternoon sun glared into
Vincenzo’s face jolting him awake. He’d gone from musing about his time
onboard, to his hometown, now he was back lounging in his brother’s magnificent
house. He didn’t want to move. He gazed at the great expanse of Renato’s
property, a work utility and a Mercedes Benz parked in the driveway. Grape
vines and conifers lined the side of the driveway and a terraced backyard
reached the verge of the river beginning with a swimming pool.
He still couldn’t get Maria out of his
mind. On their last day together, sitting on a bench in the main square of
town, and in between the skulking shadows and branches, he had pleaded with
her, the nervous, uncontrolled jiggling of his knees, his hands curling to a
fist. Saying their goodbyes, he remembered the terrible darkness in her face,
that stubborn sign that she would never come to Australia.
‘I make a beautiful home for us,’ he said,
getting up and shouting. ‘You wait and see! You will love Australia. I build a
large home for you with my brother with lions on the gate and a big backyard.’
How uncomfortable it had been arguing.
This day with his brother had brought many
interesting and new things, and taking one more sip of Grappa, Vincenzo brought
his grateful mind back to the blue sky and the warm still breeze. He crouched
down on the floor, patting Rennie’s dog, a black and tan terrier. ‘We see,’ he
said tousling her fur and lifting her name tag. ‘Maybe they will want to come
later, hey… Pomadina!’
The dog slid her paws across the tiled
patio, barking at the top of the steps. ‘Hey, it’s me, stupido!’ said Rennie. ‘Pack some things, Vin. I’ve got a few weeks
off. I want to show you my cottage in Satara Bay. We’ll leave tomorrow at dawn.
It’s a slow trip.’
‘Oh good, Renato,’ he said.
‘Oh, one thing old boy, my name is Rennie
now.’
‘You shortened it, hey?’
‘They put ‘e’ on the end of things here,
like ‘vegie, barbie, tinnie’. I like it short.’
‘Oh, okay. I get used to it.’ Vincenzo
scratched the back of his neck, so many changes and a mystery surrounding
Cattania. He was surprised how silent his brother was about his wife, nowhere
to be seen, although a large room upstairs remained locked. Another unusual
thing tweaked his attention. Rennie had bought birthday roses for a neighbor up
the street. He didn’t like to ask questions, it was none of his business, yet
he hoped that his brother would tell him about his new lady when he was good and
ready. On his arrival and telephoning Maria and the girls, Vincenzo explained
that Cattania wasn’t in the house and stranger still that no one had heard
anything from her, a girl who talked non-stop.
Back in Paola, it had been a double
celebration, his brother marrying Cattania and leaving for Australia in the
coming weeks. Vincenzo and Maria joined the family singing around a large
table, enjoying their last meal together. Although a little misty-eyed,
Vincenzo was happy for his brother, the wine helping to toast a farewell to the
happy couple. Later, in his brother’s letters, he mentioned owner-building
different houses, the first one in Seaforth, then moving to Manly. He built his
current one not far from the Gladesville Bridge, informing the family now and
again about fishing from his boat or catching large silver bream off the rocks.
But they hadn’t received any news about Cattania or whether a little bambino had arrived.
Vincenzo and his brother had parted ways as
young men living in different Calabrian towns. Rennie was once in a long
relationship with a girl called Anna, but Cattania had been a strange choice
over the girl they expected he would marry.
If anything, Vincenzo preferred to talk
about the good times as teenagers fishing for hours, trolling their skiff along
the crusty valleys of the Savuto River. In the planned holiday tomorrow, he
would learn about his brother’s his new life and he hoped those happy times
would return, this time in a different bay, near a different ocean, casting
rods into the sunrise.
