Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [88]
“Papà, che cosa fa?”
“Niente, Antonio.” The unnatural tone in Giuseppe’s voice made Fortunata look up at her husband.
“It is nothing. The birds and fish are just skittish today.”
Giuseppe raised his oars and turned away from his wife. He looked across at his older sons who silently shrugged in answer to his expression. They were two hundred yards from shore, heading south into the strait of Messina.
Giuseppe dipped his oars back in the water. A slow, growling noise made him scan the skies again. Still nothing, but before he had time to register his confusion, the rumble grew in decibels until it was louder and more resonant than the thunder of the worst storm.
Pulling the oars in, Giuseppe pushed his family off their seats to the bottom of the boat. Barely a second later, the boat rose out of the sea as if a mighty underwater power had lifted it skyward. They were atop a mountain of water and, for a second, Giuseppe was certain that he even saw the sea’s bottom below them. The boat stayed on the wave as it collapsed. The initial rumbling roar turned into the sound of a thousand bombs bursting and was quickly followed by a torrential rain.
The sea was swelling in every direction, and Giuseppe managed to get his oars back in the water. Yelling to his sons to do the same, he struggled to see their boat through the sheets of rain. The explosive noises gave way to ear-splitting cracks. Giuseppe caught glimpses of Scilla. It was as if God was a sculptor and was swinging his hammer at a chisel in the cliffs. Crashes and a sinister hissing followed the cracking of the rock. Straining to see, Antonio pulled himself up and squinted over the edge of the boat and watched in horror as much of Scilla collapsed.
After the first few houses in the Chianalea fell like sand, the dust and smoke from onshore obscured most of what could be seen beyond the pelting rain and hail. The boat was violently spun around, but not before Antonio saw parts of Castello Ruffo fall into the sea. Farther across the strait in Messina, they could see nothing but flames.
As they cascaded over a swell, Giuseppe stood straining to see through the rain and black smoke filling the strait. Looking up, Antonio saw horror on his father’s face. Giuseppe yelled to Orazio and Raffaele to catch the rope that he threw in the direction of their boat. Muttering prayers, Fortunata kept trying to raise her head, only to have it pushed down again by her husband. Giuseppe grabbed one oar and shouted to Antonio and Salvatore to grab the other. “Hold tight the oars, sons!” he shouted. Antonio struggled against the rain and wind to raise himself from the floor of the boat onto the seat. Grabbing the oar and sitting upright, Antonio saw what his father had already seen. A fifty-foot wave, as tall as the cliffs that were now dust, was heading west in the strait for Messina.
Giuseppe had tied his boat to his sons’ boat. Antonio knew that this was not safe and that it meant that his father thought they had no chance of staying in their boats. It was a desperate attempt to keep his family within reach. They were north of the strait and would avoid being swept into the tsunami, but when it hit Messina, they would have to survive its aftermath.
“Listen to me,” shouted Giuseppe to his boys. “Hold tight to the oars and push back on the swells. Keep your oar to the wave, when it shifts, you shift.”
“Sì, Papa!” screamed Antonio, pulling the oar toward him. Young Franco was pushed to the bottom of the boat, and Salvatore was frozen in fear. “Do you understand, Salvatore? Salvatore!” There was a flicker of recognition.
“Fortunata, no matter what, don’t let the children up!”
Sounds collided and smoke momentarily cleared when the tidal wave smashed into Messina. The entire port of Messina disappeared. The wave receded, and the sea rushed through the streets and buildings as if they were pebbles on the beach. Giuseppe and his sons braced themselves and watched in