Pescador's Wake Read Online Free PDF Page A

will be ready soon, sweetheart. What have you been up to in there?’
    â€˜Just drawing,’ María says, opening the fridge.
    â€˜Can I see?’ Julia asks, trying to distract her daughter from snacking before her meal.
    â€˜Not yet, I haven’t finished.’ María shuts the fridge and absconds to her bedroom with an apple.
    At least it’s healthy, Julia concedes, deciding that she hasn’t got the energy to make a fuss. She tosses the last few ingredients into the stew and reaches for her phone book. She finds Señor Migiliaro’s mobile number, which Carlos wrote inside the front cover for her, and dials it. It’s typical, she thinks, that there are no other contact details for the Spanish owner. If one of his boats gets caught fishing illegally, the coward can disappear in a flash like a rat up a drain pipe. No address, no contact number, no accountability. All of the benefits, none of the risk.
    â€˜ Hola ,’ Migiliaro answers. Julia has only spoken with him once before but recognises his voice: cold and dismissive, as though he is in a hurry to get somewhere and doesn’t want to be bothered.
    â€˜ Buenos tardes, Señor Migiliaro. This is Julia Pereira de Sánchez, Carlos’s wife…Carlos Sánchez from the Pescador .’
    â€˜Si .’
    â€˜I haven’t heard from Carlos for a while, and just wanted to know if everything is all right.’ Julia resents the way this man makes her feel nervous, and small. The way he risks men’s lives for profit, without a second thought.
    â€˜As far as I know. Si .’
    â€˜Well, when did you last hear from him?’
    â€˜About a week ago.’
    â€˜Me too,’ Julia says, her anxiety building. ‘Is that unusual?’
    â€˜Not necessarily.’
    María bursts back into the kitchen, grinning and waving her completed drawing in the air, her half-eaten apple clamped between her teeth. Julia holds her hand up, motioning her to wait.
    â€˜Well…can’t you reach him somehow? I can’t get through.’
    â€˜I’ll get one of the other boats to make contact. Call me in a day or two and I’ll let you know.’
    María takes the apple from her mouth and flaps the picture noisily in front of her mother’s face. ‘Mamá, look it’s Papá fishing!’ she whoops, jumping up and down and ignoring Julia’s finger forming a ‘shhhh’ across her lips.
    Julia hears the clunk of Migiliaro ending the phone call. She returns the handset to the wall and shouts: ‘That was important! I said to wait. It was about Papá!’
    â€˜What about Papá? Is he all right? Can I talk to him?’ María appears instantly worried and Julia is overcome by guilt and a desire to protect her daughter from the panic that is invading her own body.
    â€˜I’m sure he’s fine. But we can’t talk to him right now. His phone isn’t working. Julia reaches out to hug María but her daughter pulls away, all apple-breathed and huffy tears,withholding her affection with the power of a five-year-old who knows when their mother needs their love. ‘Can you show me that picture now?’
    María casts her drawing aside in a storm of anger and Julia watches it land face-up at her feet. The drawing is of a large red ship, not a bad representation of the Pescador, which is riding high on waves three times its height. There is a person with a sad face in the wheelhouse. It makes Julia shiver. Beneath the boat, María has drawn a school of fish and a broken line. There is no one on deck.
    â€˜It’s very clever, mi quierida,’ Julia says.
    â€˜The line broke. The fish got away. Papá has to stay away longer.
    â€˜Papá will be home soon.’
    â€˜No he won’t!’ María stamps her foot and runs back to her room, leaving Julia, Carlos and the boat at sea together in the kitchen.
    Julia slides the drawing face-down into