In Another Country, and Besides

by Maxwell Jacobs

  The waiter came outside and I ordered a whiskey and smoked three cigarettes while contemplating if it was possible to get back to Switzerland without showing a passport. I could always say I lost it.

  Around eight-thirty that evening the barman came out to the terrace again stating that there was a call for me at reception. I walked inside. It was Cleo.

  “Harry, I’m running late.” She sounded upset.

  “Cleo, is everything okay?” I asked.

  “I’ve had the polizia here asking questions about you and about us and if you knew Massimo,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

  “It’s okay, Cleo. Everything is fine,” I said, whispering and turning so the receptionist couldn’t hear. “They came to my hotel too, asking the same questions.”

  “Did you know Massimo?” she asked.

  “Of course not. I think they just made the connection because we met today. Really, there’s nothing to worry about, Cleo.”

  “Do you think we should still meet tonight?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Okay, let’s meet at nine-thirty now as I’m running late.”

  “Sure, no problem. See you there.”

  “Ciao.” Cleo hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER VI

  AS I LOOKED out of the window onto the waters of the Grand Canal, I could see the big black hitching post for the gondolas and the evening winter light on the windswept water. Across the canal was the old palace and a wood barge, black and broad and was coming up, her bluff bows pushing up a wave even though she had the wind behind her.

  As I walked outside I was again reminded that it was in fact carnival. People had been coming in all day from all over and were now outside drinking. They would not start in paying café prices. Instead they got their money’s worth in the wine shops. Later it would not matter what they paid or where they bought it. As I walked down the open streets I could hear signing and dancing through open doors in shops, restaurants and cafés. All the nice wicker chairs had been replaced in most of the cafés to more solid and sturdy steel ones that sat next to small cast iron tables. People were coming in squares from all sides. In the crowd you only saw heads and shoulders and dancers going up and down. The carnival had really started.

  I moved off the main square and walked up a narrow street and on to a smaller less busy square and looked around for the bar that Cleo had mentioned. I couldn’t find it, so decided to stay on the square next to the fountain, hoping she would pass by.

  In front of me on a clear part of the square a group of men were dancing to the sound of music playing from an adjacent café. It’s inside light and neon sign lit up the cold dark square.

  Their steps were very intricate and their faces were intent and concentrated. They all looked down while they danced. Their shoes tapped on the cobbled floor. The toes touched. The heels touched. The balls of the feet touched. Then the music broke wildly and when step was finished, they began dancing on up the street and around the fountain. Taking out a cigarette I watched on.

  By the time Cleo walked by the fog had cleared and the small square was now lined on both sides with men and women dancing. It was starting to drizzle with rain.

  She was wearing the same outfit she had worn when I first laid eyes on her. She spotted me, and as she came over some of the men formed a circle around her and started to dance. Cleo laughed and danced too. She looked over toward me, waving and gesturing. One of the men saw this, came over, and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me in. We all started to dance, and I moved close to Cleo and placed my hands gently on her hips.

  “Buonasera.”

  “Buonasera,” she replied.

  “This is a nice way to start the evening,” I said.

  “You look very handsome, Harry, and very Venetian.”

  I took her hand and spun her slowly around until she was back in front of me. We had blurred out the others and stopped for a moment and kissed. Suddenly a roar erupted around us as the men started to cheer.

  “Let’s get a drink,” she said, seeming embarrassed. We walked down the side street and away from the crowd and the lights of the square. We walked along the smooth narrow street with buildings on both sides. Most of the houses were old, with crusty red brick that jutted out toward us, and some houses were cut back. Everything was uneven. The wind was high and took the clouds quickly across the moon.

  We came onto Calle Fava and followed it down to the end where music was coming from. A crowd was packed on the street and many of the shops were now shuttered. Further down, there was a small terrace with just a few tables and people sat drinking in costumes. A man left his seat, opened the door and entered the bar. Music rushed out to the street and as we approached and I could see through the window that it was very busy inside, with people lined up along a zinc bar. We moved in brushing past the crowds.

  We stood at the counter. It was dark and dimly lit, with old Venetian paintings depicting the Grand Canal and small tables surrounding the bar with smoldering candles and empty bottles of wine. The place was full of costumes, except one man sat alone. He was holding a camera. Through the corner of my eye I could catch people looking at Cleo.

  Back of the counter they drew the wine from wooden casks. One man from a crowd at the bar came over dancing and placed a wreath of garlic around Cleo’s neck. “The whole city feels alive,” I said. She leaned over and took my hand. “We are going to have fun tonight,” we smiled at each other, but her smile faltered slightly, as if dark thoughts had just crossed her mind.

  “You know Harry; these last days have been hard, especially having to deal with losing someone close. But it’s also been wonderful to spend time with you today,” she took a breath and continued, “I think you are wonderful and I’m happy to be sharing tonight with you.”

  “Well, here’s a toast, to new friends and new memories.” We picked up and touched glasses and I drew closer to her. I took off my mask, and kissed her very firmly and then pulled away and looked at her. Her face was half-lit by the soft light, which came from above the bar, and the light showed her beauty clearly and it worked down from her hair to the long line of her neck and when I kissed her again our lips were tight together. I pressed her against the counter and we both locked in as one.

  I knew it didn’t matter that we barely knew each other, nor did it matter that we lived in different cities. Such minor details seemed irrelevant.

  There was a great noise going on now inside. Some Americans in sport clothes entered the bar and scattered and stood around one of the tables. One of the women stared at me. They were speaking loud and above the crowd.

  “Excuse me, signore,” I felt a tap at my shoulder. “Your table is ready.”

  We both half turned and smiled at the waitress and following her. We sat down at a table halfway along the room. Empty wine glasses and three empty coffee cups were still on the table. A waiter came with a cloth and picked up the glasses and mopped off the table. We ordered a bottle and some olives.

  “Cleo, forgive me for bringing this up but I wanted to ask you about the murder. If you don’t want to talk about it, I would understand, it’s just that the inspector was asking all these questions and I really believe he thinks I had something to do with it. And…” I faltered, wondering how to proceed. “He even seemed to suggest that you were involved with this Massimo,” remembering his name from the inspector.

  “Oh Harry,” she said as her eyes became glossy.

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m kind of caught up in all this now and I’d like to know exactly what is going on.”

  “How do you think the inspector knows?” she asked.

  “So it’s true? Were you having an affair with Massimo?” I asked.

  She said nothing.

  “Perhaps his wife knew or went through his things after he died,” she said, almost to herself. “Maybe she found a letter or something.”

  “So it is true?”

  “Yes. Oh, those poor kids, losing their fa
ther like that. Who would do such a thing?”

  “I know,” I said darkly, remembering the night. My mind snapped back.

  “How long was it going on?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “The affair.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “Some months, maybe longer.”

  I tried to keep my expression neutral though her vagueness disturbed me.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Harry, but please don’t judge,” she said. “Massimo was a friend, and sometimes we slept together. It was only recently that he started to ask for more. He started saying he would leave his family. I couldn’t have that. For me it was nothing more than some fun on lonely nights. You understand that, right?”

  “I don’t judge, Cleo,” was all I could say. I cleared my throat.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me,” she said, sensing my unease. “I’m just lost with it all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My life is a bit of a mess,” she looked away. “The situation with my husband and family is very complicated. Then there’s Alexander who I have such a wonderful time with. He gives me nothing but peace and love and all of his attention.”

  She had been looking into my eyes all this time now. Her eyes held different depths now, and sometimes they seemed perfectly flat. Now you could see all the way into them.

  “Who’s Alexander?”

  “Alexander von Horn. He’s a guy I met in Rome just after my separation,” Cleo said. “He’s Danish and lives in Paris.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It wasn’t for me, but over the last months Alex had become very demanding, even obsessive, so I broke it off only a few weeks back.”

  “And are you still married?”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and then sat up straight. She looked different to my eyes with a way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes at all. They looked on and on after everyone else’s eyes would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and she seemed afraid of so many things.

  “Yes, but we don’t speak anymore. Please, Harry, enough with the questions.”

  “Sorry.”

  I was pretty well through with the subject. At one time or another I would have probably considered running from such a complicated situation, but she intrigued me and I couldn’t start to question my feelings toward her. She broke the long silence.

  “Do I scare you, Harry?” she asked in a small voice.

  “You seem like trouble, Cleo,” I said with a smile.

  “Relax,” she said with a small smile on her lips. “It’s not like we’re going to run off and get married. We are just having fun, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Do you really think the inspector believes you had something to do with Massimo?” she asked.

  “Well, from what I could piece together from the papers and the inspector, it seems that there was a witness who heard English being spoken at the scene of the murder,” I said. “And it seems the attacker was blonde and wore spectacles. And of course now we have been seen kissing they think perhaps I’m some crazed jealous lover,” it sounded horrible when I said it out loud.

  “Do you think they are following us?” she asked.

  “It’s possible.”

  Cleo looked away and around the room, but I was not finished. “They took my passport and asked me to not leave Venice,” I continued. “But I’m only booked up until Monday at the hotel and my train is scheduled to leave for Milan that afternoon. Perhaps you could go see the inspector and tell him we only met after the murder?”

  “I already told him that.”

  We both sat in silence for a moment before she let out a deep sigh.

  “I’m sorry you are mixed up in all this.”

  “Well, don’t worry, everything will be fine,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “I’m sure they will catch whoever did this in the coming days.”

  My words seemed to work as Cleo’s face brightened up.

  “Would you mind very much if I asked you to do something?”

  “Don’t be silly. What is it?”

  “Would you kiss me?”

  “Of course I’ll kiss you,” I moved my chair closer and put my arm around her and she leaned back against me, and we kissed and became quite calm. She was looking into my eyes so I kissed her again. She opened her eyes and looked over at the wall, “Oh, look at the time, we should go,” she said, pulling back and raising herself up. We quickly paid and left.

  It felt good now to be outside even in the cold, and away from the noise and the crowd.

  I took her hand in mine and we dashed across the street, past the parties and street parades. The cobblestoned street was wet from the evening rain and as we ran Cleo slipped and fell. She skinned her knee and as I went down to help her, I saw a little tear of blood running down her leg. To my surprise, she started to laugh. She was smiling and laughing, and in that moment, not knowing why, it seemed to me like she was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE CONTARINA BALL was located in an old Venetian palace on the other side of the Grand Canal. It was built in a sestiere. Its façade showed a style from the early renaissance. It was well preserved. The night was clearing and the moon was out.

  We arrived at a seven-arched iron gate and a tall man stood in front. He was holding a notebook with people’s names written on the inside. Behind the gate I could see an outside staircase attached to the main building. It had three arches below and each one got bigger as the staircase rose up. Its middle arch had all been bricked up.

  After some discussion in Italian that I couldn’t understand we were allowed to enter and as we walked up the staircase we entered a large candlelit courtyard. Hundreds of little flames lined the walkway on each side of a deep red carpet, which cut through the center and entered a ground floor hall. Inside the hall and to the right a magnificent looking staircase rose up. We took a glass from one of the servers who lined the red carpet and stood straight in costume with a silver plate filled with glasses of Prosecco. We walked into the great hall and climbed the staircase, admiring the great dark paintings on the wall and then into the heart of the palace. It was a majestic ballroom and I had no reason to feel disappointed.

  The ballroom overlooked the courtyard and had a grand terrace. There were table’s spread around the room with red linen and in the center of each table were candles of all different heights and sizes. Flowers and Prosecco were set around the tables, which circled a large and creaky wooden floor.

  There were dark oil paintings on each wall, accompanied by a description in Latin, and tired mirrors clung to the walls between the paintings that reflected their age with a smoky appearance and the occasional distortion that gave an unclear sense of the world seen through them. Two had been scratched with initials: ‘M-A.H’ and ‘A.H’ 1842. I took off my mask and looked carefully and painfully through the dirty glass.

  The roof had long white candle chandlers draping down. Each table had a place setting with name cards and silver cutlery.

  Stood around the big table of our group were Cleo, Lucia, Antonio, Lorenzo, Alfredo, Sofia, Arianna and several other people I did not know.

  Antonio looked over and said. “Harry, it seems you don’t have a place with us, perhaps they put you on another table?”

  Cleo jumped in, “It must be a mistake. I’ll look into it.” And she left to find the manager along with Lucia.

  Lorenzo came over and put his hand on my shoulder, gently steering me away from the group and out on to the terrace. He took off his mask. Lorenzo seemed painfully self-confidant and his face seemed like an honest face. A face any woman would be safe with.

  “Ignore him,” he said, his black hair flopping down onto his face, as he pushed it back. “Antonio has had a thing for Cleo for as long as I can remember.”
<
br />   “I figured as much, just by the way he looks at her.”

  “Just ignore him. It’s nice to see Cleo in such good spirits and she seems quite taken with you.”

  “I like her too.”

  “Well, my only advice is don’t go losing your head over her.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Cleo is, how can I say…” Lorenzo paused for a moment, clearly trying to find his English. “Cleo is very special and she’s very beautiful. She attracts many men as you can imagine for a woman of such beauty.”

  “What are you trying to say, Lorenzo?”

  “I’m trying to say this. Cleo has had a string of men who have been left heart broken.”

  “And why tell me this?” I asked.

  “Because, I see the way you look at her, it is a look that I know well and Cleo is a nice girl to have fun with, but not to go falling in love with. If it was me in your place I would want to know these things.” His English was now spoken with a heavy Italian accent.

  “Well thanks for the information, Lorenzo, but I think I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay my friend, now enough of this, let us go for a drink,” he grabbed my arm.

  We went toward the door and I looked back through the thicknesses of glass and saw Cleo at the table with the rest of the group and was talking to a man I presumed to be a waiter trying to sort out the table arrangements. He walked away, flustered. We came over.

  “All fixed,” she said.

  “What was the problem?” I asked.

  “Antonio, who organized this, forgot to tell the manager to add one more person to the table.”

  “But he added you,” I said.

  “I know, it’s strange. He’s strange,” I grinned, happy to hear she felt that way.

  “Perhaps he thought you wouldn’t come in the end,” she said.