“Oh, yes please.”
Andrea showed them to the nearby Campo Santo Stefano. From there she gave them general directions to the Palazzo Cavalli-Franchetti, to the Galleria D’Arte Contini, and the Fiorella Gallery as well as pointing out her favorite cafés and shopping. She put a hand on Ell’s arm, “A caution?”
Ell frowned, “Yes?”
“Is safe here but…” at this point she launched into Italian which Allan translated for Ell. “Recently there have been some… young hooligans stealing packages. You may know that in the past there were criminals called pickpockets. When people carried actual money they would take your wallet surreptitiously without your notice. Now that almost everyone is using digital money, at least here, those kinds of people are taking things you bought. They watch shoppers. If they see you buy something expensive, then they bump into you and snatch the bag or package from your hands. They are gone very quickly. Sometimes they are able to take it without you even knowing it’s gone, like a pickpocket used to work. Other times, you know it’s gone but they are vanished around a corner and you cannot catch them. Because they usually are able to do this so the victim’s AI doesn’t see their faces, the police haven’t been able to catch them yet.” She shrugged, “Even if your AI, or a friend’s records them, they wear hats and disguise their faces… So I am warning you, if you buy expensive items? Protect those packages.”
Ell shrugged, “OK.”
Andrea looked at Shan, “She not worried?”
He grinned and raised an eyebrow, “No, but I don’t think they’ll get anything from ‘Raquel.’”
Shan rolled over on the bed. Bright light poured in the window hurting his eyes. Squinting he looked around.
Ell sat across the room in front of a schematic on the room’s big screen. “Hey sleepy head.” She grinned at him, “That thar big bad jet lag knock you on your ass?”
“Jeez!” he grumbled, “I feel hung over! Why are there bright lights outside the window?”
“Those lights,” she giggled, “are our friend the sun. It’s nine AM here in Venice.”
“Aw man, what time is it back home?” he asked, eyes squinched shut.
“Three AM.”
“So, when we went to bed at…?”
“One AM last night.”
“It was…?”
“Seven PM back home. But you were all tired out ‘cause you didn’t sleep very well on the flight over.”
“Arggh! I thought all those people who complained about jet lag were a bunch of wussies.”
Ell snorted, “They are… And you’re one of ‘em boyo. You need to get your butt up or you’re never gonna get onto Italian time!”
“Hey!” Shan glared at her with one eye held partly open. “I thought you were supposed to be sweet and loving on our honeymoon?”
Ell laughed again, “I thought you were supposed to sweep me off my feet and entertain me, not lay around in bed like a lump of lard!”
“OK, OK. I’ll sweep, I’ll sweep,” Shan said, getting out of bed. “Let me take a shower.” He squinted at Ell again, “How come you look so fresh?”
“‘Cause I’m stalwart and non-wussy,” she grinned at him.
“Now I’m starving,” Shan said as they got to the bottom of the stairs leading out of their little apartment. “We just going to the first café we see?”
“Oh, no. We came all this way, we’re going to eat at Caffé Florian.”
Shan put on his sunglasses, “What’s so special about it?”
“It’s been open since 1720! It’s a coffee house that’s older than the United States!”
“Is it close?”
“Less than a kilometer.”
“We can’t just stop at this little café here?”
“Hey, we came all the way to Venice. We’re gonna steep ourselves in culture and history, even if it kills us. Turn left up here.”
Shan’s eyebrows rose, “Holy crap! Look at these prices!”
Ell smiled at him, “And… they just charged us each ten bucks just to sit down. Pays for the string quartet.” She pointed over to the live musicians.
Shan looked that way. He’d thought the music was recorded. “But, did you see that a coffee is nine euros?!”
Ell winked at him, “You think we’ll have to cut back on something else?”
Shan snorted, “I guess you can afford it. But I’m just a poor boy… not used to livin’ high on the hog like this. Havin’ a little sticker shock.”
“Well don’t get used to it. We can’t live expensive back home… But we can here so if we’re ever going to splurge, this is a good time and place.”
“So… I just close my eyes and order whatever I want?”
“Yep. Knock yourself out handsome.”
Wandering away from the Peggy Guggenheim museum, Ell turned to Shan, “Some of the modern pieces in there really touched me. I loved Brancusi’s “Bird in Space.’ Others didn’t even seem like they were really even art. More like laughably poor attempts to create art by people who had absolutely no talent. Yet… someone must think they are art or they wouldn’t be there.”
Shan shook his head. “I felt the same way visiting the National Gallery in Washington. ‘Art’ truly is ‘in the eye of the beholder’ I guess.” Suddenly he realized that Ell wasn’t beside him any longer. He turned and found her standing stock still on the street, staring into the window of a small gallery. “Ell?”
She just put her palm up to him in the universal “wait” gesture.
Shan turned and walked back to see what had entranced her. “Is it the blue on white canvas?”
Ell nodded.
He looked at it. A long vertical rectangle of brilliant white canvas hung in a somewhat dim corner of the gallery. However, at the moment a shaft of sunlight through a high window shot into the gallery and vibrantly lit that particular piece.
A splash of brilliant blue struck from near the upper left corner and exploded down across the canvas toward the lower right. To be honest, it looked somewhat like someone had spilled paint on the canvas. It even had spatters where the color appeared to first have struck and splashed. However, the blue wasn’t all the same shade. Someone had actually spent time working to make it look like a spill, yet had turned it into a work of art. Shan assumed Ell thought it to be art anyway. And the more Shan stared at it, the more he liked it as well.
Ell broke from her stasis and went to the door of the gallery, opening it and starting inside. As she entered she glanced back at Shan, “Do you like it?”
Wordlessly, he nodded.
They went to stand in front of the painting. It actually had a frozen little stream of paint coming up off the canvas as if someone were still pouring paint onto it. Some small splashes were frozen in the act of splattering up. Tiny white lines highlighted parts of the blue. Shan realized that someone had invested an enormous amount of time and talent into making this appear to be a spill… an ongoing spill… of surpassing beauty.
The shaft of sunlight had moved so that it only lit part of the painting. Still, the blues on the lighted part drew the eye.
A man came from behind them. He spoke in Italian but their AIs translated, “The blue… it is amazing, no?”
They nodded. Ell looked up at the ceiling, then around. She said, “Don’t you have any lights for it?”
The man ignored her question. When he spoke the translation said, “Unfortunately, we cannot make prints that have the same colors.”
“Don’t you have any lights for it?”
He shrugged, “There is only this original. It is very expensive.”
“Can-you-light-it?” Ell asked, sounding a little frustrated.
He waved at the ceiling, “No lights right now. We are preparing a new location with lights for it.”
“May we move it to somewhere where there is light?”
He looked them over again, then shrugged a little, apparently deciding it would be far out of their price range and a waste of his time. “Perhaps I could show you s
ome prints of our other works? There are no prints of this one.”
Ell narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want a print. I believe that I want this painting. But, I want to see it lit first. Are you the owner of the gallery?”
With a sigh he began, “Bambina…” The translation that Allan provided of his words were, “Little girl, I am not the owner. But this is an original Leoni Mattioli and the gallery is asking forty thousand euros for it.”
Ell stared at him a moment, then said, “Do you work on commission here?”
He rolled his eyes exasperatedly but nodded.
Ell grinned, exaggeratedly rolling her eyes right back at him. She said, “I’m going to buy this painting. I’m not going to dicker over the price. I’m even going to tip the sales person. And… I’m going to buy it from that young lady over there,” she raised an eyebrow, “assuming she isn’t rude to me like you’ve been.”
Shan watched bemusedly as Ell walked over to a young woman who’d stepped around a corner. She smiled at the girl, “Do you work here?”
After a pause for her to get the translation the young woman nodded, a curious but mildly apprehensive look on her face.
“If you would do me the kindness of moving the blue Mattioli into better light, I will buy it from you for its asking price of forty thousand euros.”
Her eyes widened, “But… I thought you were working with Julio?”
“Julio didn’t want to move it for me.”
The young woman’s eyes darted to the man, “Julio?”
Shan saw the man looking a little pinched. He spoke rapidly and a moment later Allan translated, “Sophia, I cannot be moving high end works for every tourist that asks me to, especially when they cannot afford them.” He glanced disdainfully at Ell and he sniffed, “She does not have the money. She’s wasting your time.”
“But Julio, we aren’t busy right now,” the young woman said, frowning.
Julio waved his hand dismissively and walked away toward the back of the gallery. Sophia shrugged apologetically at Ell and stepped to the picture. She lifted it off the wall and carried it to a well-lit easel in the next room, apparently kept set up for just that purpose. Once in the light, the brilliant blues of the painting again struck a chord in Shan. It affected him so strongly that he simply stood and stared for a long period.
Eventually he turned to see what Ell thought. She and Sophia were speaking quietly in a corner while Sophia unscrewed a long flat wooden box. The girl looked happy, bordering on ecstatic.
A moment later Sophia came over and got the painting, taking it back and placing it in the box. She inserted foam protectors around it and placed a hard cover over them. She put a lid on the box, which appeared to have been designed either for this specific painting or for one of exactly its size. A moment later Sophia began driving screws back into the box with a small powered screwdriver. Shan looked around. The painting had been an odd size, the box must have been made just for it.
He looked at Ell, “Where are you going to put it?”
She smiled at him. “On the narrow little wall. Near the end of your old couch.”
Shan frowned, “But…”
Ell put a finger to her lips.
He said nothing more until he was out on the street carrying the box. “You can’t hang a fifty five thousand dollar painting in our house and continue pretending you’re poor!”
She grinned at him, “I’ll tell folks I got it for fifty five dollars. No one will even be the wiser.”
“What if they look up Mattioli? His signature is down at the bottom you know?”
She shrugged, “I’ll tell them it’s a forged copy.”
Shan snorted and rolled his eyes, “You’ve got it backwards you know? Most people pretend their cheap knock offs are the expensive originals.”
Ell pulled his arm to her and leaned up to give him a kiss, “Well, aren’t we unique?” They crossed a canal on one of the ubiquitous bridges and she said, “Feel like stopping in this café? I’d like a Coke.”
“Sure.”
They turned in and sat at a small outside table with an umbrella over it. Shan admired the way Ell sprawled back in her chair, completely relaxed, eyes drooping. He never felt as relaxed as she managed to look, even when she was busy. If he tried to just take it easy, he’d find himself worrying about the classes he had to teach Fall semester, or whether he’d ever find another phenomenon in math as interesting as his first recognition of the effect of distance on Ell’s theory. Married to Ell he knew he didn’t have to support himself, but he didn’t want to be a failure at his chosen profession. A waitress came and took their orders, Ell giving hers through a slitted eye as if she were dozing. “Raquel?” he said.
“Umhmm?”
“I know you’re not sleeping, so what’re you thinking about?”
“My handsome new husband,” she drawled, “and what I’m going to do to him when we get back to our room.”
Shan snorted, “OK, that sounds interesting. But what’s the other track of your multitasking mind processing?”
“Carbon…” she said dreamily.
A couple of guys squeezed in behind him, bumping his chair so he scooted forward. “Carbon.” He said with a smile. “What about carbon?”
“I’m trying to work up a theory that describes the pressure-temperature-charge-precursors and how they come together to form the different allotropes. You know, based on the information we got from Querlak? I think we should be able to predict and thus more readily control the conditions that cause local formation of graphene versus graphend versus diamond versus lonsdaleite. I need a good mathematician to help me with it,” she opened an eye and peered at him, “know any?”
Shan was trying to come up with a smart aleck response when both of her eyes flashed open and she came up out of her chair moving the way only Ell Donsaii could move.
“What?!” Shan said looking around.
Half a block away, Ell called back, “They got the painting.”
Belatedly Shan remembered the men bumping the back of his chair. Beyond Ell he saw a corner of the box as a man carried it around the corner. Shan was up and running too. Ell shot around the corner.
Luigi had been standing watch on the corner. He’d seen Gio get the box containing the expensive Mattioli painting that Julio had called him about. Emil and Marko squeezing between the young couple and the next table to distract them seemed to have worked perfectly. Gio had started down the street with the box held somewhat clumsily in front of him. A moment later Emil and Marko stepped out of the café behind Gio to further block any sighting of the package from the young couple’s location. Resisting the temptation to hurry they walked at an ordinary speed toward Luigi. In another few moments the package would be around the corner. Just as Luigi had started to relax the girl leapt up out of her chair and began running down the street toward them.
Dio, he thought, she’s fast! Faster than he could believe. Shit! Luigi coughed loudly and put his hand up to scratch his head.
Hearing the cough, Gio glanced to see Luigi scratching his head and knew they were blown. He turned the corner and started to run. Running with the boxed painting was difficult but Gio was carrying the package because he was very fast. The possibility that anyone might catch him before he reached the canal never crossed his mind.
Behind Gio, Marko knelt just around the corner to tie his shoe—and incidentally trip anyone running around the corner. Expecting it to be a bit before the owner got there, he hadn’t even steeled himself for the impact when the girl shot the corner and hurdled him easily. Startled he reached up to catch her foot—far too late.
Emil had turned a short way past the corner and leaned against the wall. His assigned role would be to clumsily step out and tangle into whoever pursued after they got up from tripping over Marko. He would be offering to help, while actually delaying the pursuit. To his astonishment, just as he had turned and leaned toward the wall, the girl leapt over Marko and shot by Emil’s position.
<
br /> Long before Emil could react.
Still thinking that Gio would make it to the canal and the waiting boat, Emil watched in dismay as the girl caught up to Gio twenty meters before the canal. Emil didn’t see what happened but Gio apparently tripped. He sprawled to the pavement.
Emil and Marko pounded after Gio, Emil desperately wondering if they could still pull this off. She’s just a girl! He thought, we’ll threaten her. When she gives up the painting we’ll toss it out to Tobar’s boat, then disappear.
Marko arrived just in front of Emil. The girl stood fearlessly in front of the box that now lay in the street. Marko reached out for her growling, “If you know what’s…” Even though the girl didn’t have any device in her hand, Emil saw a spray appear from nowhere and mist Marko’s face. Marko’s hands shot up to his eyes and he crouched, screeching.
Emil raised his right hand in surrender, reaching out with his left for Marko’s back to steady him. From the corner of his eye he saw Gio, back on his feet and stepping their way. Emil was about to warn Gio off when the girl pointed a finger at Gio and he sprawled to the stone paving! What in all the hells? Emil pulled back on Marko, keeping his right hand up and wondering how they would run from the scene of this crime when Marko couldn’t see. Was he going to have to leave Marko to the police?
The brunette girl bent and picked up the box with the Mattioli in it, keeping her eyes on Emil and saying, “You boys really should get some honest work.”
The girl’s blond husband ran up, “Raquel, you OK?”
She nodded, “These boys were just leaving, right?” Her frighteningly cold green eyes remained focused on Emil. Still without looking to her husband she said, “Hopefully they’re about to go apply for jobs.”
As Emil continued to lead the sobbing Marko away from the girl, Emil saw Gio limping around a corner.
The girl’s husband said, “But aren’t you going to press charges?”
She shook her head.
As they walked away he thought he heard her quietly say, “I Tased one of them. Tasers aren’t legal here so I don’t want the police asking too many questions.”
Allotropes Page 16
