by A. L. Knorr
Chapter 7
The next day, I walked the Jewish Ghetto because Pietro had told me that the best food in Venice could be found there. I sampled several kinds of bruschetta - gorgonzola, pomodorini and basil, speck and pecorino. The flavors melted in my mouth. My mom loved to cook so I bought a little book containing only recipes for bruschetta as a gift for her. I passed tiny restaurants with outdoor tables jammed with laughing tourists. Gondolas moored at the edges of the canal held people relaxing against pillows while enjoying glasses of wine and plates of food.
By the time I circled back to Piazzale Roma to see if I could find the Gelateria that Federica had named, it was already mid-afternoon. Soon I would have to make my way to the Bridge of Sighs to meet Raf.
Gelateria Artigianale was easy to find. A lineup of people snaked down the street from its doorway. I stood on tiptoe to look over the crowd but the girl working was not Federica. Either Fed didn't get the job, or she had but she wasn't working at the moment. I turned back toward the waterbus station and ran smack into her. Both of us cried out in surprise.
"It's you!" she said, holding a hand over her heart.
"It's you too!" I replied, laughing.
"You came to find me. You are so sweet, Saxony." Her brown eyes sparkled.
"Did you get the job?"
"I did, you are amazing to follow up and ask. Today is my first day, obviously. My shift starts in ten minutes, but I'm early. I'm always scared I'll be late when I have to go anywhere in Venice during the summer." She held up a purple wallet and shook it. "Let me buy you a coffee. We can celebrate."
"You got your wallet back!" We stepped into the cool of the cafe next door.
"Yes, it was still at the enoteca, just where I left it. I called to ask them to hold it for me until I could get back there this morning. What a relief."
We chatted while we waited for our coffees and then found a vacant table.
"How long will you be in Venezia?"
"Actually, I'll be here all summer. I'm an au pair for a family who lives in the Cannaregio borough."
"Oh, beautiful! I can introduce you to some of my friends. There is a festival in a couple of weeks called Festa del Redentore. Have you heard of it?"
"No, is that the one with all the masks?" I asked, visions of a long beaked face coming to mind.
"No, that is Carnivale. That one happens in February. This one is in July and was originally to celebrate the end of the black plague. By now it's mostly an excuse to have a party. It's a lot of fun, you must come," she begged, putting a hand on my forearm.
"Absolutely." It sounded like the perfect opportunity to meet a lot of people all at once. I wished her luck for her first day. We exchanged numbers and said goodbye.
During the boat ride to the Piazza San Marco, my mind went to Akiko, the only one of my friends I hadn't heard from since I arrived in Venice. I pulled out my phone, readying a text, but put it away again. She said she'd be remote, and that she'd write when she could. I pushed the anxiety about her away. I had to trust that her grandfather knew what he was doing... which was easier said than done.
I arrived at the Bridge of Sighs a few minutes early so I took the opportunity to take photos of the Doge's Palace. The Turkish window frames, pink and white marble, and curved arches made it hard to look at anything else. I stood at the top of the bridge and craned my neck at the delicate florets over each widow.
"Hi! You're actually on time," said a deep voice, sounding surprised.
I turned to see Raf coming up the steps. "Why? Are Italian girls never on time?"
"Almost never. At least, in my experience. I think they want to show you who is going to wear the pants right from the start or something."
"Hey, I'm a pant-wearer, too. I wear all sorts of bottoms."
He laughed. "I'll remember that. Are you ready to have your mind expanded, pant-wearer?"
"Absolutely. Where is this mind-expanding meeting?"
"It's in the courtyard of the Doge's Palace. Which is pretty cool because they don't do a lot of these types of things in there, and when they do, it’s hard to get tickets."
I followed him past a long lineup of people to an entrance with a red carpet. "Well, look at you go with your VIP perks."
He grinned. "Our studio has an agreement with the association who puts these on." He handed two tickets to the lady at the entrance and winked at me while she scanned them. We walked under a long archway to a beautiful courtyard. Rows of chairs faced a white stone wall. We found our seats and settled in. I loved these sorts of things, as long as they weren't too long. I'd never been great at sitting for long stretches of time.
"So, glass-blowing," I prompted as we waited. Raf turned his hazel eyes on me. "Is this your destiny?"
"I don't have a choice in the matter,” he said. “Our studio has been in the family for close to two hundred years. If I had wanted to do something else, I think I would have given my father a stroke. I'm already a little more than a quarter of the way through my apprenticeship."
"How long does it take to become a master glass-blower?"
"Twenty years. It's not the easiest art form."
"Holy crap! That's twice as long as a doctor."
"Yeah, it’s a long time," his gaze went to the front and I followed it to see a woman in a white pantsuit step up behind the podium. The white stone wall behind her lit up with a projection of an antique map of Venice. The title 'Glass Blowers of Venice, an Ancient Secret' overlaid the map.
"Looks like we're about to begin," Raf said, rubbing his hands together and looking gleeful.
"Dude, you're way too excited about this. Don't you know all this stuff already?"
His cheeks colored. "I do, but it never gets old."
"Well that's good, because it sounds like you're going to be married to it for the rest of your life."
I was rewarded with a spectacular smile.
The woman introduced herself and began by explaining that while the art of making glass is older than Christ, the island of Murano had been home to the masters of glass-blowing since the 15th century. Artisans were often lured by kings and queens of other countries to teach their craftsmen the secrets of mirror making and the art of coloring glass.
"In the early days," she said, flipping the slide to show a list of dates: Dorsoduro - 899, The Great Fire - 1105, The Rialto Fire - 1516, The Arsenale Fire - 1569, Santa Chiara - 1574, "the glass blowers were located on the main island of Venezia. But there were many fires that nearly destroyed the city. Only the worst of them are listed here. After the Rialto fire of 1516, straw roofs were banned and the glass blowers, along with their dangerous ovens, were moved to the island of Murano to prevent further catastrophes."
The image of a Y-shaped chimney popped up on the screen. I recognized the shape as I'd seen many of them throughout the city.
She went on. "In fact, Venice was so troubled by fire that these unique chimney designs were invented here." She used a pointer to highlight the Y-shape at the top of the chimney. "Notice the inverted flu at the top, which is designed to catch and prevent the spread of sparks on the wind. They also contribute to the city's unique skyline."
A hand appeared in the air in front of us.
"Yes?”
"But Venice is surrounded by water and constructed mostly of stone. How could there so many devastating fires?" the woman asked.
"Great question." She flipped through the slides until she landed on an illustration. A cross section of a Venetian building had been cut away to reveal the interior layers of the walls. "Because Venice is built on a lagoon, the building materials they used had to be very light in order to minimize sinking. The stone on the outside is really a facade. You can see from this illustration that inside the narrow stone layer is actually brick, which is lighter but also more flammable than stone. They also burned straw and wood for heat, and used wood in their construction and for their furniture. Combined with cloth hangings, tapestries, and candles, fire was a very real threat f
or the people of Venice."
She went on to detail the history of glass-making as it evolved after the artisans were moved to Murano. She flipped through many beautiful images of chandeliers and drinking vessels, plates, sculptures and figurines, each more intricate than the last. I began to shift in my seat at the forty-five minute mark.
Raf leaned toward me. "She's almost finished, you okay?"
I nodded and made an effort to stay still. I was reaching my limit for sitting. When it was over, Raf walked me home and we chatted about what we'd learned. He described in better detail how the powdered metal oxides are added to the glass to color it. By the time I got home, my glass-blowing curiosity had been satisfied, aside from actually seeing it done.
We stopped outside my door, and I wondered what to do with my hands. "Thanks for inviting me. I learned a lot."
"You're welcome. I'm glad you came," he said quietly. He looked down at me through half closed eyes.
Little butterflies fluttered around my heart. I cleared my throat. "What are you doing for Festa del Redentore? A friend asked me to join her party for the fireworks. Do you want to come?"
"A friend? You've made friends already?"
"By accident. A girl named Federica asked me for change yesterday. She invited me to join her and her friends for the festival."
"Federica Arnago?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Uh... I don't know, I didn't ask her last name."
"Short girl. Cute, with short brown hair? Green eyes?"
"That sounds like her, yeah. You know her?"
"If it’s who I think it is, we went to school together. How funny that you met her."
"So, will you come?"
"Thanks for asking, but I actually have to go to Milan for two weeks. We have a shop there and my father has asked me to look after it while the manager takes a holiday. It'll be the first time I'll miss Festa del Redentore." He took my hand and bent down and kissed my cheek tenderly, just beside my mouth.
I kissed his cheek back, his stubble tickling my lips. A warm feeling spread through me and I smiled at him when he pulled back.
"May I call you again when I am back?" he asked.
"I'd like that," I said. "Are all Italian guys as polite and gentlemanly as you? Because you know we Canadians don't have that stereotype of you at all."
"Oh, really? What do Canadians think Italians are like?"
"Forward. Passionate. Maybe a little pushy." I smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Mama's boys."
He laughed. "Well you're right about two of those things. We are mama's boys, and we are passionate. But we're raised to be gentlemen." He kissed my cheek again. "Buonanotte, bella ragazza."
"Buonanotte." I didn't intend for it to come out as a whisper, but I seemed to have lost my voice.
Chapter 8
"Saxony!"
I turned toward the sound of my name, scanning the crowd for Fed. Every soul in Italy had turned up on the streets and docks of Venezia for the festival. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon but it was still hot and humid. My summer dress stuck to me. The air hung with clouds of cigarette smoke. The only saving grace of the night was a lazy breeze that lifted the damp curls away from my forehead. I had put the considerable bulk of my hair on top of my head to keep it off my neck.
Boats and gondolas choked St. Mark’s Basin. Rows of them had been fastened together, and bobbed in the water. People picked their way along the linked boats, using them as a bridge. Partiers danced on larger boats further out and pulsing beats floated across the water, mixing badly with the rock music pumping from the speaker outside the cafe where I had agreed to meet Fed.
"Saxony," I heard my name again and saw a slender pink palm wave from behind an old man in a fedora. Fed appeared, her face glowing with sweat and excitement. She wove her way through the crowd like a dancer. She kissed first my right cheek then my left. I threw my arms around her neck and gave her a squeeze.
"Oh," she said with delight. She laughed and flapped her hands uselessly against my back.
"That's how Canadians say hello." I released her. "You Italians have mastered the kiss, but you need to learn how to hug."
She took my hand. "Perfect, I'll introduce to you some people you can teach. My friends are over there," she pointed into the middle of the canal and pulled on my hand. "Did you wear your bathing suit?"
"Yes. Under my dress."
"Perfect."
"Do they speak English? Your friends, I mean," I asked as I stumbled through the crowd after her. "Because if they don't we're not going to get very far. Hey, this wasn't here yesterday!" We'd hit a wide bridge floating on the tops of black barrels.
"Yes, they put it up every year just for this festival," she explained. "It links Venezia to Giudecca." She pointed to the island across the water. Fairy lights twinkled along the rooftops of buildings on the far side. "And to answer your question, some of my friends speak English and some don't."
I followed her along the bridge, avoiding slobbering dogs, baby carriages, and crowds of smokers who'd decided to stop in the middle of the bridge and make everyone go around them. Everyone was talking and laughing and sweating. Fed began counting names off on her fingers. "Dante, Jacopo, Karim…” She listed off a few more names. “They’re are all fluent."
"All boys?" We arrived at a short dock.
"Yes, then there's me, Sara, and maybe Rosaria if she decides to come. But the girls don't speak hardly any English. Watch your step here." She took my hand and helped me into an empty gondola. We began to pick our way across the sea of bobbing boats. Every vessel was decorated with balloons, garlands, and flowers.
“Karim doesn't sound like an Italian name." My sandal hooked a paddle, and I nearly tripped.
"Careful. It's not. Karim is from an Egyptian family, but he's a Canadian, too. Biggest guy you'll ever meet in your life. A teddybear, though."
"People don't care that we're using their boats as lily pads?" We stepped past open coolers full of beer, piles of purses and bags, abandoned shoes, and water bottles.
"No, this is all part of the fun. Scusi!" She smiled at three girls eating bruschetta from a wooden platter and drinking wine. They smiled back and spoke to us in Italian. Fed answered and the three girls laughed. One of them blew us a kiss as we stepped into the next boat.
"When the fireworks start, all of these boats will be full," Fed continued.
We stepped into a gondola where two teenage girls and a boy lounged on pillows. The boy got to his feet. He looked about thirteen. He had a cigarette in one hand and held out his other hand to help us cross. He winked and smiled at me. He asked me something in Italian.
"Mi dispiace," I apologized. "Non parle Italiano."
"Ah," he said with obvious pleasure. "You are American?"
"Canadian, actually." I put my arms out, steadying myself in the rocking gondola.
"Ah." He nodded and took a drag of his cigarette. He blew two streams of smoke from his nostrils. "You are very pretty. Come find us later."
I turned to Fed and saw that she was laughing. I made a face as I turned my back to the boy and stepped out of the gondola. "What is he, twelve? They start young here, don't they."
"Get used to it." She stepped down into a wobbly canoe filled with crushed plastic bottles, paper food wrappers, and empty beer bottles. "Local garbage bin. Watch your step."
"Gross." I wrinkled my nose at the smell of stale beer. We stepped into the next boat, which was full of people smoking and drinking. One of them got up to let us pass.
"So basically," I said, resuming our conversation, "I can talk to you, and a few of the boys. The rest have no English?"
"Well, they all have a little bit. We take it in school. But if they have no reason to practice, then it's easy to forget. You'll find that the best ones by far are myself, of course." She paused to take a little bow. "Then Karim, and Dante. Dante is crazy smart. He speaks German, Spanish, and French, too."
"Holy crap. Let me guess, he's funny, cute,
and taken, too."
"Yes, yes and no," she laughed. "He's single. Lots of girls like Dante. Lots."
"But not you?"
“Ha! No way. I've known Dante since I was born. Plus, he's..." She paused, and I strained to hear what she said.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
She turned back to me. "He's kind of... dangerous."
As we continued making our way across the boats, I pictured a dark, mysterious rock-star type. Maybe peppered with tattoos. I was about to say how intriguing she was making him sound when she waved her arms and shouted at a motor boat drifting in open water. “There they are,” she said to me.
Her friends waved and shouted. Dance music floated across the water toward us.
"I don’t think we can make that jump," I joked as I looked across the dark water.
Fed grinned. "Unless you really want to swim, they'll come and pick us up. We'll be able to watch the fireworks away from the crowd. It's awesome, you'll love it."
"Whose boat is that?" A nervous flutter had begun in my tummy.
"Dante's."
The dangerous one.
The sleek motorboat turned its nose toward us and floated stealthily across the water, making all other boats look like they were put together with popsicle sticks and glue. The music switched to a hip-hop remix of “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye. Two girls in the seats at the front of the boat squealed and got up to dance, reaching beckoning hands towards Fed. They were both slender and tanned. The blond one wore a bikini top and a short skirt and the other wore a tiny, skin-tight dress. They were both ridiculously beautiful. Hood ornaments. I pushed the thought away in shame. I didn't know these girls.
The motorboat slowly began to turn, like a sleepy sea monster. It drew alongside us and Fed grabbed the edge. The music was turned down.
Two of Fed's friends waited to help us board. A blond man dressed in a white fedora, slender as a straw, and a big man with a fierce black beard and topknot. I thought he must be Karim until I saw another man who dwarfed all. He was bald and was holding a water bottle in his paw of a hand. He looked deep in conversation with the driver.
