RAUM
An Italian Winter
Chapter 12 – Bridge
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Venice, Italy
The crowd was blocking me. Squeezed in a human sea of tourists I couldn't just push them away, as I was tempted to do. The only thing I managed to understand was that Bella was taking a ferry boat to the isle of Murano. By the time I arrived at the gate, the ferry boat had just left, and I could only wait for the next one. The few minutes of waiting were going to feel very, very long, and the idea that I could have jumped in the lagoon and swum behind her at full speed crossed my mind. Alas, it would have been an extraordinary way to expose me and my kind.
Without inhaling her delicious scent and listening to her silent mind, I wouldn't have recognized Bella in disguise. Her face was hidden by a colombina. It was a mask similar to my bauta, but it covered only her forehead, nose and upper cheeks. Her hair was a cascade of curls around her face. She didn't wear a full costume, but her mask was of the same color as her coat – a deep blue.
She reminded me of a nighttime sky. Somehow we matched. For a single day, the Carnival allowed us to become other people. For once, I was the light and she was the darkness. I was a star, and she was the only sky where I wanted to be.
The ride to Murano took about twenty exasperating minutes. The isle had been known for centuries all over the world for its glassmakers. The artisans still employed centuries-old techniques, crafting various artistic works and a particular kind of pendant, made of multicolored glass, called murrina; it was like a round mosaic. In front of a laboratory where an artist displayed his murrine, I spotted Bella, who was appreciatively looking at some millefiori. They were round pendants made by many little glass flowers molded together.
Look at her, I heard a man thinking. My attention was caught by an image of Bella displayed in the guy's mind. I'd imagined that there would be admiration in his thoughts, but that wasn't the case. She's distracted, he continued to muse. His attention was centered on her purse. She and I were at a few feet apart, but the crowd was still an obstacle between us. She was rummaging through her purse – I guessed she was going to retrieve her wallet and buy a souvenir. I had to block the thief and avoid a scene. But he was too close to her.
Following his thoughts, I slipped through the crowd. The thief was smart; he and Bella were close to a small alley. He could grab her wallet and push a few feet through the crowd. Once he got to the alley he was assured a swift escape.
I reached the corner between the alley and the main street, where she was still fidgeting with the contents of her purse.
He acted as I'd suspected. Bella's gasp of surprise, her scream when she understood what the thief had just done, and her struggle to try to reach him made me growl out in rage.
He got his first bruise slamming against my body as he turned the corner. He incurred new bruises when I grabbed his wrists.
I answered the profanities in his mind, taking pleasure in telling him what a piece of shit he was. I'd never gone after petty thieves; my targets were guilty of far worse crimes. But the temptation of the release that a quick drink could have provided was strong.
A frail mask saved the boy's life. I couldn't remove it and reveal myself.
Get a grip, I told myself. Get a grip and you'll be with Isabella in a few seconds.
He tried to struggle. He was well-built and looked at me in shock when he realized that he couldn't free himself from my grasp.
"How many times have you done this?" I hissed. His memory of an old woman who had fallen and hurt herself trying to prevent him from taking her purse gave me inspiration. "You don't respect anyone, don't you? Not even the elders." He gaped at me, wondering if I had read his thoughts. "If you try to steal anything again, I'll track you down. How badly do you want to live?"
I took Bella's wallet from his trembling hand and let him go. She stumbled into the alley, struggling to find a way through the people. She was so focused on following the thief that she almost didn't notice me. I raised a hand and stopped her, holding up her wallet.
Her air was coming out in ragged breaths through her lips. She stripped away her mask and looked up at me. I noticed that she was wearing eyeshadow; its deep blue shade matched the color of her mask. It enhanced the creamy color of her skin, giving it a translucent appearance.
I returned her wallet with a small bow.
"You blocked the thief!" she exclaimed in Italian, her lips stretching in a smile. She couldn't see that I was smiling back at her behind my mask.
I nodded.
"Thank you so much," she said in relief. "I've been so stupid."
I shook my head. Even through the gloves, I could sense her warmth as she took the wallet. Her mask slipped from her hand as she bowed her head to put the wallet back in her purse. I caught it before it could hit the ground.
She gave a small laugh. "I'm a disaster," she joked. Her cheeks turned pink as she looked at the mask in her hands. "Shall I put it back on?" she asked, her eyes playful.
I nodded enthusiastically. As the mask went back in place, I took a moment to enjoy the full view of Bella in disguise.
"May I offer you something to drink, as a little thank you?" she offered.
I pointed to my mask. For once, I didn't have to talk about any special diet to avoid eating or drinking human food.
"Oh, right, the mask..." she observed, defeated. "Couldn't you remove it?"
From under the cloak, I took out a notepad and a pen. I would pretend I was an Italian tourist visiting Venice.
"I can't remove the mask, but I would be honored to join you, miss," I quickly scribbled, handing her the note with another bow.
Her genuine laugh made my hidden smile widen. "It's a clever way to communicate," she observed. "Does the mask make speaking difficult?"
"It's part of the mystery. Just for today."
In my existence, I'd noticed that handwriting was a clear sign of a particular age. I'd changed my handwriting many times; otherwise, my style would have appeared odd for a high school or college student. With Isabella, I used the handwriting I felt was more mine – the most old-fashioned one. Just for a day, I could show her this one trait of mine. Would she think that I was an elderly man? Maybe I was a retired policeman, since I'd stopped the thief?
"Shall we go?" she offered. It was no wonder she was eager to leave the alley. As we got back to the main street, she glanced at the glass shop where she'd been looking at the jewels. I pointed to them.
"I was looking at the murrine," she explained, understanding my unspoken question.
"Seen anything interesting?" I wrote.
She indicated a small pendant with golden flowers on a deep blue background.
"It's very fine. The flowers look like little pieces of topaz."
"Topaz has become my favorite gemstone. I'm wondering about taking it or not...I don't want to remember the thief every time I look at the pendant."
"Take it. I hope you still have time to create new, happy memories of Venice."
She looked at me, with a new smile. "My train leaves this afternoon. Will it be enough time?"
I nodded, ready to use every minute to make the trip good for her.
She made up her mind. "Would you wait for me? It shouldn't take long."
After a few minutes, she came out of the glass shop, holding her new purchase. I reached out my hands, offering to help her with the necklace. Feeling her body so close to mine was an unexpected gift, when I'd been afraid I wouldn't see her for the entire weekend.
No mask or barrier between us was enough to hide what I felt when I was with her: they were the only moments when love seemed like something I could actually experience not only through books, movies and people's minds, but in my unbeating heart.
"I'm going back to the city center. Are you staying in Murano?" she asked.
I took my notepad. "I'm also going to the center."
"So, can we take the same ferry?" she wondered. "We can stop by the center and have something to drink. Or better, I'll have something to drink, since you can't. You know, you remind me of a friend of mine," she muttered.
I tilted my head, signaling my confusion.
"Nevermind."
As we meandered back to the ferry boat, it was as if I couldn't sense the crowd around us anymore. Being focused on Bella's silent mind was like entering a sanctuary. The chattering world was left out and became no more than a distant buzz.
"I would have been in trouble without your help," she told me. "You've been so brave and kind."
I shrugged.
"May I know the name of my savior?" she asked quietly.
"Not as long as I wear a mask, miss."
She gave me a sheepish smile. "I didn't want to be importune," she apologized.
I waved away her concern.
Once on the ferry boat, she took out her phone.
I just hope that she's not calling...I didn't manage to finish my thought. Well-hidden in my pocket, I sensed that my phone was vibrating. I stared at Bella's face as she listened to the phone ring; at first she pursed her lips, then she began to bite her nails.
She didn't say anything when she ended the call without getting an answer. Five minutes later, she tried again. I'm here, I wanted to scream.
"I'm calling a friend at home, but he's not picking up," she explained when the second call went without an answer. Her tone was clipped, and she kept glancing at the phone screen as if she were expecting a call at any moment.
Damn, Bella, what are you thinking? At least I could try to discover it. "Is there any problem?" I wrote.
She shrugged. "This friend told me he was going to stay home for the weekend. But he's not answering the phone, and I'm afraid something bad happened to him. He wasn't feeling well last time we spoke."
Damn. Was there anything I could do to fix it? "Don't let it ruin your trip, miss. I'm sure he will call as soon as he can," I scribbled. "What have you seen in Venice so far?"
"I'm spending just a couple of days here. Yesterday I went to the Rialto bridge and did some shopping, but I got lost I don't know how many times. What about you? Are you a tourist as well?"
"Yes. I'm spending the weekend here."
"I know that the city is full of tourists during the Carnival, but I wasn't expecting so many of them," she continued. "Yesterday afternoon, even walking from one street to another seemed almost impossible. So I ended up visiting Goldoni's house. At least it wasn't so crowded."
How many people would have put a visit to a writer's house among their main goals in such a short trip to Venice? "Goldoni?" I asked.
"Is it a strange choice?" she wondered. "He was from Venice and he's one of my favorite playwrights. Oddly enough, my favorite among his works is set in Tuscany, where I live."
Eager to know more, I motioned for her to go on.
"It's La locandiera," she continued. "It's the story of a strong, independent woman who runs her own inn. Many men want her, and she demonstrates she can make even the most misogynous one fall for her. But at the end she doesn't get swayed by her admirers."
Was this Locandiera Bella's story? Did she realize she was capable of making even a soulless creature fall for her? I let her know my thoughts through my written words.
"Does she resemble you?"
She laughed. "Oh, no!"
By the time we went back to the station, the sun was high. I caught her staring at me. Without thinking, I brought my hand to my face, fearing that there was something wrong. As if she'd read my mind, she smiled at me reassuringly. "I was just looking at your mask. Under the sun you sparkle like a star."
The sun was making her hair glow, full of copper highlights. Her skin had a pearly luminescence, and she'd enhanced her mouth with a veil of lipstick. With her full, velvety lips, had she just complimented me? With or without a mask, she could only see my disguise. Had she known the truth about me –God forbid– she would have discovered that nothing in me could be considered worthy of praise, especially compared to her. On the contrary, she was truly beautiful, inside and out. The more I knew about her, the more I was fascinated by her personality and caring attitude.
I couldn't resist reaching out a hand and lightly caressing her hair. She didn't flinch as I let my fingers quickly brush through her strands, but she averted her eyes and blushed, taking a little step back.
I took a deep breath, withdrawing my hand. What an extraordinary faux pas.
Shamefully I realized I'd tried to dazzle her, with some success up to that point. She had let me –an unknown masked man– escort her. We'd been in the middle of crowds, and she was safe, but…what a fool I was. I had made my masked self a suitor. Was I going to compete with my other self, the one who theoretically had to stay at home? What if it worked, and she preferred the masked man to me?
She didn't tell me off, as I probably deserved, but I noticed that she put more distance between us, making it clear that there were boundaries that weren't going to be crossed. Was it just the behavior of a prudent girl, properly raised, or dare I hope that it was also due to that other self, the Edward who was at home, to whom she was not indifferent?
The walk from the station to Piazza San Marco wasn't long, but the crowd made it very slow. I didn't mind, since I enjoyed every single step, basking in Bella's proximity. I didn't move any closer to her, and she seemed to appreciate it: I saw that she relaxed and smiled again. As we got closer to the Piazza, we headed toward a bridge made of white limestone, with an elaborate pattern. Its narrow windows had stone bars, too.
"Do you know its story?" she asked, pointing to it.
I didn't lie when I shook my head. I didn't care about what I had read in the tourist guide about that monument. I was sure that she had more interesting things to tell me about it.
"It's called Ponte dei Sospiri," she explained.
Bridge of Sighs, I silently translated. "A romantic name, indeed," I wrote. It was a trick: I wanted to know how much she actually knew about it.
She gave me an impish smile. "See? I also thought that at first, but its story is different." She pointed to the buildings connected by the bridge. "That is the Doge's Palace, and those were the prisons. The bridge was used to bring them to the interrogation room and then to their cells. Lord Byron imagined that prisoners would see their final view of Venice through the narrow windows, sighing because of their lost freedom. Hence the bridge's name."
"Do you wish that the would-be thief of this morning were brought here?" I joked.
She gave me a hearty laugh and shook her head. A gondola passed on the canal under the bridge then, and she stared at its occupants.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I wrote.
She shrugged. "It's just a stupid thing." She paused. "Can you keep a secret?"
I put a hand on my still heart, nodding my consent.
"According to a legend, lovers will be granted everlasting love if they kiss on a gondola at sunset under this bridge."
My hand hesitated on the notepad before writing. "I hope someday you'll find the right person who deserves to go with you there, miss," I told her. You deserve this and so much more, Bella, I added in my thoughts.
She looked again at the canal. "I don't know why I'm telling you these things. Maybe it's the mask...have you ever felt that sometimes opening up with a perfect stranger is much easier than with an old friend?"
I nodded. I couldn't speak out of my personal experience, but I'd seen it in people's thoughts.
"When I was a teenager I used to wonder about my ideal man," she went on. "One day, my best friend and I were talking about it, and we came up with a question: what if our ideal men existed and, when we met them, they didn't want us?"
I tilted my head. How could anyone have not wanted Bella, if she considered him her ideal man?
She gave a small chuckle. "I'm afraid I'm boring you to death," she apologized.
I rushed to dismiss her concern, encouraging her to go on.
She sighed. "I'd invited a friend on this trip, but he canceled at the last minute. He's the one who's not answering his phone today. I'm afraid it's not meant to be."
Under my mask, I cringed. I looked around, trying to regain my composure. The sun, a city of art, the gorgeous woman in front of me, the people around. This is life. I shut out every thought, every sound of the beating hearts, focusing only on hers. She'd accepted me into the most precious heart I'd ever met. Her heart had changed its rhythm many times because of me. I'd made her concerned, happy, surprised, and upset. But I couldn't give her anything other than a still, dead heart.
Life, I thought again. All my strength, everything I knew, all the things I had weren't enough to overcome the line between life and death. I was condemned to stay away from her.
I swallowed hard. "What if he's not here because he can't be, not because he doesn't want to?" I dared to write. Even behind her mask, I could see her sad expression. I wouldn't have been ashamed to kneel in front of her and plead for her forgiveness.
"I hope you're right," she murmured, her voice unsure.
I took some deep breaths, fidgeting with the pen on my notepad. I wanted to make it right: as long as I was with her, I was going to give her good memories. Could I make my wish come true? I would have given up everything else if, one day, many years from now, she could smile when thinking about what we'd shared. "Give him the chance to show you how he cares for you," I finally wrote.
Bella lifted her mask and quickly wiped a tear. "Sorry," she apologized.
Once again, I cursed my condition. I had to stay hidden and couldn't give her even the small comfort of a hug.
"It's just that...I'm afraid to lose him. As if I could ever lose someone who's never been mine." She chuckled bitterly. "He's so elusive. He always says that I don't have to worry about him. His skin is pale-white, ice-cold. He never eats or drinks. The last time I heard from him, he said he wasn't feeling well. What if he's ill?"
I flinched. What had I done? How could she possibly believe I was ill? My head was spinning, trying to figure out what I could tell her.
"Talk to him, miss. Like you're talking with me. He can't know your thoughts if you don't let him in."
She removed her mask and shook her head, freeing her hair from the mask's strap. Her tears had smudged the make-up; she cleaned the last traces of it and smiled at me. "Thank you for listening. I owe you a lot," she told me quietly.
"What about something to drink?" I offered.
Her smiled widened. "Yes, please."
"May I suggest where and what? Do you trust me?"
"Let's see: you saved me from a thief, listened to me and gave me good advice. Wouldn't I trust my guardian angel?"
I motioned for her to follow me. We walked along the canal, basking in the sunlight and in the light breeze coming from the sea. Could any of the humans around me sense that a vampire was walking among them?
I led her toward Calle Vallaresso and motioned to a bar. "Here we are."
She smiled her surprise. "Harry's Bar? I've heard about it, but I didn't know where it was exactly."
I opened the door and escorted her inside. I gave her a note: "I recommend a Bellini." Obviously I'd never tasted it, but according to the tourist guide, the white peach and Prosecco wine cocktail –named after a Venetian painter– was one of the best beverages in the world.
When she followed my advice and I saw her sipping the cocktail, I didn't envy the humans who could enjoy the pleasure of a fine drink. I envied those lucky white peaches that could pass her lips. My costume suddenly became suffocating when her tongue darted out, and she licked her lips.
"I feel like a VIP," she joked, smirking at me. "So many writers and artists have been in this bar. I've read that Ernest Hemingway spent a lot of time here and mentioned it in his book Across the River and Into the Trees."
"First Goldoni, now Hemingway. Would you like to be a famous writer?" I teased her.
"Let's see. I might write a story set in Harry's bar. The Mystery of the Golden Mask. Sounds good?"
I laughed, handing her a new note. "Sounds interesting. Tell me more about it."
She tapped her chin with her fingers. "I probably need more hints. But we have a brave knight, a damsel in distress, an evil thief, and a fascinating city in its bloom. It can work." Bella's phone chirped, signaling an incoming message. She almost jumped in her seat and eagerly retrieved the phone from her purse. But when she read the text, her smile faded, a look of disappointment on her face.
Had she hoped that I was the one calling? I felt bad again, seeing her so defeated.
"A colleague seems eager to remind me that we've a meeting tomorrow afternoon," she mumbled. "As if I could forget about such a boring thing." She looked at the time displayed on her phone. "My train leaves in an hour." Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a sweet smile. "I left my luggage at the station and I have to retrieve it. I'm afraid it's time to say goodbye."
If I hadn't been sure that I was going to see her again, and without the need to be in disguise, I wouldn't ever have found the resolve to let her go.
"It has been a pleasure, miss," I told her. "May I leave you a last note?"
"Of course."
I quickly scribbled my message, folded the sheet, and wrote on it: "Open it when you're alone on the train. Goodbye, miss."
She quirked an eyebrow, reading the warning I'd put on my note. Then she put the small piece of paper in her shirt pocket, close to her heart.
I considered offering to escort her to the station. The idea that she would travel alone, while I was going to drive at full speed to get back to our town in time for her return, was appalling. But I'd already been too pushy, let alone that I had to act as a perfect stranger, so I resigned to take my leave.
"Once again, thank you," she told me kindly.
If my heart were still beating, it would have skipped a beat when she leaned toward me and gave me a light hug. As she disappeared through the crowd, I followed her scent as a dog would have followed the trace of his lost owner.
I went back to the hotel, still hidden under my costume. With a sigh of relief, I got rid of it as soon as I entered my room in Mestre. Bella's train was due to arrive in the late evening; then she had to take a bus or a taxi to go back home. I mentally did the math, calculating how long I had to get home as soon as the sun went down.
Welcoming the twilight, I replayed in my mind the words I'd written for her in my last note:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
William Shakespeare
I glanced at a handful of leaflets that had been left in my room by the hotel staff. They featured some upcoming musical events, advertising hotels of the same chain in the cities where the events would be hosted. There had been a time when I enjoyed a good concert or a theater play. But that time was over. I was putting down the leaflets, when I had to stop in my tracks.
The name of my target was in front of me.
The Carnevale was over. The chance to be something else had lasted no more than a single day. I had to return to what I truly was: a freak, damned to hide from the light. A silly wooden puppet who had tried to be a real man. A relentless killer, ready to strike his final prey.
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Author's Notes
Many thanks (and a kiss under the Venetian bridge) to Camilla10, Marlena516, Corinne Tate, and Jmolly.
About the Bridge of Sighs; it's all legends: in reality, summary executions were over by the time the bridge was built, and the cells were occupied mostly by petty criminals. In addition, little could be seen from inside the Bridge, due to the stone bars covering the windows.
La Locandiera (The Innkeeper) by Carlo Goldoni is a great comedy. Don't miss it!
On h t t p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. com /2011/05/ writing-dialogue. html you can read an article about Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway.
I'm on Twitter (RaumTweet).
