Marry me (Hans Zimmer)


The months after Fanelli's passing were horrible for Veneziano...and for me, who had to watch him without being able to do anything about it.

He spent the first days at the house of those who were going to be his parents-in-law. He refused to leave them. I don't know which relationship they exactly had, if there were more meetings than that October day when he supposedly met them, but surely Veneziano did merits to become like a son to them. Then he returned with me, but I barely saw him. He spent a lot of time at the Vatican, with the Pope, talking...I don't know about what, surely about the other life and God's designs. I don't think he found much consolation in prayer. I heard him sob many nights when I walked by his bedroom. He was so bad our president gave me address of a psychologist and gave me the responsibility to convince him about seeing her. He accepted. He was so bad, so mentally weak, he would have said yes to the proposition of jumping off a bridge. The lady who cared for him said he was going great progress, he opened himself up immediately and explained to me that mourning divided into phases, and he was in the depression one, soon he would go to acceptance; all that bullshit. I don't know, but I had the impression he was stuck in that phase and he didn't move forward nor backwards. I didn't know what to say or do to make him feel better. I have never been good on these things.

It was expected that Veneziano would face the death of his beloved sooner or later, and he would suffer even if he insisted he would be prepared. But Fanelli passed too soon, much before they could live that happiness both of them dreamed about. She died too young. All those life projects together dissolved like smoke in barely an instant.

That is why it surprised me so much to know Veneziano would attend Venice's Carnival.

I found him at the garden close to dusk, with the mp3 in hand. Music had always brought him deep emotions; at that time it was one of his few reliefs. When I came out, he was gazing at the leaves of the orange trees we have, and he had a tiny smile on his face. He removed the earphones as soon as he saw me coming.

"I like Davide's song more and more each time I listen to it."

He was talking about Davide Cordaron, who was going to act in the opening show of Eurovision. We were the hosts, having won the previous year (729 points, and before the televoting we were fifth).

"I'm sure our friends will love it."

"I though this year we wouldn't..."

After what we went through, did we really want to join up to fool around? Would someone want to watch it?

"Everyone I've asked have told me they'd attend" Veneziano explained. "I want to do it too. Now more than ever we need music and being together. We've gone through some tough months, we've lost friends. But...but we've made peace with our people, we're alive and we're alright. Isn't that a reason to celebrate?"

"But are you sure, Veneziano?"

That song, Cordaro's...It was the one he planned to use to ask Fanelli to marry him in front of all Europe. He was supposed to jump into the stage during the last stanza, sing the last verse: «Part of you, you, part of me», and, without a ring, he would ask her the big question. Now that she was not there anymore, would he really attend the show? Would he leave that song?

I saw my brother's eyes fill with tears. He didn't reply.

"Same with the Carnival. Isn't it too soon for...?"

Finally, he looked at me and smiled. I sighed. I sat by his side.

"I don't want you to force yourself to act happy all the time. If you want to lock yourself up at home, do it. Screw everyone. It'll be just one year. Or two. Or three. As many as you need."

"I like the Carnival. It is the moment to make pretty costumes. People from all around the world come to see it. I've been doing it for so long. And Eurovision, we haven't won in a lot of time. I like both things. And you know they are not just celebrations."

"True...They are not just celebrations..."

"You know, fratello?"

"What?"

"I've been seeing Bergoglio, apart from the psychologist the prez sent me to. Both have helped me a lot. Even if they have different ideas of what happens when a person dies, I've noticed they agree on something. They don't leave. Not completely. Remember what they said when our soldiers died? Those who give their blood for their motherland make it big..."

"Yes, but that's from the times of..."

"Well...It is...something like that. Carlotta died for me. Not only that. She was born from me. She was born in my land. And she, like all people from my land, helped me become what I am today. Now she is back to me. Now...she rests in the ground forever. It seems strange, but I feel like she was still here, with me. Much closer than if she was sat where you are now. Into my heart. I think...She's never leaving. We'll never be apart. I'll be with her for the rest of my life and she'll be as merry and pretty as I met her."

He lowered his head, sniffing. Then he looked at me with a dumb smile.

"It doesn't have much sense, does it?"

I shook my head.

"No, Feliciano. I understand perfectly."

I placed a hand on his leg.

"You're right. No one ever leaves. As many centuries pass. There is always something which remains. Something not even all movements in the world, armed to the teeth, can erase. Call it love, call it link person-country..."

"Love is fine. Yes."

"Right. Love. Love never goes away."

"That's right. That's why I want to go there and sing, laugh and dance. For her."

"Let's do it then, shit. You and I will go to the Carnival and have a terrific time. And I'll make sure this year's show is unforgettable. See, they'll be dead jealous. They won't want to go to sleep!"

I looked for his hand and squeezed it with a smile. Veneziano smiled too, but with an absent smile. I saw him look back to the leaved of the orange tree, which shook with the wind. The light of the sunset filtered through them. He smiled much beyond me. Much beyond our house.