17. From the Ground Up
Date Written: February 6, 2019
Date Posted: June 29, 2019
Characters: Veneziano
Summary: Francesco, a newly widowed man, contemplated the future of his people as they settle the marshy lagoons east of the mainland. Along the way, he meets a small child who isn't as innocent as he appears.
Notes: Basically, Venice was formed when barbarians began flooding into the mainland after the Romano Empire fell, which forced many Italians to disperse across the waters. Soon, those who settled into the marshy lagoons began to make permanent homes in the lagoons, but there was still the problem of flooding and trying to create permanent homes. So, they drove wooden stakes in the ground and began to build from there. These wooden stakes would be the reason why Venice still stands today—albeit, it is slowly sinking. When exposed to the salty water of the Adriatic, the wood hardened and rivaled the strength of that of concrete. However, if the wooden stakes were to be uncovered by the water, bacteria would begin to eat away and cause mold. Venice officially came to life on March 25, 421 A.D.
When Francesco, a newly widowed man, followed his neighbors to the marshy lagoons east of his ancestral lands, he knew that settling into the new environment would be a trying experience. Many years he had lived, but there was nothing more tiring or horrifying as to flee his precious lands and create a new life for himself. It would take courage. Furthermore, Francesco knew that it would take a lot of hard work and dedication in order to produce a suitable settlement.
What he didn't expect, however, was the presence of a little boy who happened to spring out of nowhere.
The child was strange—almost eerily so—but by no means a bother. Upon Francesco and his brethren's arrival, the small child had taken it upon himself to greet them happily with a broad smile on his fattened cheeks. So enamored with the boy, most seemed to almost dismiss the idea that the boy had spoken of no parents or guardians. The young child couldn't have been older than four, but his mannerisms and speech belied a nature that seemed to be far older than Francesco.
Perhaps it was the strange way the boy behaved—like the mannerisms and speech that Francesco had noticed—or perhaps it was the strange feeling that perhaps...perhaps did the boy didn't need to have parents. For a newly widowed man, he found himself disgusted that he could have thought of such a thing. Children were meant to be protected, not to be turned out into the wayside.
When Francesco gathered the courage—for shame, why should he have to ask in the first place, he was the adult—to ask the child about his guardians, he found himself saddened into speechlessness. The child had spoken of an aged grandfather who died years ago, an older brother who he had never met, and several other distant relations who treated the young child with malicious intent.
Concerned, Francesco tried to pry more information from the child, but found his attempts cleverly evaded and blocked by the aforementioned child.
At any other time, Francesco would have pushed the matter further, but there were more pressing matters to be addressed first.
The issue?
The barbarians from the north were busy pressing upon Francesco's ancestral lands. All of them, his neighbors and himself, had to escape the increasing boldness of the barbaric invaders. Luckily, the geographical features of their settlements on the lagoon favored the mainland natives. Despite their being a menace on land, the barbarians had been cowed by the waters of their new home.
It was a small triumph in the face of adversity that surely rivaled David's Goliath.
Francesco and his people had escaped invasion, but how were they to survive their new home when everything was covered in water?
"Sir, what are you doing?" The young child tugged at Francesco's trousers. His eyes, huge and inquisitive, looked up at the widow beseechingly.
There was a sort of energy within the child, something that the older man couldn't explain. It seemed like the atmosphere thrummed with some sort of charged current, like the air after lightning bolts lit the sky.
The child, for some strange reason, was rocking back and forth on his feet. He was both excited and apprehensive about something.
Francesco worried for the boy.
However, that didn't stop the old man from smiling indulgently at the small child and hoisting him into his sun baked arms.
"We are going to make our home stronger, little one," the older man said in reply. He gestured to the team of men who were driving stakes into the marshy land. "We can't possibly have a city that can't stand, can we?"
The young child, serious and all too out of place on his face, looked at all the construction. His deep brown eyes followed the team of workers who were assigned an assortment of jobs—all of them were focused on making a city that could hopefully withstand the waters of the lagoons.
"No, we cannot." The boy agreed. "B-but—"
The old man turned to him again, a look of fond exasperation smoothing his features as he took in the sight of the child.
The child's eyes were rapidly filling with tears; his chubby hands clutched the cloth of the man's shirt. As a (former) father, he knew that comfort and quiet was best needed. The child seemed to be distressed by something that Francesco couldn't quite place.
Francesco didn't like seeing the boy so unsure of himself.
Finally, the child looked up at Francesco while tears streamed down his cheeks. "What will happen when the invasions stop? What then? Will you leave this place?" His breath hitched. "Will you leave me?"
For a moment, Francesco could only gape in surprise at the young one's whispered question. How did a young child with unmarked innocence know about the invasions? When the boy seemed to think that Francesco was about to confirm his fears, he tried to squirm away from Francesco's warm embrace.
The old man chuckled.
"Little one, you have nothing to fear. Many of us would rather make our home among the fish than bow down to the invaders from the north."
A spark of hope ignited within the deep depths of the boy's eyes.
"Really? You won't leave?"
The words tumbled out of his mouth without much consent from the old man's rational mind. "Your home is with the rest of us, little one."
"My home…" Chubby fingers pulled the boy's body closer to the older man's warmth and safety. "...is your home?"
There was no hesitation.
"This place is now our home."
The small child's lips quirked up at that before Francesco set him down. Immediately, the child trotted away to chat with some of the men who were busy measuring the stakes.
The sounds of laughter and jokes could be heard as the day slowly began easing into the cool shadows of early evening.
Yes, the old man thought. Venice would surely be a sanctuary for the refugees of today's invasions and the home for their descendants for generations to come.