ventisette
Since they had first exchanged introductions at the window, a week of tension had passed between Lucia and Alex. Their verbal tussles. The stares. The covert window-checking. The Verdi concerto and the film. The incident at the comune . It had all fixed a low-grade anxious tension in Lucia’s stomach.
I can’t believe I was ready to go over there and offer a peace treaty!
She had noted his daily patterns, and knew when he would appear. There were his ‘breakfast runs’ between eight-thirty and nine o’clock at night and his supermarket trips between six and seven in the morning, but there was something she couldn’t work out.
The neat modest posy of flowers he had taken somewhere last Thursday played on Lucia’s mind. Last Thursday . . .
Who were they for? Where did he take them? Is this an ‘every Thursday’ pattern?
That Thursday morning, after their exchange at the comune the previous day, Lucia decided she wanted some answers. So, she took both the forces of the universe and the school’s timetable into her own hands.
‘Ah, Grazie , Stefano. Buongiorno !’ Lucia caught Stefano as he entered the school and embraced him quickly. Her eyes practically never left La Commedia’s front door. ‘Here are your notes for today’s lessons. Today it’s menù vocabulary and formal exchanges, followed by a listening task on the history of Carnevale.’
He nodded, flipping through the materials Lucia had prepared for him. ‘ Ottimo . As usual.’ His eyes scanned the ground floor, searching for Francesco.
Noting this, Lucia stifled a smile. ‘Mariella and Checco are upstairs arranging the space for you.’
He nodded. ‘How are you healing after the collapse?’ He placed a gentle reassuring hand on hers.
‘Apart from what’s left of the bruise, I’m fine.’ Lucia watched as his gaze moved to her forehead.
They were interrupted by Mariella and Francesco’s arrival down the spiral staircase, Mariella carrying a few books and Francesco holding Foscari and a pitcher of water for the drink station at the welcome desk.
‘ Buongiorno , Stefano!’ Mariella trilled. ‘ Che bello vederti stamattina .’
‘Yes. Stefano has agreed to take my lessons this morning as I have plans.’ Lucia craned her neck to see past a group of students that had gathered at the front of the school. ‘I think.’
Francesco’s eyebrow rose suspiciously. ‘And what plans—?’
Lucia’s entire body suddenly became rigid and she froze to the spot.
Movement across the street caught their attention. Dressed in a long tan trench coat, with matching brown shoes and flat cap, Alex stepped out onto Calle del Leone. Locking the door to La Commedia behind him, he rattled the wrought-iron latch to ensure it was secure. He took a cursory look over his right shoulder as he dropped the large decorative key into his coat pocket. In his other hand he held a bunch of white flowers with long, full petals.
You’re a man of habit, aren’t you, Alex? Every Thursday with the flowers.
Lucia took a step closer to the window, and this caught Alex’s attention. Their eyes locked for a moment through the glass and his all-encompassing gaze swallowed her whole. But his stare was lifeless and empty. Nothing flickered in his eyes, yet it was intoxicating.
It seemed to Lucia as though time stood still – then Alex looked away, and without further acknowledgement of Lucia or her colleagues, he turned on his heel and set off up the calle . Weaving seamlessly between the other pedestrians, he disappeared into the sea of people ahead.
‘I’m going to follow him,’ Lucia announced.
Francesco piped up. ‘ SCUSAMI ?!’
‘Because I have to face him next Wednesday at the comune . I know nothing about him. This way I might get a better sense of who he is and what I’m up against!’ She bolted to the small office space behind the welcome desk and reappeared a moment later, fumbling with the ornate black buttons on her coat. ‘ Grazie , Stefano!’ she said again, now wrapping a jade-green scarf around her neck. With that she ran from the school, bag over her good shoulder, as quickly as she could.
‘This won’t end well, will it?’ Francesco said, sighing.
‘We’re beyond that now. The past month has finally hit her,’ Mariella said, staring blankly through the front window. ‘Lucia’s come undone.’
Alex was nowhere to be seen as Lucia started down Calle del Leone. She darted between passers-by, ducking and weaving with increasing frustration as she looked for his flat cap over the heads of the crowd.
Just as she neared the intersection where three calli merged into a small campo she stopped and sighed loudly. This earned the attention of an elderly gentleman and his dog, so Lucia plucked her sunglasses and beret from her bag and put them on. She most certainly didn’t want or need an audience for this.
She flicked her head to the side to help gather her ponytail over her shoulder, and that’s when she spotted it – the head of a white-petaled flower.
She bent down to pick it up and was surprised to find it was made of paper: the finest, most delicate tissue. She held it aloft and watched as the petals danced in the breeze.
Her eyes suddenly focused on the calle that lay ahead.
To the water . . .
She had nothing to lose, so with renewed pace she set off once more. But between the narrowing path and bars either side, both filled to the brim with locals seeking their morning cappuccini , there was no sign of Alex.
There was, however, the Grand Canal.
It spread before her like a tormenting expanse of blue-green. The ultimate place to escape. Alex could literally have been anywhere.
Tucking the flower in her coat pocket, she stopped and looked around. To her left the rio was dotted with tourists making their way along the water, cameras and phones poised to capture the Ponte di Rialto at just the right angle in the morning sun. To her right there was a mass of people gathered by the Rialto fermata , most waiting patiently for the arrival of the vaporetto , tickets in hand.
A pair of mothers with similar-looking strollers stood with their backs to Lucia, and spotting them, Lucia stilled. Even at a distance of two or three short blocks, she could see a familiar flat cap bobbing just ahead of them.
Her heart flipped, then dropped.
Alex was either waiting for someone to arrive at the fermata via vaporetto , or he would be catching one. The gathered crowd would take a decent chunk of space on the vessel, which would provide cover should she also have to jump on board. Otherwise, she would linger to see who it was he was waiting to meet. She nodded to herself.
Cautiously, keeping Alex in sight, she slunk along the front of the buildings which lined the two blocks ahead of her, eventually tucking herself behind a potted pine by a hotel entrance just as the unmistakable sound of an approaching vaporetto droned its way across the water.
This is it.
It took a few moments for the vaporetto to moor and for the exiting passengers to disembark. The mass of people waiting at the fermata seemed to swell, growing with purpose as they shuffled along the deck to find a seat on the craft. This included Alex.
At a comfortable distance, Lucia tucked herself onto the end of the queue, all the while keeping an eye on Alex, who had decided to perch by the railing on the port side. Lucia scanned her monthly travel pass and scurried along the pull-out bridge, eventually finding a nook behind the cabin on the stern.
From there, Lucia was able to rise on her toes to peek through the cabin’s windows and keep an eye on Alex. Short of him walking to the rear of the vaporetto , he’d never know she was there.
Just as the motor kicked back into gear and the vaporetto jutted forward in the water, Lucia sent a quick text to Francesco. Checco, I’ve just left Rialto. Not sure where I will land. Just wanted you to know.
After a few minutes, his reply arrived: Is this your way of telling me you’ve jumped off the bridge? Because if it is, the bottom of the lagoon is where you will land . It took a few seconds, but then he added, That was insensitive. Sorry .
But Lucia was too distracted by watching Alex to reply.
He tended to his bouquet of flowers as if it were a baby. Precious and delicate. Lucia let her hand dip into her pocket, and she was relieved when her fingertips brushed the silken texture of the petals.
Their journey continued, and Alex disembarked at Murano, thankfully with a sea of tourists in tow who did well to hide Lucia’s presence.
There were two twists, however, that Lucia had not anticipated. The first was that Alex would board a connecting vaporetto to extend his journey. And the second was that his destination was il Cimitero di San Michele.
The cemetery island.