That Winter in Venice

by Ciji Ware

  “Besides solving the obvious problem of the palazzo potentially flooding even more than it has, there are the Venetian building and permitting officials I’ve been dealing with,” Allegra explained. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, indicating the manner in which much of the business between entrepreneurs and government officials was often conducted in Italy.

  Jack offered Serena’s mentor a nod of understanding.

  “I have a few other friends of mine who know about such things,” he said obliquely. “I’ll find out what they can do to quiet the barking dogs. Can you share with me the names and titles of these officials who’ve been pestering you?” he asked with a wink.

  “Of course,” Allegra replied and directed her assistant to print out a list with the appropriate contact information.

  Jack took a last sip of his coffee and set his cup on the desk while Allegra scanned the list that her assistant handed to her and passed it over to him.

  “Well,” he said, rising to his feet and giving Serena’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I’d better be off and meet with Maurizio and Stefano, who insist they have ‘friends in high places.’”

  “Let’s just hope they do,” Serena said fervently.

  Jack spent the next two days in Venice skipping the concluding sessions of the Global Rising Waters Conference, and instead, joined Maurizio Pigati surveying the site, along with a young, volunteer Italian engineer and contractor in his mid-thirties named Stefano Fabrini that he’d also met on the trip out to see the MOSE gates. Jack disguised a smile when he met up with the younger man who was the epitome of a sexy Italian. Of medium height, broad-shouldered, with a muscular physique, aquiline nose, a full head of dark blond hair, the charismatic Signor Fabrini had a habit of whistling at every half-way attractive female they encountered on the way to the palazzo.

  Both Stefano and Maurizio Pigati were graduates of the same polytechnic college—though fifteen years apart. The Venetians had swiftly gathered a few additional colleagues to analyze the seepage problem and seek ways to prevent any more water leaking into the building.

  Meanwhile, Jack figured the best way to extend his stay in Venice in order to help with the projects—to say nothing of staying close to Serena—was to persuade his editor, John Reynolds, to allow him to file a story about getting his hands dirty in the actual work of trying to remedy the results of storm surge in this most celebrated of water-locked cities.

  In his email to his boss, he emphasized the pressing need to get the job done in time for Carnival. To his amazement and pleasure, he not only received a thumbs-up from Reynolds to follow developments at the palazzo, but also was granted two extra days to report and update on a story he’d done two years earlier about the construction of the massive MOSE Project.

  “I agree,” Jack had answered his editor. “Both pieces form perfect, cautionary tales for New Orleans, given the sorry tale of New Orleans officials—both corrupt and legitimate—who have squabbled for decades over how best to strengthen our own city’s defenses against the next big storm surge.”

  Encouraged by Reynolds’ positive response, Jack dug out of his electronic files an email he’d sent his boss on the eve of his departure from New Orleans for the conference. He reminded his editor of the startling parallels between the two cities with hopes that Reynolds might even assign him additional stories. Inhaling a deep breath, he pushed the Send key and sent a silent prayer into cyberspace that his marshaling these facts once again would keep him in Italy a while longer.

  As I wrote in an earlier emailed memo before I left NOLA, Venice and New Orleans both have:

  * World-renown annual Mardi Gras/Carnival celebrations

  * Frequent Hurricanes/Acqua Alta

  * Wetlands and barrier islands—damaged and/or disappearing

  * Serious threats of rising water drowning both cities within 50-100 years

  * Gigantic flood containment projects: levees, canals/mobile gates

  * History of engineering decisions influenced by “special interests”

  * Significant water traffic and commerce in two key national seaports causing significant environmental damage

  * Historic health threats: plague/yellow fever

  * Significant crime and reputations for crooked police officers

  * History of high-level governmental corruption and graft (both city Mayors recently indicted for nefarious deeds)

  * Major cathedrals/basilicas: St. Marks/St Louis

  * Catholicism as a leading religious and cultural factor

  * Unique boats: gondolas/pirogues

  * Love of music: opera/jazz

  * Famous musicians: Vivaldi/Armstrong, etc.

  * Noteworthy cuisines: i.e. Gumbo/Pasta

  * Tourist meccas threatened by overwhelming numbers of visitors

  * Similar “Let the Good Times Roll” revelry lifestyles

  * Bottom line: Irreplaceable cultures...

  Now that I’m actually here in Venice, I’m more convinced than ever that some of the above might provide a new angle for our 10th anniversary coverage, or at least provide a sidebar or two? Something to think about, anyway.

  Cheers,

  Jack

  John Reynolds’ answer by way of a phone text told Jack he’d pushed his editor about as far as he could.

  All right, already, Durand! You made your case!

  Spend some extra time looking into the match-ups

  you mentioned. I’ll talk to the brass about our

  anniversary coverage and pass along your list,

  but no promises. They’re already considering

  alternatives and so I’ll have to get back to you

  about how they intend to deal with August 29th

  this year.

  The good news was that Jack’s two-day reprieve had been increased to two more weeks to research the leaking palazzo and the MOSE gates stories, as well as nose around on subjects that related directly to catastrophic flooding and corruption in both cities.

  ... but don’t screw around, Jackie Boy... and

  get me some decent photos, capisce? I want

  to see people, not just buildings and machines.

  Make these human stories, got it?

  Jack’s heart went into overdrive at earning Reynolds’ okay to stay on in Venice another two weeks! He wrote back to his boss that he’d look more deeply into the history of the thirty-year delay getting the Venetian floodgates operational and the most recent hiccup involving the arrest of the Mayor of Venice on charges of malfeasance in office. He hastened to assure his editor that he’d also dive into the hands-on efforts of the local volunteer Italian experts to stem the liquid seepage at the palazzo in the lead up to the ball and send along pictures to document their efforts.

  There was a third reason Jack rejoiced that he was staying on in Venice. His antennae had instantly become aware of building engineer Stefano Fabrini’s obvious appreciation of the “lady bosses” with whom his convention colleagues were now working on this pro bono project. It was especially apparent that whenever the two women arrived on the scene, Stefano’s practiced flirtations went into high gear.

  As for Jack, any niggling thoughts that he should do the honorable thing and distance himself from Serena until he’d officially broken off with Lauren seemed ridiculous. A day after the project began, Jack managed to get Maurizio alone and grilled him about Fabrini, who seemed particularly drawn to Allegra’s American assistant.

  “Oh, Stefano fancies himself a bit of a charming Casanova,” chortled Maurizio. “You know the kind. He passionately loves the signorina he’s with... until someone else catches his roving eye. Mrs. Benedetti recognizes the type, I’m sure.” Maurizio, a man Jack judged was in his early fifties, shrugged and smiled knowingly. “I was exactly the same way at his age, which is why my sposa and I don’t quite make the perfect, romantic couple these days, capisci?”

  Later that afternoon, after spending the day in waist-high rubber waders working alongsi
de Stefano in the lower floors of the leaky palazzo, Jack texted the news to Serena that he’d be in Venice another two weeks and that his editor needed professional-quality photos to go with both newspaper stories.

  Serena texted back that she and Allegra had made a short but choppy trip across the water to Fortuny’s showroom on the Island of Giudecca to secure a few more needed bolts of luxurious silks and velvets. On the trip over, Allegra had assured that her staff photographer would be glad to contribute images to Jack’s newspaper. Problem solved.

  Then the words Fortuny’s showroom is heavenly! next appeared in the message app on his cellphone.

  Can’t wait to take these ideas back to

  Antonelli’s! And btw: SO happy you can stay

  2 weeks!! Dinner 10p.m. at Trattoria S. Tomà?

  Si, bella... he texted in return, relieved to see that Stefano had not persuaded her to have dinner with him, as he suspected he might have by now under the guise of discussing problems at the palazzo.

  At their late supper that evening, Serena again expressed her pleasure that his newspaper assignments would prolong his stay in Venice.

  “It’s fantastic you’ll be here a while longer!” she enthused. “Maybe you can drag out your research and interviews long enough to be my date for the ball?” she added with a teasing but hopeful smile, her fork full of risotto half way to her mouth.

  “Well, at the rate we’re going, you never know,” he replied, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “So far, Maurizio can’t seem to pin down those government officials who were giving Allegra such a rough time. But at least, we’ve finally determined where the water’s seeping in.”

  “Did Stefano and Maurizio figure out the best way for the construction workers to keep it from filling the lower floors whenever a heavy tide rolls in?”

  “Not yet,” Jack admitted. “There are all sorts of sealants on the market these days, but this is an historic building, so they’ll have to get approval from the building’s owners and the Powers-That-Be before they actually apply anything.”

  Serena gave a small, worried moan while she chewed. “Venice could be underwater by the time we locate the owners in Morocco and those Venetian officials make any decisions.”

  Jack nodded. “And, our guys also have to consider what may happen if we get another five or six inches of snow or rain right before the ball.”

  “I just hope your friends can figure it out in time,” she responded with an anxious frown. “I haven’t dared tell my mother I’m working in a city where I haven’t taken off my rubber boots a single day! She might take to drink again if she knew about the floodwaters we’ve had to wade through all this time,” she added with a smile, though Jack could see she was only half-joking. Then she asked, “By the way, what do you hear about your sister Sylvia?”

  “She’s still in rehab, but my mother says that, alone, is good sign.”

  “It is,” Serena said, her encouraging smile filling him with hope.

  “I guess it was a smart move that I didn’t try to ride to the rescue,” Jack acknowledged ruefully. “I’ve got you to thank for that.”

  Serena ducked her head and then replied, “Fingers crossed Sylvia will see there’s so much more to life staying sober. As for Sarah Kingsbury Antonelli,” she added with a smile, “I just tell her everything here is just fine—and it is, except for the endless snow. Thank heavens she doesn’t use Google to check on the weather.”

  “Speaking of the Kingsburys,” Jack mused. “I should get in touch with King and ask him if he has any experience with sealants used in historic buildings.”

  “Oh, please do... that would be great!” Serena replied. “After all, I’ve sort of worked it out and I think my mother and King’s mother, Antoinette, are second cousins, one removed, or something like that—which probably makes your best friend King and me third cousins.”

  Well,” Jack replied, raising his glass of wine. “This makes... what? Serendipity number one thousand?”

  Serena smiled in recognition of their on-going joke. Then she grew pensive.

  “Too bad King Duvallon isn’t here right now,” she said, staring into her wine glass. “After the storm, he must have dealt with a lot of water damage in those old buildings.” She looked up at Jack with an eager nod. “Yes, do please call him soon,” she repeated.

  The next day, Jack sent a lengthy email to King describing the situation in the lower floors of the water-logged palazzo and asking the historic preservationist for recommendations about products that would both be effective in keeping water out and, hopefully, pass muster with the local Italian permitting authorities. Within an hour of receiving Jack’s electronic SOS, King replied that it would take some research to determine if conditions in Venice differed in significant ways from the work he’d done in New Orleans, but he’d get back to him as soon as he’d gathered any useful information.

  Every day during Jack’s extended stay in Venice, he and Serena met late in the evening after their hard days’ work, rendezvousing at various small trattorias that Jack knew. Their action-packed days spent working on their respective projects were heightened by nights filled with romantic walks beside the canals and through snow-covered squares toward their ultimate destination—a golden, silk draped bed and the wonder of perfectly matched passion that each, now, acknowledged they urgently felt for the other. Every night, Jack set his cellphone alarm to rouse him before sunrise from a deep sleep with his arms around Serena. And each morning, he rose swiftly, dressed for the cold, and silently padded the one flight downstairs, slipping out from the guesthouse unnoticed.

  Yet, simmering just below the surface, Jack sensed their mutual recognition that not only were they falling in love while the clock was ticking in the shadow of his imminent departure, but that the ghost of Lauren Hilbert had not entirely disappeared for either one of them. Even so, neither had the heart—nor the courage—to broach the subject and spoil the perfection of the beautiful snow bubble that had encased their limited time together.

  Then, during the second week of Jack’s lengthened assignment in Venice, he suddenly confronted some additional and very disturbing parallels between La Serenissima and New Orleans that he couldn’t ignore in the way he had the unfinished business with Lauren.

  Following several interviews with reluctant subjects about the decades of delays associated with the mammoth MOSE project in the Venice Lagoon, Jack spent an afternoon reading online about the June, 2014 indictment of the Mayor of Venice. The not-so-Honorable Giorgio Orsoni and several cronies had been accused of bribery and diverting public monies linked to the construction of the enormous metal barriers designed to prevent the mayor’s own city from flooding.

  Jack’s eyes widened in amazement when he read that an alleged 34 million euros in pay-offs had supposedly been given to certain favorite contractors who also had been “supporters” in Orsini’s latest re-election campaign.

  Do these politicians never learn? Jack thought with disgust, recalling the trial of New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin on charges of corruption, post-Katrina. In Nagin’s case, the accusations of public malfeasance resulted in a conviction that same year—in 2014—of a jail sentence of ten years in Federal prison on twenty felony counts, including bribery, wire fraud, and tax evasion, among other crimes.

  Jack quickly pulled up an online account of the Nagin trial as a sinking feeling invaded the pit of his stomach. He scrolled through the material, sensing that here was a crucial aspect to the New Orleans part of the story he’d pitched to his editor. With an increasing sense of dread, he confronted a line of inquiry he’d yet to thoroughly explore regarding the corruption-riddled construction delays and under-engineering of projects during many, long decades in his own water-rimmed city.

  And if I do explore it, what if it leads right back to my own doorstep?

  Could the tortured tale of the bribery of Venetian government, construction, and engineering officials connected to the Venetian MOSE project mirror some of the
Big Easy’s efforts to keep rising waters at bay? When it came to committing malfeasance and fraud, how similar to the Italians’ behavior was that of NOLA’s bureaucrats, administrators, levee board “watchdogs,” and certain members of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers?

  What if digging into the long history of the failure of structures designed to keep Gulf and river waters out of his hometown could be laid at the feet of those who made the crooked deals for under-engineered projects—or failed to report those who did?

  Uncle Jacques Durand worked as an engineer in the Corps office during those years... and he has ducked every question I’ve ever asked him about it!

  And then there was Jack’s Uncle Vincent and the levee board.

  Hoping against hope his reporter’s instincts were wrong, he quickly searched his laptop computer for a particular file of his own and stared at the glowing screen.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jack scanned through the last section of his Pulitzer-Prize-winning story written three years before Hurricane Katrina had changed New Orleans forever.

  Holy shit! This is unbelievable! My subconscious must have written this stuff...

  He scrolled back to the top of the file and carefully re-read, paragraph by paragraph, his bylined, multi-part article that had appeared in the Times-Picayune eerily predicting a disastrous storm that unfolded almost exactly as he’d forecasted it would. However, it was his own conclusions at the end of the piece that gripped him with a sense of foreboding unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  The Big Money involved in huge state and federal construction projects often spawn Big Corruption. Add to this the minor foot soldiers in public service that might stand in the way of the tsunami-like wave that Big Money channels into the building of levees and canals.

  The views and opinions—and even solid engineering facts—known by these underlings are often swept aside by the incoming tide of irresistible greed on the part of certain corporate interests, along with government officials who control these subordinates’ professional futures.