The Chins were astute and appreciative observers, noticing details and identifying architectural styles. They admired buildings as different as the Palazzo Giovanelli, the Fondaco dei Turchi, and the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini.
The Chins saved their greatest enthusiasm, however, for the Ca’ d’Oro.
‘Absolutely exquisite,’ Frank said.
‘It looks just like lace,’ his wife cried.
‘Very nice,’ Eugene observed. ‘But you said it’s called “House of Gold”, Urbino. I don’t see any gold.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ Frank said. ‘You have to imagine it, Eugene. It was covered in gold leaf, wasn’t it, Urbino? I remember reading it in my guidebook.’
‘Yes, gold leaf – and vermilion and ultramarine.’
A yellow and orange ambulance came racing up the Canal and pulled into the Santa Sofia traghetto stop. Three men in bright orange jumpsuits hurried out with a stretcher and rushed across the square. Betty seemed mesmerized.
‘Do boats do everything here?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Urbino said. ‘We have garbage boats and delivery boats and fireboats and police boats – and floating hearses. You name it.’
‘Fascinating.’
A few minutes later, the water taxi arrived at the Chins’ hotel on the embankment by the Rialto Bridge. Urbino oversaw the transfer of their bags to the hotel porter, and he and Eugene went inside with them for a few minutes to see that everything was in order. The small group parted with the hope that they would see each other soon.
Urbino waited for Eugene in the Dandolo bar of the Danieli. Eugene had gone up to his suite to see to the disposition of his bags and to telephone his wife May-Foy back in New Orleans.
When Eugene came down, surrounded by the scent of freshly applied cologne and his face looking even redder than usual as if from a vigorous scrubbing, they ordered a bottle of champagne and two plates of small sandwiches.
‘I’ve got two balconies this time, you devil! Thank you. I have a view of the whole bay, though you can’t see too much today with the rain. Everything looks gray.’
The waiter opened the champagne and poured out glasses for them. Eugene held up his glass. ‘To old times and new times! To friends and family!’
He drank down his champagne quickly, and then poured himself another glass before the waiter could come over. ‘Poor May-Foy. Wish she was here with us. Don’t know why that gal always wants to stick in the house. She’d love it here. All this pink marble and stained glass – and look at those glass chandeliers! She’s missin’ out on things as usual. That’s why I have to bring as much back for her as I can.’
Eugene had been relentless in his buying on his previous trip to Italy, but most of what he had bought had been with May-Foy in mind.
Eugene wolfed down most of his tramezzini, washing them down with champagne. ‘So, where do we start, partner?’ He reached into the pocket of his corduroy sports jacket and took out a piece of paper. ‘I’ve written down everything we did last time, though I bet I missed a lot of things. Got out a guide book to jog my memory.’
Ten years ago, Urbino had gladly braved the heat and crowds of an August to show Eugene all the major sights.
‘I want to see everything all over again, plus some new things. I want to hit the casino this time around. And I keep thinkin’ of that church that was dark enough for bats. I guess there’s no chance it’s goin’ to be anything but darker this time of year. What’s it called? The one plastered all over with mosaics. I want to see the horses up close this time.’
‘The Basilica San Marco.’
‘Are you sure? Thought it had a different name. And then there’s that place that’s got the biggest paintin’ in the world. Called “Paradise”, right? And I want to go to that palace with its top chopped off, the one with all the weird pictures. Some rich American lady owned it. Where we saw that drowned girl. No way is either of us goin’ to forget her. You were playin’ detective that summer, the way you like to do.’ He gave Urbino a sharp look and seemed about to ask him something, but decided against it.
‘The Palazzo Guggenheim.’
‘That’s it. I wrote down on the list “the place with the naughty statue.’”
By this, Eugene meant the Marino Marini metal sculpture of a horse and rider that was on the terrace. The rider sported an erect penis.
Eugene drained his champagne glass and stood up. ‘Let’s get goin’. Where do we go first?’
Two hours later, when they stood under umbrellas and looked at the Bridge of Sighs as the rain fell down furiously around them, Eugene grabbed Urbino’s arm. ‘Have you noticed something? I’ve been here for three solid hours and I haven’t mentioned Evie once.’
‘Yes, I did notice.’
‘Let me tell you something. I’m lettin’ it all go, lettin’ the idea of you and Evie ever bein’ together again go. She’s fine the way she is. And do I know you’re set in your ways! You can go in your different directions.’
Urbino was happy to hear this, since he and Evangeline had been divorced for almost twenty-five years. Eugene had continued to try to get them back together again. His efforts had reached a peak during his previous visit to Venice, which had been shortly after Evangeline’s second marriage had failed.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ Urbino said. ‘I hope she’s well.’
‘Very well. She sends you her hugs, but she didn’t mention any kisses. And that’s just about the last you’re gonna hear about her from me.’
‘There’s no need to avoid mentioning her.’ Urbino slapped Eugene on the shoulder. ‘Come on. Let’s get to the Piazza. If we hurry, we’ll be able to see the statues strike the hour.’
During the next several days Urbino fell – first reluctantly and then with increasing enjoyment – into the role of Eugene’s cicerone, although his thoughts were never far away from the investigation. He often had been able to make important leaps forward in a case when he was occupied with something else.
Being with Eugene, someone from his past life, from before he had decided to live in Venice, re-quickened some of the currents in him that had become dangerously still. He was too often wrapped up in his own thoughts and his own world.
Urbino and Eugene managed to re-visit most of the items on Eugene’s list and add a few new sights. Eugene was giving him the opportunity to experience some of the city’s treasures that he had neglected for longer than he should have. If he was not seeing the city’s treasures with new eyes, it was with renewed ones.
Urbino did not mind being dragged into one shop after another to find special items for May-Foy, and he even enjoyed their hours at the casino. Eugene seemed to bring him luck. Urbino was not the gambling type, and he began to gamble grudgingly, hesitantly, but by the end of the evening at Chemin de Fer, he had doubled the small amount of money he had set aside to lose. ‘Beginner’s luck,’ Eugene called it, and this was how Urbino thought it best to think of it. He had heard terrible tales of those who had gone from being gambling cynics to gambling addicts in little more than one evening like this at the tables.
During the first three days of Eugene’s visit, the weather did not clear up for long. When it did, it was mainly after midnight, but the rain began again at eight or nine, first with a thin penetrating drizzle and then more heavily, and continued during the day. Urbino knew this did not bode well for the city, even if there were many long interludes without any rain. The Piazza San Marco and the Molo, as well as other areas, were slightly flooded, sending Urbino, Eugene, and everyone else to walk the wooden planks raised above the water. Eugene got into the spirit of things, considering it almost as a form of entertainment, although being from New Orleans, he had a respect for and fear of flooding. But it somewhat consoled him to know that ‘only’ the monuments of the city were at risk and not its inhabitants.
Urbino did not see the contessa while he was entertaining Eugene, but they spoke on the telephone. She was trying to enlist more help, in addition to t
hat of Corrado Scarpa, in order to secure permission to visit Mina. The day after Eugene’s arrival, she had gone to La Muta to see if everything was in order, just in case Eugene expressed an interest in seeing the villa again. He had spent an enjoyable period with the contessa in Asolo ten years ago. Urbino suspected that she also wanted to get away, even if only briefly, from the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini, with its memories of Mina.
By the evening of the third day, despite the fact that Eugene was turning out to be a more enjoyable diversion than Urbino had anticipated, he was pleased to hear that he would be spending the next day with the Chins. Urbino would be able to take full advantage of the day to return to his investigation. Time was slipping by all too quickly.
At nine o’clock the next morning Urbino was sheltering from the rain under the sottoportico of the building Nedda Bari was renting from Apollonia Ballarin. It was the first time he had been to Bari’s residence. It was situated on a small canal in the easternmost extremity of the Cannaregio, between the Fondamenta Nuove and the Rialto. The building, in a poor state of repair and with few distinguishing features, had little to recommend it except its location and the sottoportico that ran beside it.
He had met Bari half a dozen years ago through Natalia. Bari had asked him if he would be interested in hiring an honest and able young man to help around the Palazzo Uccello. This had been before Gildo had started working for him. Urbino agreed and he had been pleased with the young man’s work. He had regretted it when he had secured a full-time position in Mestre.
Nedda, whose husband had left her with more than enough money to keep her comfortable, had dedicated herself to helping the less fortunate. She had received a degree in social work after her husband’s death, but she didn’t work for any organization and she didn’t have any business quarters. Instead, she held court and dispensed her services liberally from her home. Urbino found her to be an affable person, who was as loquacious as she was zealous.
A thin, elderly woman answered the bell. Laughter and loud voices sounded behind her. Urbino introduced himself and asked if he could see Nedda Bari. He closed his umbrella and shook off the water. The woman led him to the doorway of a large room that looked out on to the sottoportico. He hesitated to enter. He was dripping water from his boots and his cape on to the tile floor of the hallway.
Nedda, wearing a red-and-green striped robe-like dress, was sitting on a small sofa. She was a heavy-set, attractive woman in her mid-fifties with large, expressive eyes. On her lap sat a girl of about four or five, with curly red hair. The child was drinking a glass of milk. Perched behind them on the back of the sofa was a tortoise-shell cat. Another little girl, also redheaded, who looked as if she could be the other child’s twin, was standing behind the sofa and petting the cat.
A small group of men and women kept Nedda company. Some were sitting on chairs and sofas, others were walking around or were clustered in conversational groups at the windows and in corners, and one was sprawled out on the faded carpet. This was a very thin man, who was tying up newspapers and magazines with twine. Everyone was talking at the same time. The aroma of popped corn was in the air.
A few sentences detached themselves from the convivial hubbub. ‘I’ll never go back to him’ and ‘I applied for the job yesterday’ and ‘Nedda gave me the down payment.’
Nedda looked up from the little girl, whose face she was wiping with a handkerchief.
‘Signor Macintyre! What a nice surprise.’ Her black, graying hair, cut very short, was sticking up in places as if from electricity. ‘We were just going to have hot chocolate and coffee. Please join us.’
‘Thank you. An espresso would be fine.’
‘Maria, would you get Signor Macintyre an espresso,’ she said to the elderly woman. ‘The hot chocolate for me. Is everyone else all right?’ she threw out to the room at large.
Despite all the commotion, the several conversations, and all the activity, her appeal was somehow heard. Two women, sitting across from each other on rickety chairs, said they would have hot chocolate. A stout man, who was pacing the room and reading aloud from a sheet of paper, called out for an espresso.
‘Why don’t you sweet little angels help Maria,’ she said to the twins, who immediately scampered off.
Urbino was still hesitating in the doorway. A small pool of water was collecting around his feet.
‘Don’t just stand there, Signor Macintyre. Sit next to me. And please take off that marvellous cape of yours. Put it on one of the hooks. No, no, you don’t have to take off your boots.’ She gave a high, infectious laugh. ‘Wipe them on the rug beside the door. That’s it. If I worried about people getting the floor dirty, I’d have to close up shop.’
Urbino seated himself beside Nedda, not without some difficulty, given the smallness of the sofa and Nedda’s size.
One of the twins came back, crying that the floor in the kitchen was getting flooded.
‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Take the broom by the back door and sweep it out. You don’t mind, do you? Then be sure the piece of wood and the cloths are pushed tight against the door. That’s a good girl. No, Vittorio, don’t put that magazine with the others,’ Nedda said to the man lying on the carpet. ‘Evelina wants it, don’t you, Evelina?’
A young woman, who was standing in a corner examining a calendar on the wall, turned around. Urbino recognized the thin woman who had accompanied Nedda to Olimpia’s funeral. She went over to retrieve the magazine.
‘So what can I do for you, Signor Macintyre? I think you might need some more help. I’m sure I can find someone more than suitable for you.’
Before Urbino could respond, Maria, helped by one of the twins, distributed the coffee and the chocolate. On the tray was a plate with three pignoleti biscuits. Maria placed it on the table in front of the sofa.
‘But what is this?’ Nedda cried. ‘Three pignoleti?’
‘We don’t have any more.’
‘Susanna.’ Nedda addressed a woman in her sixties who resembled Evelina and was now speaking with her by the windows as Evelina looked through the magazine. ‘Would you mind getting a kilo of pignoleti, and while you’re at the shop, get a kilo of buranelli, too. I hate for you to go out in this rain, but we’ll need them later, too, for the children who are coming. You know where the jar of money is. Yes, yes, just take my poncho.’ She turned back to Urbino. ‘I’m sorry, Signor Macintyre.’
‘I see that it’s a busy time for you,’ Urbino said in a louder voice than he was accustomed to use.
‘It’s almost always like this. But I can fit you in. Yes, squeeze you in,’ she said in English. She gave a loud laugh. ‘I can squeeze you in the way I have squeezed you in on this sofa!’ she continued in English, before lapsing back into Italian. ‘You’re thin enough.’ She turned away from him again: ‘If you’re going out with your mother, Evelina, be sure to come back. You have to pick up Lucia from school. It’s your job this week. And Vittorio, you look as if you are about to collapse from worrying – and worrying about nothing. Why don’t you go upstairs? Lie down and rest.’
It appeared that Nedda ran a nursery, a counseling office, a boarding house, and a general shelter as well as any number of other services. If Urbino wanted to get any information from her, he was going to have to be concentrated and quick.
When Nedda asked him again what she could do for him, Urbino seized the opportunity. The woman was so accustomed to doing things for others that she assumed he had come for help of some kind. She was making it easier for him.
‘Actually, it’s not about getting someone to help out at the house, even though Carlo was an excellent worker. I am managing fine with Gildo. I don’t know if you know it, but I’m writing a book on Mariano Fortuny.’
‘Apollonia told me when I gave her the January rent.’
Urbino wondered how much of a conversation the two women had had on that occasion. From what Urbino understood, relations between them were not good. Although Apollonia was more than eager to
take Nedda’s money, she disapproved of the kind of help she was providing and the kind of undesirable people – in Apollonia’s opinion – who came to the house.
‘I’m trying to get as much information about Fortuny as possible,’ Urbino went on. ‘I was wondering if you’ve heard any anecdotes about him that you could pass on. Perhaps from Efigenia, Apollonia’s aunt. I believe you knew her, and I hear she never lost an opportunity to talk about Fortuny. I’m going through the letters Fortuny wrote her.’
Nedda nodded. This, too, she seemed to know, apparently from Apollonia.
The man pacing the room with the piece of paper said something to her that Urbino did not catch.
‘I’ve told you over and over again, Silvestro,’ she responded. ‘I’ll see that your application will be filed this afternoon. I’ll bring it myself. No matter if we have a flood like the one back in sixty-seven. No,’ she said, turning back to Urbino, ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you. Efigenia and I were not close. I knew she had been friends with Fortuny. But anecdotes? No. Anyway, it is Apollonia you should be asking, but I don’t think she’s in the mood for that these days. Her health isn’t very good, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Poor Apollonia.’ There seemed little real sympathy in her voice. ‘But I have no idea what she might know about Fortuny. In fact, the only time she has mentioned his name was when she told me you were reading the letters and that the Contessa da Capo-Zendrini is putting together an exhibition of his clothes. I never see her except when I bring over the rent. She likes it handed to her personally.’
‘Eufrosina is photographing some of the exhibits for a catalogue.’
Nedda gave a little frown.
‘Eufrosina and her photographs.’ There was no mistaking the cold sarcasm in her voice. ‘You’d think she’d find something more productive to do with her time. Oh, but excuse me, Signor Macintyre. I don’t mean to criticize the contessa’s exhibition or your own work.’ She gave a laugh in which Urbino could hear the release of nervousness. ‘It’s just that when you get buried in the kind of things I try to do you lose perspective. There’s a place for almost everyone and everything in this world of ours.’
The Veils of Venice Page 13