The Glassblower of Murano

by Marina Fiorato

  Giacomo subtly put his bulk between Corradino and the figure. He scratched his head and spoke, to belie his intelligence, in the wheedling tones of a peasant. `Gracious Signore, the only boys we have are the garzoni. The scimmia di vetro. There are no nobles here.' From the corner of his eye Giacomo could see the opal buttons of Corradino's coat winking in the furnace light, as if to betray their young master to the dark phantom. Giacomo turned away from the coat, hoping to draw the dark eyes of the mask with him.

  Sure enough, the chilling orbs held his gaze. `If you see him, you have a duty to the State to inform the Council. Is that clear?'

  `Si Signore.'

  `Just the boy, you understand. We have the rest of the family.'

  They have my family?

  Giacomo heard the boy gasp and step from his shadow. Instantly he turned and cuffed Corradino to the ground, a stinging blow that burst his lip and gave him reason for his tears. `Franco, for the last time, go and draw some water! Che stronzo!' Giacomo turned back to the figure. `These boys, I tell you. I wish The Ten would send us some nobles to work here. More brains, less thickheaded.'

  The eyes in the masked face looked from Giacomo to the boy on the floor. Filthy, shirtless, bleeding, snivelling. A mere glass monkey. With a flounce of the black cloak, the agent was gone.

  Giacomo picked up the tear-sodden boy and cradled him in his arms while he wept. Not just now, but for years later, as his apprentice, living in his house, when Corradino woke at night screaming.

  In my dream my mother smells of vanilla and blood.

  Giacomo never told the other maestri where his new garzon was from. And he never told Corradino what his neighbour told him of the fisherman's house where the Manin family had been found. It was left as a warning - empty, no bodies, but its white walls slick with blood from floor to ceiling, like the scene of a butchery.

  Of course, they found Corradino eventually. But it took five years, and by that time Giacomo, now foreman of the fornace, was able to plead for his apprentice's life in front of the Council, in the Sala del Maggior Consiglio of the Doge's Palace. He stood, tiny in the cavernous rooms, beneath the riotous frescoes of red and gold, and argued Corradino's case before The Ten. For the boy, at the age of fifteen, was almost preternaturally talented.

  He could already work with glass like no-one Giacomo had seen.

  The Council was disposed to keep Corradino alive. The Manin family was no threat any more, it was practically wiped out, and Corradino would be kept, like all other maestri, a prisoner on Murano.

  How were any of those gathered on that day, when Giacomo pled for Corradino's life, to know that they were wrong about the fortunes of the Manin family? How was poor dead Corrado Manin to know that his family would rise at last to greatness, and that one of his descendants would occupy the throne of the Doge? And how were any of them to know that Lodovico Manin would be the last Doge ofVenice who would, in that very chamber, sign the death warrant of the Republic? That when he put his hand to the Treaty of Campo Formic, in 1797 the city would be sold to Austria, and Manin's signature would sit below that of Venice's new ruler, Napoleon Bonaparte?

  If the Council had known, they would not have spared Corradino Manin. But they did not know, and they did spare him.

  Not through the quality of mercy, but because of the mirrors that he made.

  CHAPTER 9

  Paradiso Perduto

  Leonora got to the Cantina Do Mori at a quarter to three on Saturday. As she looked at the frontage of the cafe with its distinctive bottle-glass doors she wondered if she had been the victim of an elaborate joke. Perhaps Officer Bardolino was laughing at her with his workmates. Leonora gave herself a little shake - this wasn't primary school. She had been so affected by her situation at work that the shoots of her paranoia were taking hold. The man seemed to be in earnest - no doubt he would like to find a tenant for his cousin. She would just go in and wait.

  It was raining so the cafe was quite busy. But despite the crowds Leonora found a quiet table at the back under a huge double mirror. She admired the workmanship, and the slightly greeny-gold look of old glass in its gilded baroque frame. The bevel seemed perfect to her although she knew the work must be centuries old. She ordered an espresso and looked around at her leisure. The clientele today were clearly Venetian - the waiter had addressed her in Veneziano, and she had surprised herself with the force with which she replied in her fluent Italian, echoing his local accent with her own. Once again she felt pleased that Officer Bardolino had suggested this place. It was still a secret well kept from the tourist hordes. Then it occurred to her that he was, in a courteous way, attempting to give her a treat.

  If he shows up.

  But she need not have worried. On the dot of three, with the characteristic efficiency he had shown in her interview, he walked through the doors. She was taken aback by the fact that he was now in jeans and a smart jacket - more as she had first seen him in Santa Maria della Pieta. Leonora had somehow, ridiculously, pictured him turning up in uniform. But he still recalled the painting - what was it? - and turned the heads of a group of lunching ladies. With a sort of shock, as he brushed the raindrops from his black curls, Leonora faced the facts.

  He's a very good-looking man. They all see it too.

  She felt a whisper of fear.

  He greeted her, sat, and summoned the waiter with practised ease. He shed his jacket, and settled back on the bench comfortably. He seemed to have a certain elegance coupled with an ability to be instantly comfortable, like a cat. Leonora smiled and waited for their discourse to begin. She felt suddenly confident. Would he enter straight into the business of the day or engage in pleasantries first?

  `Why are you drinking coffee?'

  Leonora laughed. His question seemed so incongruous that it caught her by surprise.

  `You are laughing at me,' he said, caught between amusement and annoyance.

  `A little. Why shouldn't I drink coffee? Have I made some sort of social faux pas?'

  `No, no. I just wondered if you were . . .' he searched for the word, `teetotal. Such a strange English word. I always thought it meant one totally drank tea.'

  Leonora smiled. `No, no, I drink. A lot. Well, not a lot. But I do like my wine.!

  'Good: He grinned. `Due ombre, per favore.' This to the waiter who hovered at his shoulder.

  `What's an ombra?'

  Officer Bardolino grinned again. `A shadow.'

  `I know what it means. But what is it when it's a drink?'

  `Don't worry. It's just a little cup of house wine. The name is centuries old. There used to be wine carts in San Marco in medieval days, and the wine merchants would slowly move the carts all day to stay in the shadow of the Campanile. To keep the wine cool.'

  The waiter set down the cups on the dark wood board. Leonora tasted the wine and felt that its flavours were enhanced by the story. `I love tales like that. But I've not been able to read a guidebook since I got here. It's almost like I'm too busy seeing, and living, to read.'

  Her companion nodded. `You are right. Better to find these things out as you go, from those that live here. Guidebooks are full of soundbites.'

  She smiled to hear his opinions chiming with her own. `Tell me more about this place.'

  He returned the smile. `In a soundbite? Casanova used to drink here.!

  'Is that why you brought me here?'

  I shouldn't have said that. How presumptuous and ... clumsy. I'm behaving like a schoolgirl.

  `You thought that was a line,' he said, with a perception which surprised her. `I actually brought you here because of the glass.' He indicated the mirror. `It is unique. This double-looking glass is famous because it was the largest mirror made of its time in which the panes are perfect twins. I thought it might interest you, as you work on Murano'

  I've misjudged him. Have I ruined the day by being flippant? Should I tell him about Corradino?

  'Officer ...'

  `Please, for God's sake, call me Alessandr
o: The humour was back, thankfully.

  `I love it here, thank you.'

  He smiled again, then resumed his businesslike mask. `Did your fornace fill in the counterfoil of your form for you?'

  `Yes.' Adelino had obliged again.

  `Then bring it by next week and we should be able to wrap up this work permit. Then if you get a flat too, you can get your permesso di soggiorno.' He waved away her thanks.

  After a pause, Leonora spoke. `Can I ask you a question?'

  He nodded.

  `It seemed to take you less time than the others. How come?'

  Alessandro stretched. `I detest paperwork, so my only solution is to cut through it as quickly as possible. My colleagues - they hate paperwork too, but their solution is to bury it with more paper, to hope that it goes away. See,' he dug out some papers from his pocket; `more efficiency.' He spread the papers on the table for her. She could see they had photocopied pictures of houses and details below, much like the information from an estate agent. `My cousin, Marta, has given me the keys to these four. We'll go and see, and if you like any, you can move in tonight!

  'Tonight?'

  `You are surprised?'

  Leonora shook her head, bemused.

  `It's just that I've been trying to see apartments for a month and there have always been delays, or problems, or paperwork ...' This extraordinary man seemed to cut through all of Venice's sedentary rhythms.

  `Ah, that's what comes of knowing a local.' Alessandro smiled. `Here's the one I think you should see first. It's quite close to here.' He pointed to one of the four, two rooms in a beautiful three storey house. She followed Alessandro's finger.The address was printed clearly - Campo Manin.

  It was a top floor flat in a large, shabby, once-grand house. Though modern in all other respects, she was intrigued on entry by the original staircase that formed the axis for all the apartments, now with ugly modern fire doors. It was grand and beautifully worked. Leonora put out a hand and touched the flaking, turquoise paint. When it and the gilt was new, did family portraits stare down from these walls, to watch the servants and masters mount and descend? As if catching an echo she said, `Corradino?'

  Alessandro was struggling with the latch of apartment 3C. `What?'

  `Nothing.' It was too early to confess that her best friend in all of Venice was a ghost. `I just wondered if any other Manins had lived here.'

  Alessandro shrugged, his mind on the door. `It's possible.

  Very possible. Ah . . .'This as the door gave way and Leonora followed him into the flat. It was plain, sparsely furnished, but with two enormous windows which looked out onto the campo, and best of all, a rickety spiral stair of wrought iron which led onto a flat terrace, and the crazy rooftops ofVenice all around. Leonora leant on the crumbling balustrade and gazed at the Campanile in the distance. She could hear bells.

  I want to live here. I knew as soon as I walked in the door.

  Alessandro's no-nonsense approach to practicalities continued to astonish Leonora for the rest of the day. She presumed her choice would result in a further couple of weeks of negotiations, followed by a protracted moving-in period. But Alessandro was on his mobile phone to his cousin at once, speaking in rapid tones. They had barely completed the tour of the rudimentary bathroom ('don't expect hot water all the time; not in Venice,') when the cousin - Marta - appeared. She was a businesslike, friendly woman with glasses, short hair and none of the physical beauties of her cousin. She sat with Leonora at the well scrubbed table, on one of the odd chairs. By the time Leonora had signed the twelvemonth lease, Alessandro had contacted the storage company on Mestre and arranged for an unheard-of Sunday delivery of Leonora's belongings for the next day. Both cousins offered to be present to help with the furniture, Leonora was given the key, and she and Alessandro went to her hotel to pack and check out.

  He seemed in no hurry to be elsewhere, nor did he seem overly friendly in the odious way she had detected in her colleagues - the friendship of men who want more. They talked constantly as they walked and worked, mostly of that holy Italian trinity - art, food and football. Once her luggage was installed in her new flat, together with some essential supplies for morning, she began to feel, incredibly, that he was enjoying her company. Her pleasure and confusion grew, as with the arrival of dusk he said, with the brusque, no-nonsense manner she now recognized as characteristic: `Shall we get a drink? We should celebrate. I know a good place:

  Leonora raised a brow. `As good as the Do Mori?'

  He laughed. `You can't get better than this place I'm thinking of. It is, quite literally, Paradise.'

  She looked carefully at him. His eyes did not look calculating, or lustful. They looked frankly back at her. He looked thirsty.

  I know I shouldn't go. I know that I'm going to.

  Paradise on a Saturday night was a noisy place. Leonora, crushed against Alessandro at the bar, had to scream her order for a Peroni directly into his ear. He emerged from the crush with four bottles ('to save time') and led her to the end of one of the long refectory-like tables crowded with flamboyant young bohemians. Alessandro secured them two seats opposite each other in a dark alcove illuminated by the inevitable candle stuffed in a wine bottle. Gouts of multicoloured wax masked the bottle completely and told the story of the candles that had gone before. As was her habit, Leonora began to pick at the solid mass. By her side, sitting close, a youth with multiple piercings rattled rapid Veneto to his equally punctured girlfriend opposite. Alessandro took a long drink and Leonora looked at him. The noise had abated a little, but she still had to bellow. `What is this place?'

  He smiled. `I wasn't wholly truthful with you. This isn't Paradise, it's Paradiso Perduto - Paradise Lost. It's just about the only late bar in Venice - always full of students. It's a bit of a crush, but at least you can get a drink past midnight.'

  Leonora smiled wryly into her beer. Paradise Lost.

  Have I lost my Paradise? Was Stephen, and Belmont and St Martin's my Paradise? Or have I come to find a new one here?

  As if reading her mind Alessandro asked, quite suddenly: `Why did your husband leave you?'

  Leonora nearly choked on her Peroni. She was daily surprised by the forthrightness of the Venetians. She expected them to be as winding and circumspect as the secret alleyways of their city, or as circuitous as their bureaucracy. But they were neither. Only this morning the lady serving her in the cafe where she took breakfast had asked her whether she had a special amore back home. The receptionist at her hotel, that avuncular, kindly gentleman, had already identified her marital status and her lack of children. And now, here was this unfathomable man asking her the most personal of questions. It seemed that Venetians had an ability to cleave to the point as cleanly as the prow of a boat slicing the waters of the canal. She played for time, holding the glass heart at her throat to steady herself.

  `How do you know he left me?'

  Alessandro sat back in his chair. `You have a tan line where your wedding band once was. And your finger has changed shape somewhat, receding towards the knuckle, which means you were wearing the ring for some years, not just a short engagement. And you are sad. And you are here - I think if you had left him you would have stayed at home?'

  Leonora looked up from her hand and saw a sympathy in the intelligent dark eyes which twisted her gut. Stung to a crushing retort, her own reply surprised her.

  `He chose a golden casket.!

  'How come?'

  `Merchant of Venice? Portia's suitors had to choose between three caskets of silver lead and gold. Happiness lay in the lead casket, not the gold'

  Alessandro smiled, `I know. I live here. D'you think you can grow up in this city without knowing the story? What I meant was, in what sense did he choose gold?'

  'I think he fell for the packaging. Such as it was.!

  'Don't do that:

  `What??

  "`Such as it was." You're very beautiful.' He stated it baldly, not as a compliment but as a matter of empirical
fact.

  She twisted a golden rope of hair around her hand. `Once, perhaps. But misery and loss seem to drain it all. I feel black and white now, not colour.' She dropped the skein of hair. `I was an artist then, a creative, a bundle of emotions, rather than the ...' she searched for a phrase, `synaptic circuit of chemical reactions which made Stephen. I think he fell for the opposites in us. But once he opened the casket he realized that what he really wanted was something practical and scientific, exactly like himself.'

  `And did he find it?'

  `Yes. It's called Carol.!

  'Ah!

  Leonora took another slug of beer, and it began to warm her. At that moment she knew that she wouldn't mention her infertility to Alessandro. Some small primal voice prevented her - she didn't want this man to know that she was not complete.

  At length he spoke, but not of her. From now on it was clearly quid pro quo. `But you know, it's possible to be too alike. I had a girlfriend till last year who was pretty much my twin. We grew up together, we liked all the same things, we were both ambitious, we even supported the same football team. But then she was offered a promotion based in Rome. She took it. Left. Finito. Her ambition separated us in the end.' He drank.

  Leonora was stumped. She didn't see this man as vulnerable - but he too had been left. She said gently, `Was she in the police too?'

  `No. A journalist' He seemed reluctant to say more, and Leonora let their personal silence fall amid the universal chatter. At length, though, he continued.

  `Until then we were happy. There didn't seem to be any problems. No ... bones of contention:

  Leonora was struck at once by both the story and his articulation, and saw a way to divert the course of their conversation.

  `Where did you learn such good English?'

  `London. I went there for two years after my military service, while I was deciding what to do with my life. I worked in a restaurant - with Niccolo, another cousin. I spent my time between a Soho kitchen and the London Hippodrome, picking up terrible women.' He grinned. `I learned the swearwords first!