by L. Todd Wood
In spite of all his problems, and besides missing his kids terribly, Rafe really was happy. This place enthralled him. Maybe I will never leave Venice. The authentic Italian seafood meal went down easy, and the courses were never ending. He found himself apologizing to the overweight, female proprietor why he just couldn’t eat anymore. He paid the bill and spent an hour wandering through the passageways of the floating city, marveling at the history. The walk helped to digest his meal. The best thing to do in Venice was to get lost. You were on an island for God’s sake, so it wasn’t really being lost. You could find your way back eventually. But the pleasure was in finding a new street and meeting new people and watching the Venetians do their thing in their element, which was the evening. Soon he was doing just that as he found himself chatting with a local businessman who owned a tobacco shop. He enjoyed a fine cigar and became fast friends with the gentleman. This is how I always find inspiration.
Eventually, he decided to go back to his flat and get some writing done. Maybe the evening stroll would stir his imagination. He could still see St. Mark’s in the distance, and he oriented himself to the bell tower. Soon he would come out near his home. Rafe found himself walking along a foreign canal in a neighborhood he did not know. It was strangely quiet and almost deserted. He enjoyed times like these, finding new places in his new favorite city, listening to the noises of the night. Rafe reveled in the fact he had no schedule and no one telling him what to do. He was completely in control of his own destiny, and he loved it.
He gazed at the ornately decorated palaces lining the canal and tried to imagine the history of the owners hundreds of years ago. The parties they threw, the beautiful women who lived there, all of this danced through his mind. He casually stopped along one such palace, long since deserted due to the mold creeping up to the upper floors from the constant flooding. He paused to take in the structure. It was times like these that inspiration came.
Venice was sinking. Slowly, very slowly, but sinking just the same. The buildings were constructed upon wooden pilings sunk into the mud and clay centuries before. The foundations of the city's structures rested upon this wooden support. The earth delayed the process of decay but slowly these pylons were deteriorating. Artesian wells sunk in the early twentieth century to feed local industry were discovered to be adding to the structural problems, hastening the sinking of the city's support. As the city's elevation shriveled, the floods came more often and the damage grew exponentially. Many of the palaces along the waterways had been deserted, or at least the first floor, due to mold and other hazards from the encroaching sea.
The population of Venice was now mostly older as families with children had moved out long ago because of the safety hazards and expense of living on the island. The Italian government had spent hundreds of millions of euros to stop the decomposition of the city but could only slow not alter nature’s course. Seawater had a nasty way of eating into a foundation over time that no amount of human intervention could stop. The future of Venice was in doubt in the long run. Today however, Rafe enjoyed the scenery and wondered about the past.
As the evening light dimmed, out of the corner of his eye, Rafe noticed a strange glow emanating from the base of the palace. It was an orange, fiery color wafting through the water like cream in a coffee. He walked over and looked closer. The strange, colored light angrily turned bright red and then was gone. He shrugged and kept walking. Must be the wine. Darkness set in for the rest of his trip home.
His head hurt but not too much. His body was used to the alcohol. He was terribly thirsty however. The sun was peeking through the venetian blinds and stabbing him in the eyes. He awoke but didn’t want to move. This was his favorite part of the day. He could just lay in bed until he couldn’t lie there anymore. Rafe reached for a glass of water on the nearby table and downed it quickly. Then he closed his eyes. I wonder what time it is. But, I don’t really care.
Rafe Savaryn was a world traveler. He loved exploring different civilizations, new and old. He wrote books about those experiences and taught history at a small Ivy League school in the northeastern United States. He especially loved European history. His family had emigrated from the Ukraine during the previous generation, and he still felt he had roots in Eastern Europe. “If you don’t know history, you’re doomed to repeat it,” he always told his incoming classes.
Rafe spent several months a year in different, far-off corners of the globe. Previously he brought his family, but on this trip he was alone, due to the divorce. He enjoyed finding places that no one in the West knew much about, places that experienced a deep history which had been lost to the ages. Learning about the past gave Rafe great pleasure as it helped him understand the present. This was the secret of his books and why he had become such a successful writer.
One of his earliest memories as a child was running across an expansive, open terrazzo with a large statue in front of him. He had been obliviously happy and his mother was chasing him from behind, calling for him. He remembered her explaining to him about the statue and how important to history it was. But Rafe had ignored her and kept running. He remembered reaching the statue and seeing a tall, bronzed man riding a horse. As he grew older, he had always wondered where that place was. Perhaps that is why I'm always searching and writing, hoping one day I'll run into that statue again. Perhaps that is where my curiosity for the past began.
But his favorite place in the world was Italy. And his favorite city in Italy was Venice. To live among the houses where the Italians had fled from the barbarians during the Dark Ages, after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and built a city on the marshy islands, was heavenly for him. He felt as if he dined with da Vinci when eating among the locals in the late evening. He reveled in the atmosphere. Today was going to be no different.
An hour later, his side began to ache from lying in bed, and Rafe sat up, throwing off the matted sheets. He walked to the balcony and once again threw open the doors. He breathed in the sea. It was a daily ritual he enjoyed. He checked on his herb garden and then walked to the bathroom. Rafe took a short, cold shower to revive himself, quickly dressed, grabbed his laptop, and headed out of his flat and down the stairs. Today was the perfect day to write. He enjoyed the exercise as he strolled through the waking city. Soon he was sitting at a table in St. Mark’s square, the tourists and the pigeons milling all around him. The ideas came and he began to write.
Hours later he came up for air. His eyes burned from staring at the screen, and his wrists ached from typing. He had finished five thousand words. Quite the productive day if I do say so myself! Almost makes up for the horrible writing day yesterday.
Rafe was in Venice to write a novel, a novel about the Renaissance. And what better place to do that than here? He looked at the bell tower rising forcefully high above all of the other structures. He had remembered as a child his parents had a painting of St. Mark’s Square hanging over the fireplace. He always wondered where the place was. Now he knew and he was sitting here. He experienced a form of déjà vu.
The sun was now slowly heading toward the horizon, and the light began to fade. Shadows made their way across the cobblestone. The tourists began to make their way to the boats. The dueling jazz and classical music orchestras across from each other in the plaza, took turns playing to the locals and the tourists left on the island for the evening. The scene was magical. Rafe ordered his first drink of the night, and his mind wandered off into the past laid out before him.
He was jerked back to reality when he heard a young female voice ask, “Is this chair taken?” Rafe, startled, turned to face the owner of the voice on his left side. A young woman not more than thirty sat next to him and signaled to the waiter for a drink. “I’ll have what he is having,” she said as the waiter arrived.
Rafe raised his eyebrow and said, “Very confident of you.”
“You want me to stay, don’t you?”
Rafe looked her over. She was young, thin, beautiful, and elegantly attire
d in a little black dress, her dark shiny hair rained down around her shoulders and framed her delicate face.
“I think I do,” Rafe responded, a smile creasing his lips. She was of Italian descent he guessed, and her accent was deadly attractive. “Well this is a pleasant surprise,” he added.
“I like to be spontaneous.” They chatted about nothing for fifteen minutes or so, and Rafe smiled, as she was quite witty.
The first drinks went down easy, and Rafe signaled for another round. She began to speak but stopped as the drinks arrived and waited until the waiter was out of earshot.
“Do you like me?” she asked coquettishly.
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, here’s the deal. You take care of me and I’ll take care of you.”
“I figured it was something like that. The oldest profession?”
“I like to call it being a courtesan. I only work with high-end clients.”
Rafe thought about it for a minute. The full moon shone down across the square, illuminating the pearls around her dark neck. What the hell. He reached into his wallet and pulled out several five hundred euro notes. Money was not a problem for Rafe. He was a very successful writer. He slid the notes across the table. “Will this do?”
She smiled. “I’m yours for the night.”
They walked hand in hand through the darkened alleyways, occasionally stopping for a bite to eat or a drink at the many restaurants and bars dotting the landscape of Venice. Rafe enjoyed having some company for once. It had been several months since the divorce, but it had been years since he had been happy with a woman. He realized he had been missing female companionship. Rational, happy, fun companionship that is.
Soon the hour was very late. He stopped in a darkened doorway that was indented several feet into the building, providing a very private space for exactly a moment like this. He pulled her close and felt her young, toned body under her dress. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. She kissed him and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. They embraced for several minutes.
They both were startled by a loud splash. Rafe looked up across the canal to the palace on the other side. Even in the dark, he could see the mold making its way up to the second floor like something out of a drive-in movie. The light from the full moon covered the water in a milky glow. Rafe looked around and realized he was at the same spot where he had seen the fiery water the night before. He walked over to where he had heard the object hit the water and looked around. He heard another noise below as the water was disturbed. He then realized part of the upstairs balcony of the abandoned palace was crumbling and pieces of stone were falling into the water.
They both peered into the water where the stone had entered as the ripples emanated from the entry point. Slowly an orange, fiery glow like the flame of a candle appeared as a small circle and then grew, spreading across the water like an oily flame. “What is that?” she gasped.
“I don’t know, but I think I saw it last night as well.” He leaned over the canal to try and get a better look. The mist turned a raging red and then vanished as quickly as it came.
“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Yeah, it’s really weird. I just don’t have any idea what it is!” Rafe stared a little longer and then turned away. “Come on, let’s go.”
They walked silently the short distance to his flat, climbed the stairs and entered his studio. He kicked off his shoes and went out on the balcony.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
She walked out with him and looked out over the moonlit city. “Cecilia. It’s an ancient Roman name. I like it. My parents did good. And I know your name is Rafe.” His eyes widened. “Don’t worry, I always check out my clients.”
She walked over to him and began unbuttoning his shirt. When she had finished, she pulled his shirt out of his trousers with his belt still buckled, exposing his stomach and chest. Her delicate hands caressed him.
She lightly kissed his chest then looked up at him. “You know next time, you’re going to have to let me bring a friend.” She bent lower to where her mouth was a couple inches above his belt buckle. “We both should be licking right here.” Her tongue touched his skin. Rafe closed his eyes.
When Rafe awoke, the bed was a wreck but she was gone. Oh well, at least it was worth the money. I feel like notching my bed post or something. He rose from the bed, looked out the balcony, and went through his morning ritual. This time however, there were blackened clouds in the distance billowing down from the sky. He could hear the thunder and see the occasional flash of lightning. The storm was moving fast towards Venice, and he could see the people below scurrying to bring their things inside before the rain started. Just like that, the rain started pouring down in buckets. The clouds were violently churning and spewing thunder and lightning. He barely had time to shut the balcony doors.
Just then, the door jerked opened to his flat. Cecilia walked in carrying a tray with two cappuccinos and some pastries and fruit. She had changed into another knee-length sun dress from the small bag she had been carrying. “Breakfast is served!” she said. She looked out the balcony door windows. “Wow, that’s an angry storm!”
“I thought you were gone for good.”
“No, just thought I’d be nice to you and serve you something to eat. You were so gentle with me last night. And I had another thought. I thought maybe I’d just stay with you a while. You know, get to know each other. I like you.”
“I’m not paying you any more money.”
“I’m not asking, am I?”
‘I guess not.”
“You can just buy food. What do you think? I’m a kind of spur-of-the-moment person anyway.”
“Well, I had fun last night that’s for sure. So stay a while. But don’t bug me, I’ve got to write.”
“Yes, I know. The famous writer.” She put the food down on the table next to his computer, walked over to him, pushed him back on the bed, and pulled her dress over her head. “You can start writing in thirty minutes.”
She lay next to him with her head on his shoulder, her dark hair pushed up into his face. “You smell good but I need to write now, if I have any energy left.”
“Of course, I’m not stopping you.”
“So what’s a nice girl like you doing what you’re doing?”
“Aahhh, the big question. Well I’ll tell you. I don’t do it very often but I need money, and it's an easy way for me to get it. Capiche? I’m a perpetual student and I have to eat. Can you understand? Plus I like to travel, buy things, and meet interesting people. Does that make sense? I hope so, because it’s the truth.”
“Sure, it makes sense. I’m not judging you. I took you up on your offer, didn’t I? Everybody has a price. What are you studying?”
“I’m an expert on the Roman Empire. Soon I will be rich and famous. I hope anyway. I give a lot of speeches now around Italy on the subject already. I’m quite the intellectual, believe it or not.”
“I’m impressed! Maybe you can help me with parts of the book I’m writing.”
“See, I knew you’d want me to hang around. Tell me about yourself, Cowboy! I mean I know you are a famous writer and everything. I read an article that you’d be spending some time in Venice, writing your next novel.”
“So that’s how you found me? Ha. I remember that article. I was angry they wrote it. The guy caught me at a cocktail party in New York and presto, off-the-record comments show up in print. Well, what do you want to know?”
“Here’s my big question. Why are you alone?”
“Let’s save that question for another day.”
Chapter Two
Rafe sat typing away at his laptop at a cafe overlooking the water near the fish market in Venice. It was a beautiful day and he was thrilled to be alive. He loved to sit in the middle of the crowds and imagine how life would have been centuries before. He tried to visualize how the remnants of the Roman population fled the barbaria
n advances from the north during the Dark and Middle Ages and took refuge in the marshlands off the coast, slowly building up the city over hundreds of years to become a major economic power, the most powerful city-state in all of Europe at one point.
The Doge, or Duke, as the Venetian leader was called, ruled the Adriatic as a major naval power during the early second millennium, building and operating thousands of ships and training accompanying crews. Venice even threated the Eastern Roman Empire at one point, sacking its capital Constantinople and occupied hundreds of Islands along the Adriatic coast, creating her own Latin empire. It wasn't until Christopher Columbus discovered the New World and opened up alternative trading routes, that the power of Venice began to wane. A long and costly war with the Ottoman Empire served to irreversibly force her into decline. Venice was also an important republic during the Renaissance. She flourished as an independent city and patron of the arts, until Napoleon Bonaparte conquered her in the late eighteenth century. The city-state became part of the Kingdom of Italy in the late nineteenth century.
The smell of fresh fish dominated the air, and sea gulls soared overhead in endless patterns, diving to pick at the discarded carcasses of the fish as they were cleaned and thrown in the trash bin near the alleyway. This was not a touristy area of the city, although some did come here to see the local atmosphere. The boats offloading their catch came and went and the market was bustling in the mid-day heat. Rows and rows of all different types of seafood were on display, nestled in a thick bed of ice. The Venetian women combed through the offerings, trying to find the best selection of fish to feed their families. Occasionally a tourist would wander into the market and request a picture with the mounds of whole specimens piled in the containers of ice, only to be shooed away by the market proprietors. This place was for selling fish, not for catering to tourists. Speed was of the essence to sell the entire catch as the shelf life of a dead fish was limited before its freshness could not be guaranteed. Rafe tried to transfer all of the activity around him to his novel. There was nothing like seeing and describing events real-time. It was a favorite technique of his.