by Ever Dundas
‘She was indestructible.’
‘I know.’
‘It doesn’t feel real.’
‘Matt, Colin, Angelina, Horatiu and Adam – they all give their love. They’re looking forward to seeing you.’
‘No, I don’t want to see any of them.’
‘We’ll get you settled, then we’ll see.’
We arrived at the train station and went to catch a vaporetto. I knew little about Venice, and at first I didn’t have any interest in it. All I wanted was a place where I could curl up in bed and disappear, but as we chugged our way down the Grand Canal I couldn’t help but feel curious.
‘How does this place exist? Am I dreaming?’
Tim laughed and put his arm round my waist.
‘I knew you would love it.’
‘It’s an impossible city.’
‘I read that to make the impossible possible the ruler of Venice, the Doge, would be taken out into the lagoon where he’d drop a gold ring. He’d marry the sea, protecting Venice from floods.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘This city could only be built on myths and magic.’
‘And blood, empire, and the money of tourists.’
I stared down the Grand Canal, looking at the water. For the first time in a long time I thought of David. I knew. I could feel it physically; a knot in my belly.
I remember what he told me: ‘I’ll sail around the world. I’ll meet a girl and we’ll make our home by the sea – a place where the sea is everything, where it changes people.’
I knew there was no other place he would be other than this floating city.
‘You knew what you were doing, bringing me here,’ I said.
I smiled. For the first time in weeks I smiled, and he smiled back and took my hand.
‘I knew you would love Venice,’ he said.
But at that moment, it wasn’t Venice I loved.
Chapter 12
London, 30 November 2011
I emerge from Tim’s room in the early evening and join Tim, Ben, Sam, and Mahler, who had already been through for his dinner. Mahler rushes to greet me as I sit at the table.
‘Have a good sleep, old lady?’
I nod and laugh as Mahler puts his paws on my lap and licks furiously at my face.
‘I missed you too,’ I say.
I snuffle into Mahler’s fur, breathing in his smell. Tim makes me some tea and Ben tells me about his journey down. I sit at the table, listening to Ben’s voice, glad to feel part of a big family again.
‘Aye, so it wis a right bastard of a journey. I’m no saying she wis an actual Nazi, but she definitely had fascist leanings.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘Who’s a Nazi?’
‘That woman on the train.’
‘What woman?’
‘Have ye no been listening?’ Ben says, rolling his eyes and turning to Tim as he sits down, placing biscuits on the table. ‘Away wi’ the fairies – has she always been like that?’
Tim laughs and says, ‘She was always in her own world.’
I look at them both, past and present coming together, so I say, ‘The woman was a fascist?’
Ben looks at me, then says, ‘Aye – she didnae like it one bit when Mahler and Sam were up on the seats. It’s not as if anyone else needed them, she wis just being snooty and said they were dirty and should be on the floor.’
‘You’re not dirty, are you Mahler?’ I say, ruffling his ears.
‘She made a big stink about it and the conductor said they had to go on the floor or we’d have to get off at the next stop. So I made that woman’s life a misery – I let off some awful farts, then I blamed her, saying she wis the one causing a stink, which wis the truth of the matter. She just tutted. There’s nothing worse than a tutter. I bashed into her as I went to the loo and she spilled her drink on herself. She got the conductor again, but I pleaded persecution, saying she wis a nasty dog hater and wis trying to get me thrown off. Eventually he just took her to a different carriage – upgraded her to first class, so I bet she wis happy with that.’
Tim laughs and says, ‘Good for you.’
‘Aye, it wis good, until hordes got on the train and then the delays. A bastard of a journey.’
‘I’m glad you came, Ben,’ I say. ‘I really missed you.’
‘It wis boring without ye. Though, these two kept me on ma toes.’
‘I bet they did.’
‘How did you two meet?’ asks Tim and I clatter my mug onto the table.
‘She stole ma spot,’ says Ben.
‘He doesn’t want to know about that,’ I say.
Ben frowns at me, ‘Well that’s how we met and that’s what he asked – I had a begging spot and I came back to find she’d stolen it. So I told her tae get tae fuck but she wasnae listenin – too busy hugging Sam, the wee traitor.’
I get up and go to the kitchen counter, turning up the radio.
‘She wis crying and snottin all over him’, says Ben, ‘but he wis lapping up the attention so I just sat next to them and let her cry into his fur. She dried up and Sam fell asleep in her arms.’
‘I remember,’ I say, swaying to the music. ‘“Look, lady,” you said, “we’ve all got our sob stories, but this is ma spot.”’
‘Aye, that’s right. But ye just ignored me and asked about Sam. Before I knew it I wis telling ye our sob story. She wis deflecting,’ says Ben, turning back to Tim, ‘away from the situation of ma spot.’
‘I wasn’t there for long,’ I say.
‘Aye, ye had tae go get medication for yer wife.’
I nod, looking down at Mahler who’d followed me. I stroke his head.
‘Her wife wis sick,’ says Ben to Tim, ‘but I didnae find that out till later. From then on, though, we were pals. Eh, old lady?’
Red Queen wanders through, jumps up on the counter and meows at me. I scoop her up and hold her, swaying together.
‘She’d bring me coffee and her freshly baked banana cake – that wis the good shit, I’m telling ye. And I helped her too, taking old man Monty – that wis her dog before Mahler – for walks when she had to stay in with her wife.’
‘I couldn’t have managed without you, Ben,’ I say, listening to Red Queen’s purring.
‘Dinnae get soppy on me, old lady.’
I smile and look over at him. He winks, raising his mug to me.
I put Red Queen down and scoop some food into a bowl for her. I sit back at the table and Ben shifts round in his chair, stares at Tim, and says, ‘So, what’s yer story, lizard man?’
‘He’s not a lizard,’ I say, ‘he’s a Fish Boy.’
‘Not anymore,’ says Tim.
‘They’re some tattoos,’ says Ben. ‘Got them all over?’
Tim nods and says, ‘Goblin and I would get tattoos in every city we stopped in.’
‘What circus tricks did ye do?’
‘I was “Fish Boy, Wonder of the Deep” in Freaks and Wonders. I’d swim in a tank and show people my webbed fingers as Goblin told my story.’
‘She’s a good storyteller, our G.’
‘That she is.’
‘How long did ye work together?’
‘Until we split up.’
‘Ye were a couple?’
‘We were.’
‘I thought ye were a lezza, old lady.’
Tim and I laugh and Ben says, ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘So did ye turn lezza after him?’ says Ben. ‘No offence,’ he says to Tim.
I laugh and shake my head.
‘I’m not gay,’ I say, stroking Mahler’s ear. ‘Or straight.’
‘Bi then?’
I shrug and say, ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe? What kinda answer is that?’
‘What does it matter what I am?’
Ben looks at me for a moment then says, ‘Dunno, old lady. I guess it doesn’t.’
Red Queen slinks over to me and jumps on my lap. Ben feeds Sam a biscuit under the table
and says, ‘So how long were ye in the circus?’
‘I left in sixty-seven. I went to live in Venice.’
‘Why’d ye leave?’
I say nothing and stare down at Red Queen, stroking her head, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
‘She was seduced by Venice,’ says Tim.
‘I’ve never been to Venice,’ says Ben.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, ‘but full of tourists. All the residents are being driven out.’
‘Aye, it’s getting that way in Edinburgh.’
I nod and say, ‘I’m going to take Mahler for a walk.’
‘Sure, old lady.’
‘You alright?’ asks Tim.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I was going to rustle up some pasta.’
‘Sounds good. I won’t be long.’
I take Red Queen off my lap and place her on my chair. Turning to Ben I say, ‘Do you want me to take Sam?’
‘Aye. Thanks, old lady.’
As I walk down the hall with Mahler and Sam I hear Ben say, ‘So what wis old G like when she wis young?’
Venice, 1967
I didn’t watch the performance. I didn’t see anyone else from the circus. Tim had arranged a lease on an apartment for me and the first few days I stayed inside. He’d gone to the market to stock up on food for me, so I managed. On the third day, he came to see me.
‘You haven’t been out? At all?’
‘No.’
‘This beautiful city, and you’ve been cooped up here. What did prison do to you?’
‘It isn’t that.’
‘Angelina came by. She said you weren’t in.’
‘I was in. I heard her.’
‘So why didn’t you—’
‘I don’t want to see them. That life is gone.’
‘Goblin, we love you.’
‘I can’t face them. I can’t go out until the circus is gone.’
‘Are you going to be alright?’
‘You don’t need to worry.’
‘But I do.’
‘I know you do. I’m fine.’
‘You’ll go out when we’re gone? You promise me?’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the city.’
‘You’ll love it, G. I know it.’
He hugged me.
‘You’ll keep in touch, won’t you? You’ll write?’
‘I will. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’
‘I want you to be happy. You’ll be okay, won’t you?’
‘You don’t need to worry.’
We kissed and he was gone, the circus was gone, and the next day was the start of my new life.
*
The sky was light blue, the sun was blinding. I wandered the labyrinthian streets without a map, getting lost, reaching dead ends, doubling back. I weaved my way through the city, finding myself in wide open squares and busy thoroughfares. I sat outside cafés, sipping coffee and listening to the lively gabble of tourists and the rapid-fire Venetian dialect of the locals. Continuing my walk, I wandered down dark narrow streets that led to small canals that were hidden from the sun. Only minutes away from the bustle and noise, I was enveloped in the mystery of dark, crumbling buildings and the gentle lapping of water.
I stopped for lunch at a café hidden down one of these narrow streets, before making my way to San Marco. The mid afternoon sun scorched the square as it heaved with tourists. I joined the long queue to the Campanile. From the top of the tower I could see right across the jumbled rooftops of the city and out across the lagoon to the other islands. Seeing the city from above, it felt even more impossible, vulnerable to the sea that surrounded it.
After the Campanile I bought a map and made my way through the streets to the vaporetto stop that serviced Burano. I sat at the back of the vaporetto and looked across to San Michele, the cemetery island. I watched Venice recede, listening to the sound of the engine and the churned-up water.
I wandered through the streets of Burano, admiring the brightly coloured houses, petting the many cats. I bought a lace bookmark to send to Tim. I watched the sunset over the lagoon; the boats bobbing past, the birds dipping and diving for fish. I thought of Cornwall and the story I told to Angel about the kraken who reached up for the sun, pulling it down, swallowing it whole, nursing the warmth in its belly before spewing it up in the morning. I watched the sun disappear and sought warmth for my own belly; a glass of wine, a hot meal.
I found a restaurant full of rowdy locals. I took a table outside, enjoying a simple seafood dish for dinner. Each table had a candle and I watched the warm light dance on their faces. The group burst into song off and on, little fragments.
I knew if I was to stay here I’d need to learn Italian, but I was happy in my ignorance – no small talk, nothing expected of me. I was silent, observing. This was the first time I’d ever been alone, properly settled and alone. When I travelled to Cornwall I had Monsta. In Cornwall I had Monsta and Corporal Pig and Angel. On the journey to London I had CP. When ma disappeared I had a family of animals.
I was afraid, as I sat there listening to the locals. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to be truly alone, but I knew that I wouldn’t be alone for long.
I said, ‘I am alone and I am home,’ raising my glass to no one, to the locals, to the island, to Venice, to the moon that was creeping up above the buildings. All those years of travelling, all those years on the road, I never thought I could feel at home in one place, but here it was; these people I couldn’t understand, this magical crumbling land that was sinking into the sea. I couldn’t imagine belonging anywhere else. I knew if that’s how I felt, then David would too. If he’d been travelling the world by sea and found Venice I knew he couldn’t leave. He had to be here and I would find him.
On the vaporetto journey back to my apartment, I watched the moonlight shimmer across the black lagoon and I thought of David, lying on his bed, dreaming of escape, dreaming of the sea. I thought of the creatures beneath those waves – fish monsters, mermaids, krakens, sunken treasure.
‘I’ll find you, David,’ I whispered to the sea.
*
Tim had given me my circus earnings to get myself settled and I got by for a couple of months. I bought some language books and tapes, teaching myself some basic Italian, embarrassing myself at the local market as I stumbled through fragmented sentences. The stall holders would laugh and shake their heads at me, replying to me in Italian that was too fast to follow. I was tempted to forgo these regular humiliations and shop exclusively at the supermarkets, but I always went back. After almost three months, the stallholders would greet me warmly and they were soon helping me, teaching me new words. One of the fish merchants, Benito, could speak English all along.
‘What’s Italian for “asshole”?’ I said.
He smiled, raised his hands in supplication. ‘I was helping you,’ he said.
‘You enjoyed laughing at me.’
My Italian was hesitant and fragmented for the first few months and while I was able to make myself understood I found it hard to follow replies and couldn’t hold a conversation. My circus earnings were running out and I wasn’t able to get a regular job with my poor Italian, so I started busking as a clown. Our circus acts were all developed for a group, so I had to adjust to being solo, adapting some of Horatiu’s mime work. I kept up with my writing, but my pitches for articles on everyday life in Venice were rejected by UK newspapers and magazines and I had little success with short stories. I was still running short, so I asked Benito to help me write a poster advertising myself as a dog walker. This was a real success and I was soon breaking even.
I had my routine. I had coffee at home then picked up the dogs I was looking after. As I walked them I put up ‘missing’ posters of David, layer upon layer as previous posters were defaced, torn, weather-beaten.
I was soon picking up strays and injured pigeons and my apartment quickly filled with dogs and cats and birds. The first dog I rescued, Montgomery, was the
only one I named. I said to the others, ‘You can have your own names that only you know.’ It was partly to keep me from becoming too attached – I couldn’t afford to keep them all and there was always more to pick up. Monty stayed with me but I tried to find homes for the others, so there was a constant stream of animals coming and going. A number of the animals were rejected several times – too small, too big, too old, not the right colour, too much work, too ugly, too ill. I liked to think it was us who rejected them; I vetted the potential people thoroughly and anyone who wasn’t suitable was promptly ejected, often followed by a stream of my well-practiced Venetian swearing: ‘Chi ta cagà! Col casso. Ti xe via de testa. Va a cagar sule ortighe! Ma va’ in mona.’
In the evening I’d go to a local bar, where I’d write. Gio, the owner, would come in now and again, checking in with the manager, ordering a drink and talking with the regulars. His English was basic, but much better than my Italian, which was still fragmented. He was small, corpulent, with a genuine warmth and a mischievous curl of the lip. Gio soon learned of my collection of animals and my love for pigeons. When I told him my name he looked disgusted and said, ‘What kind of name is Folletto?’
‘Folletto?’
‘Si, Folletto – Goblin.’
‘Ah, what’s wrong with it?’
‘A folletto is an evil thing.’
‘Maybe I’m evil.’
He shook his head, ‘No, you’re no folletto. La Pazza dei Piccioni is what you are.’
I looked at him blankly and he said, ‘Crazy Pigeon Woman.’
I laughed and almost cried as I hugged him. He looked disgruntled and said, ‘I don’t know why you’re happy – that name’s no good. Pigeons are horrible dirty things.’
But he smiled, pleased I liked the name, and a couple of weeks later he brought me an injured pigeon.
‘I should have left the dirty thing where it was, but I didn’t want to be cursed by an evil folletto,’ he said, handing over the bird.
I needed to earn more to feed the animals and for vet bills, so I read books, studying the history of Venice and set up my own business, running macabre history tours for the tourists. I cut back on dog walking, as the tours paid better and between that and looking after the strays I didn’t have as much time. Gio supported me, putting up adverts in the bar for my tours, telling everyone I was the one to go to. I’d lead the tourists through the labyrinthian streets and scare them with tales of Biagio Cargnio and the cursed Ca Dario.