by Lina Ellina
Nonetheless, Lorenzo was determined not to give up. He hadn’t exactly become obsessed with this hunt, but it gave him a sense of purpose. What is more, he enjoyed his afternoon chats with Raffaella when her work was done, and they would grab a coffee and discuss his search, usually at one of Rovigo’s agritourism farms that Paola enjoyed so much.
Raffaella’s assistance was invaluable. She knew the right people in the right places. When on one of those days out she suggested calling Don Giuseppe, a childhood friend of her father’s, at the Diocese in Venice, Lorenzo was not the least surprised. Raffaella recommended that he take the time and drive to Venice to meet the padre in person. That would help speed up the process.
Lorenzo had never been a particularly religious man, but the serenity and the energy he felt when he finally visited Don Giuseppe reminded him of how he had once stood in awe while in St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. The only ornaments in the padre’s modest office were an icon of the Madonna and the Pope’s photo on the wall. The padre walked with slow, yet confident steps to the door to welcome him. Lorenzo looked at the tall ascetic figure with the kind eyes.
“So, you are signor Zanetti of Ca’ Lorenzo! You probably don’t know this, but I’ve already been to your restaurant once with my dear friend Pietro, Raffaella’s father. Our caparossoli in cassopipa were delicious!” He beckoned for Lorenzo to take a seat.
“Thank you, padre.” Lorenzo smiled politely and had a seat. “And thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”
“I try to make requests from my home town a priority if circumstances allow. And it just so happens that I am not as busy as usual these days... Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked while taking a seat behind his desk.
“No, thank you. I didn’t know you were from Rovigo,” Lorenzo said with interest.
“I was born there and went to scuola elementare together with Pietro. We practically grew up together until my family moved away,” the padre said with a touch of nostalgia in his voice. “But enough about me. I understand you are looking for an ancestor of yours.”
“Yes, I am.”
Lorenzo told him all he knew about the family legend, and Don Giuseppe jotted down the details.
“I was wondering what the procedure is so as to gain access to the church archives of the time,” Lorenzo finally said.
“You would first of all need to put your request in writing, but that doesn’t mean that you would, indeed, be allowed access. Usually, only members of the clergy can access the archives. You understand that this could be a rather time-consuming procedure and that you will have to be patient.”
“I suppose there are several people with such a request.”
“There are a few,” the padre replied vaguely.
“In your experience, how long does it usually take?” Lorenzo enquired.
“It’s really hard to tell. It depends. My guess would be anything between two to six months.”
“Well, thank you for seeing me,” Lorenzo said, rising from his seat. “I will put my request in writing right away.” He looked at the padre rather disappointed.
“Uh! The young! Always impatient,” the padre said with a smile. “Signor Zanetti, you asked me what the procedure is, and I described it to you. I did not say there was no way to help you.”
Lorenzo turned and faced him with renewed interest.
“I could perhaps assist the search when my duties are done after prayer.” The padre smiled serenely at him.
“Thank you, padre. Thank you so much.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, child. My secretary will guide you through the process. We will need your birth certificate to create your genealogical tree. Leave your contact details with my secretary before you leave. I will personally get in touch when the search is complete. Godspeed!”
12 - Lemesos, 2010
Marina spent the next couple of months adjusting to her new life without George in her new studio in a new city. Deep down, she knew they had stayed in this relationship reluctant to admit their love had faded away. Even if out of gratitude for the friendship he had offered her when she most needed it, Marina would never have initiated a break up with him, but catching him cheating unmasked everything. In a way, it was a relief.
While most other students were having fun at the beach during the day and clubbing at night, Marina worked hard and saved money for the fall semester. In her free time, she tried to make the most out of her sixteen square meters of living space. She painted the walls in her favorite colors – soft, warm maize yellow and cheerful peach orange. She purchased a lace curtain for the only window of her studio, and with sheer determination, she assembled the DIY furniture she bought. She filled the only free corner with an olive tree and the shelves with her books and put up a poster of Venice on the wall – her dream destination. When everything was in place, she invited Katerina and her boyfriend Andy over for dinner to celebrate.
As the days went by, she realized that Katerina was doing a great job keeping George away from her, but her own mother was beginning to soften. At first, the elderly woman was furious with her son-in-law-to-be’s behavior. But as the days turned into weeks, with his constant pleading to at least be able to talk to her and say how sorry he was, the seeds of doubt began to blossom.
13 - 1467
Like a sponge, Marin absorbed every little detail about the work at the sugar mill in the next few months. He found out that the mill relied on the waterwheel and its grinding systems. In addition to the animal-driven grinding wheel and millstone, at the Cornaro mill, they also applied a more technologically advanced multi-floor, gear-based, horizontal waterwheel crushing and grinding system.
One of the largest problems when refining sugar, from a quality standpoint, was how to handle the soot, the ash, and the other byproducts from the fire necessary for the boiling process. In the Cornaro mill, they addressed this question by separating the facilities into four main sections, the store room-workshop, the mill area, the boiling hall and the stoke rooms. Another novelty at the Cornaro mill was the copper[1] cauldrons. Copper cannot only be hammered flat with little effort, but it also naturally reacts with sugar and prevents it from recrystallizing.
Marin quickly understood that the production of sugar depended on three major factors, slaves and serfs - as it was extremely labor intensive - water, and wood. Acquiring slaves partly resolved the issue of hands needed. The workforce at the mill now surpassed four hundred, not to count the several other hundreds of serfs who worked the fields.
As sugar cane has a long growing season, it requires a substantial amount of water. The Kouris River, with its elaborate aqueduct system, transported the water needed to irrigate the fields and power the grinding millstones as well as to clean and care for equipment. What Marin soon realized was that in the dry season, especially after periods of drought, Kouris wouldn’t flow swiftly enough to provide adequate power, and that slowed down the process. He made a mental note to discuss this with Andrea at their next meeting. There had to be a way to improve the water power efficiency. Perhaps they should seek an engineer’s advice. At least, recurring conflict between the Cornaro and the Hospitallers over the legal rights to use the water of the river had abated during the rainy season.
Firewood seemed to be the major cause of delay in production. The lumberjacks had to cut down trees farther and farther away from the mill as the surrounding area had been gradually deforested. They were rapidly reaching the boundaries of the Cornaro estate. Marin would have to figure out a way to secure more timber. Moreover, he realized how cutting corners in the maintenance of machinery caused further holdups, and he gave orders for immediate amendments.
For the most part, the young Venetian took to liking his life in Cyprus at once. Not only was he now the ‘master’- he still smiled inwardly at that - but he enjoyed the cultural osmosis that reminded him of home. Fifteenth century Cyprus resembled a mosaic of ethnicities in which various elements fused at the edges as foreign
ers gradually acquired a Cypriot consciousness and some even spoke Greek. Especially after the Synod of Florence unified the two Christian churches, the intermingling of the Greek and Latin population in Cyprus altered the Frankish society on the island. This was a time when Latin priests would switch churches so as to be able to marry and Latin laymen so as to divorce. Even some Latin aristocracy had switched church so as to gain the favor of Queen Elena.
It didn’t take long for Marin to comprehend that there were two distinct societies on the island, one foreign - the royalty and the nobility, which was made up of various communities, ‘states within the state’ almost - and one native. The majority of the local population was Greek-speaking Orthodox peasants, farmers, or craftsmen. Among them, there were thousands of Armenians, Maronites[2], and Hebrews. Cyprus gave shelter to the influx of refugees as Crusaders retreated, losing one territory after another and when Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks in 1453.
In order to consolidate their power over the Greek population, the Lusignan Dynasty had offered fiefs and other grants to European knights who came in search of social advancement, profit, and adventure in a newly established kingdom. The experience of the Knights Templar taught the Lusignans a valuable lesson. If Cyprus was to be held long, a small garrison would not suffice to control the people. A large number of men with a vested interest in preserving the new regime were needed.
[1]Copper was profuse on the island. Cyprus, ‘Kypros’ in Greek, may have given the metal its Latin name, cuprum.
[2]The Maronites belong to the Eastern Christian cult of the Catholic Church which is based in Antioch and were named after Saint Maron (350-410 AD) who lived in the region of Apamea in Syria. Maronites came to Cyprus in four major migrations between the 8th and the 13th century AD.
14 - Rovigo, 2010
Lorenzo lifted the collar of his black blazer and kneeled by his wife’s gravestone. Paola did the same and silent tears rolled down her soft cheeks. She put a bouquet of white orchids, Beth’s favorite flowers, in a vase.
It had been exactly one year without her, but there were still moments when Lorenzo was expecting to see her light figure walk through the door. “I miss you, Beth,’ he said, bringing the fingers of his right hand to his lips and then lowering them onto her gravestone.
“Daddy, do you really think that mommy can see us from heaven?”
“I’m sure she sees what a wonderful young lady you have turned into, and she’s very proud of you.” Lorenzo offered his daughter a congenial smile.
“Maybe not so wonderful,” the sad-faced girl replied.
“What makes you say that?”
“Daddy... I’m afraid I don’t remember her. I know what she looks like in photos, but I don’t remember her face.” Paola sighed and fixed her gaze on the gravestone as if all the answers she was looking for could be found there.
Lorenzo put his own devastating feelings aside and cleared the lump in his throat. “Come here,” he said as he opened his arms for her to hide in.
“You don’t have to remember her face. You just need to remember that mommy loved you more than anything in the whole wide world and that she’s always looking down on earth smiling at you. So, whenever you need her, just look at the sky and smile back.”
Lorenzo watched Paola lift her head up and look at the sky. Her lips formed a smile – a timid one at first, and then a wide one. When she was calm again, they rose to their feet, and Lorenzo cleared the moisture off the knees of his black jeans as best as he could. He held her little hand in his, as they walked to the classic red Alfa Romeo Duetto Spider. He helped his lost-in-her-thoughts daughter with the child car seat and then sat behind the wheel without turning the engine on. It began to drizzle again. He focused his gaze on Beth’s grave, contemplating all the plans they had made together until the trembling cell phone in his pocket brought him back to reality.
“Signor Zanetti, this is Don Giuseppe,” the familiar, gentle voice said.
“Good morning, padre. Any news?” Lorenzo asked in tense anticipation. He hadn’t heard from him for months. As all other leads rendered no meaningful result, he had almost given up on Marin.
“Yes, but let me remind you that records dating so far back are not consistent,” the padre said stoically. “I have been able to trace two men by the name of Marin Zanetti in the time period you are interested in who might be related to your genealogical tree. One of them was born in 1445, fu de fornaio[1] Maffeo Zanetti. The other one was born in 1446, the son of Alexandro Zanetti, capitano delle galere al viazzio del traffico[2]”
“What was the father’s name again?” Lorenzo’s mind was racing. Could there be a link to Alexandro Zanetti with the land acquisition in 1469?
“Alexandro,” the padre repeated, and Lorenzo felt his adrenaline spiking.
“Well, the first one seems to have married here and become the father of three sons and four daughters who never left Veneto, for they married and had children here, except for two who died of the plague.”
“What about the captain’s son?” Lorenzo tried not to sound impatient.
“Well, there is less information about him. In fact, there is no reference to him after his baptism... no wedding, no death registered. He might have moved away at a young age. It must have been easy for him, considering his father’s profession,” the padre deduced.
“Is it possible he might have returned to Italy but not to Veneto?”
“It’s possible, but our records wouldn’t hold such information.”
“I don’t know how I can begin to thank you, padre.” Lorenzo brought his hand to his forehead sensing Marin calling him.
“There is nothing to thank me for, child. I am glad I could be of service. My secretary will be faxing you the relevant documents later today. May you find all the answers you are looking for. Godspeed!”
Lorenzo held on to his cell phone and tried to take on board all this information. It was as if everything was pointing at the direction of furthering his search in Cyprus.
“Who was that, daddy?”
Lorenzo’s eyebrows lifted up and went down again. “That... That was Don Giuseppe. He’s been helping me trace an ancestor.”
“A what?”
“An ancestor. Like a great-great-great grandfather.”
“And? Did you trace him?”
“I might have. It seems he lived on Cyprus, an island. I might want to go there one day and see if I can find out more about him.”
“Okay.” To Paola, her father’s plan obviously didn’t sound complicated at all.
[1] The baker’s son
[2] Captain of trade galley
15 - Lemesos, 2010
Marina was working on her thesis when the sound of her ring tone interrupted her thoughts. She checked the screen. It was her mother.
“Marina, George was here again asking about your address. I can’t do this anymore. You need to deal with this, or I’ll give him your new cell phone number. I’ve had enough.” Her mother only stopped to catch her breath. “You were so crazy about him you even ran away with him. Now, you won’t even talk to him. I don’t understand you young people. In my time, you would have got married from the beginning. End of story!”
Marina took a deep breath. Her mother did have a point. This was her problem, not her mother’s. George knew exactly which strings to pull to get her to talk to him.
“I believe that even in your generation the notion of a divorce was not so uncommon, unless, of course, women didn’t mind sharing their husbands with the other women in the village.”
“Men in my generation did no such things,” her mother retorted.
You wish, Marina thought, but instead she said, “Well, men in my generation do, and I have no intention to live with it. I understand George can be very persuasive when he wants to. I bet you already feel sorry for him and consider me cruel. Anyway, I’ll talk to him. Just don’t give him my number. Please!”
Marina knew when George put an idea in his hea
d, he could be unrelenting. Although she had neither time nor energy in excess to deal with him at the moment, she couldn’t hide behind her mother like that. Unfalteringly, she grabbed her keys, walked to the nearest public telephone, and dialed his number.
“Hello.” His voice brought back memories of a decade.
“Hi.”
“Marina?” George couldn’t believe his ears.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
“What are you doing in Lemesos?”
Of course, he could see the number on his screen.
“George, just tell me what you want. And leave my mom alone. She’s a lonely, old woman. She doesn’t deserve this harassment.”
“Yeah, she told me about your dad. I’m sorry. I would have come to the funeral if I had known. And I’m sorry about bothering your mom. I didn’t know how else I could find you.”
Marina sighed. “What do you want, George?” she asked quietly.
“Things to be the way they used to be. I love you.”
“You have a funny way of showing that.”
The image of him sweating over that girl in her own bed made her stomach turn, but that was not why she was calling. He had to understand it was over and leave her mother alone.
“It was a mistake. Just once. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise,” he pleaded.
“You know, this is not just about the girl. Let’s be honest here. We both knew things between us hadn’t been the way they used to be in a long, long time.”