The Venetian

by Lina Ellina

  In the brothel, a beautiful blonde in a see-through robe came to take Marin by the hand.

  “You look like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. Let me give you a bath and a massage with aromatic oils. That should relieve you from the tension,” she suggested in a soft, sweet voice, and Marin followed her obediently.

  In the tub in her chambers, he closed his eyes concentrating on her touch, but when he opened them again in the reality of the brothel, he found he was irritated. He got out of the water and dried himself up hastily. The girl got out of the tub, too, and put on her see-through robe that stuck on her sensual body.

  “Have I not pleased you, signore? Tell me what you would like me to do!”

  With swift movements, Marin got dressed. “It’s got nothing to do with you. You did everything right.” He left some money on her dresser and left.

  If Nikeforos was surprised his master showed up so soon wearing a somber face, he didn’t show it. Should Marin want to confide in him, he knew he would take his secret to his grave.

  [1]Salted sundried, deboned goat’s meat, sprinkled with oregano

  56 - 2011

  Lorenzo looked at her puzzled. “This is not the way to the hotel, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” Marina said with a smirk.

  “Why do I have this feeling you’re up to something?” He gave her a half smile.

  “I thought you might want to have dinner like the average Cypriot does,” she said, casting a glance in his direction. The five-o’clock shadow on his face gave him a rough charm, she noticed, but she immediately focused her gaze on the road again.

  “Anything that has to do with food has my attention.”

  “We’ll just have to make a quick stop. I’ll pick up the chronicle,” she said, getting into the right hand lane on the coastal road, taking a right and right again into St. Andrews Street. “I’ll only by a minute,” she said and appeared with a book in her hand only a couple of minutes later. After a very short drive, they parked the car and started walking toward the castle.

  Lorenzo admired the illuminated medieval structure with the two-meter thick walls and the cozy old neighborhood. Despite the chilly weather, people were enjoying their drinks at the lined up cafés and restaurants in the pedestrian zone under the heaters on the sidewalks.

  “What is this place?” he asked, looking around.

  “This is a very popular place with the locals for an evening out. It forms the western part of the old town, and this castle here was built in the 14th century on the site of an earlier Byzantine castle. Its function was to protect the harbor and the town. King Richard married Berengaria here and crowned her Queen of England and Cyprus. This street was named after them. The castle also houses a medieval museum with relics from the Frankish and the Venetian Periods.”

  Lorenzo took a look around. “Charming!”

  “It’s a pity you are staying such a short time. There are so many beautiful places and historical sites we won’t be able to visit,” Marina said with regret.

  “I could always come back – perhaps in the summer time.” He gave her an attractive smile.

  “You’d love it... Would you rather sit inside or outside? Outside is more beautiful but inside is warmer.”

  “My guess is you like it warm.”

  “I’m fine either way,” Marina lied unconvincingly.

  Lorenzo smiled and shook his head. He pushed the restaurant door, held it open for her, and gallantly placed his palm on her back.

  “You come here often?” he asked when they were finally left alone at a quiet corner table. He couldn’t help noticing how all the waiters turned to greet her with a nod of the head.

  “Uh, if working here counts, then yes. I help out sometimes.”

  Lorenzo looked at her through half-closed eyes, pondering what a busy little life she led and gave her an affable smile. A waiter came to their table and served a variety of small cold meze dishes, and Lorenzo looked up at her in astonishment.

  “Have we ordered?”

  “I did when we came in.” A cheeky smirk spread across her face as his brows arched. “Do you trust me?” She used the same conspiratorial tone of voice he used the night before when he undertook ordering.

  “I’m sure you can do a much better job ordering Cypriot food than me. Now, I’m curious. You’ll have to explain all these little dishes in detail to me.”

  “First of all, it’s essential to understand the concept of meze. You see meze in Greek means more than satisfying an empty stomach; it’s an experience. It’s a combination of small quantities of a variety of dishes, enjoyed in good company while drinking, chatting, and laughing.”

  Marina gladly went on to elaborate on the refined meze dishes served.

  57 - 1467

  Since his last encounter with Elena, Marin had been suffering from insomnia. She hounded not only his sleep but also his equanimity. The serfs at work and the servants at home tried to stay out of his way and his temper.

  Determined to forget all about her, he forced himself to work harder and slogged away at the mill and cotton farm ledgers even longer than usual. He went to bed as late and as exhausted as possible, in the hope that fatigue would grant him his hard-earned sleep.

  In spite of the measure of his resolve, he would get out of bed in the dead of the night, light a candle, and in the company of red wine, let his fingers slip along the little wooden cross she had carved for him. Out of the chest, he would take out the drawing of Elena feeding Ioanna and stare at it, playing in his mind the few encounters they had. Upset, he would crinkle and toss it, only to pick it up lovingly later and straighten it.

  He endured in agony, waiting for the effect of the love potion to diminish. She must have used a double dose, he assumed, for it had been two weeks, and he was still tormented. What added to his ordeal was Nikeforos’s courting Persephone since her parents’ consent in marriage. They would soon be setting the date for the engagement.

  Meanwhile, Elena knew Marin would come back to her sooner or later. She just had to decide what she wanted when he did.

  58 - 2011

  “So you’re still a chef at the Intercontinental somewhere?” Marina took one last loukoumas[1] and a spoon of ouzo ice cream.

  “Not anymore. When Beth died, I had two options. I could either focus on my career or on my daughter. I chose the latter. ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by’. Or maybe not.”

  “‘And that has made all the difference’,” she finished off the verse. A faint smile crossed their faces, as they locked eyes. “So you’re no longer with the hotel?” Marina broke the silence.

  “No, I moved to Rovigo. It’s a small town. It’s better for Paola. Anyway, I opened up my own restaurant, Ca’ Lorenzo. It’s in the central square next to the City Hall. You should come one day. Ever been?”

  Marina cleared her throat and stared at her hands. “I haven’t had the chance to travel much yet. You?”

  Lorenzo flashed a warm smile at her. “I spent some time in a few parts of the world working for the Intercontinental. Beth and I...,” he pressed his lips together as if to take the words back, “… liked experiencing flavors of the world.”

  “You miss her, don’t you?” Marina offered him a congenial smile.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. We had a good life together - short but happy. We loved the same things.”

  Marina looked at him and wondered what she could possibly have in common with him.

  “And although I haven’t been romantically involved with anyone ever since, I know it’s time I moved on with my life,” he said, knowing he hadn’t done a good job at that yet.

  “It’s hard to turn theory into practice, I guess.” Marina wondered why he wasn’t dating anyone. Surely Italy was overflowing with beautiful women.

  “Let’s say I haven’t found anyone I feel I want to connect with yet.” He looked up at her and held her in a vulnerable gaze. “Or maybe I ha
ve, but it’s been so long since I last flirted that I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice.”

  Could he be talking about her? Probably not, she decided. She had a sip of water and changed the subject. “Do you regret moving to Rovigo?”

  He looked at her as if he might have expected a different response and then said, “You know, I take my time and think things through before I make a decision that might have an impact on my life or Paola’s. Moving to Rovigo was a conscious decision, and no, I don’t regret it. Rovigo can put the spell on you with its provincial laid-back lifestyle and friendly neighbors. Of course, it’s not the center of the gastronomic world, but I can live with that. I have time for my daughter... And this is also the reason why I’ll probably say ‘no’ to participating at a chef competition at LA9 Sat, a local TV station in Padua, as a judge. It’s just a forty-minute drive from Rovigo, but soon Paola will be calling Sofia ‘mom’ and me ‘uncle’.” He tried to joke about it.

  “I bet you’re exaggerating... You know, this could be good promotion for your restaurant. And I can imagine that taking part in a TV show can be fun. Isn’t there a way you could involve Paola? Not just the time in the car but also show her a bit of Padua each time? She might even be allowed to watch you from the vicinity in the studio. That would be an exciting experience for her!”

  Lorenzo rested his index finger on his temple and contemplated Marina’s angle. “You might be right. I should sleep on it perhaps.”

  [1]Honey dumpling

  59 - 1467

  Marin was pacing up and down in his chamber one sleepless night. He stopped, gulped down his wine, and with a determined move, he took his chemise off, got dressed, hashed the hound dogs at the entrance, and tiptoed out of the tranquil Cornaro mansion. He reached the stables in resolute strides, got on his horse, and headed north.

  Elena was awakened by the banging on her door in the middle of the night. She quickly checked on Ioanna who was sound asleep. Only Hippocrates was alert, but Elena silenced him with her motion. She lit the oil lamp on the bedside table, slipped into her slippers, and walked to the door.

  “Who’s there?” she asked through the closed door.

  “Elena, open up. It’s Marin.” His voice sounded tormented.

  “It’s the middle of the night!”

  “I know. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I have to see you. I have to talk to you.”

  She put her hand on her hip. “Are you drunk?” she asked distrustfully.

  “No... Maybe... A little.” He chuckled.

  “Can’t this wait until the morning?”

  “No, it’s urgent.”

  Elena frowned. Against her better judgment, she opened the door, but instead of letting him in, she stepped outside on the moonlit porch. She shivered in the chill of the night. Her erect nipples, evident through her chemise, stared at him demanding his attention, but he commanded all his self-restraint and resisted the impulse to bend down and taste them. That would scare her off. Following his gaze, Elena folded her arms in front of her chest. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on her face.

  “What do you want, Marin?”

  “You!” He fixed his erotic Glaucous blue gaze on her brown eyes.

  “What?” She whispered caught off guard. She did not expect such a bold, plain-spoken statement. Nor did she expect it to stir such a yearning for him.

  He darted his ardent eyes at her as he took a step closer. Elena could smell the alcohol in his breath, but he couldn’t be all that drunk if he rode all the way from the Cornaro mansion in the dead of the night.

  “Elena! Oh, Elena! You have taken away my sleep... my peace of mind.” He fondled her hair. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Enthralled by the dancing flames of passion in his eyes, Elena watched him lean into her, as he took her face in his two hands and brushed his lips against hers. Unable to struggle against his pheromones, she closed her eyes and let go. Marin gave in to her intoxicating kiss like to good vintage wine that he tasted over and over again. His lips evoked senses that had been dormant for too long for such a young woman.

  “Oh, Elena. I have to have you, or I’ll die,” he whispered in her ear, and his warm breath filled her with thrill. Feeling his urgency to be with her made her own desire flare, as they explored each other hungrily until their breaths eventually became one in the stillness of the night.

  60 - 2011

  “I still don’t feel comfortable about your getting the dinner bill,” Lorenzo said when she put her foot on the brake in the hotel parking lot.

  Marina killed the engine and looked at his earnest expression. “I just wanted to return last night’s hospitality.”

  He sighed and took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “I know. Just let me get the bills when we’re together. All right?” he asked.

  Marina smiled at his old-fashioned, yet cute manners, nodded, and picked up the chronicle from the backseat. A couple of minutes later, they were taking a seat at the bar, and Paul greeted them with a smile.

  Lorenzo turned to her and asked “is there anything typically Cypriot you would recommend?”

  “A few drinks actually. Would you like to try our national cocktail? Brandy sour?”

  “Sure.” Lorenzo shrugged, and Paul got to business.

  “Yeia mas!” Marina raised her glass when Paul placed two cocktail glasses in front of them.

  “Yeia mas!” Lorenzo matched the toast in Greek and took a reconnaissance sip of his cocktail.

  “There’s a story behind our brandy sour.”

  “Why does this not surprise me?” Lorenzo gave her a cheeky smirk, but Marina didn’t mind.

  “In the thirties, the young King Farouk of Egypt would often visit the Forest Park Hotel in Platres. He had a preference for cocktails, so at the hotel, they developed this cocktail with brandy and lemon squash especially for him but served it as iced tea to disguise the alcohol in it - him being Muslim and all.”

  “To King Farouk and the barman who came up with the idea!” he said, raising his glass as the pianist sat at the piano and started playing Sway.

  “Just one dance?” he asked, extending his arm.

  “I’m not that much of a dancer.” Marina shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Just follow my lead,” he said, flashing an encouraging smile at her.

  He led her to the dance floor and placed his right arm on her left shoulder blade, keeping the right space between them. She timidly placed her left hand on his right shoulder and put her right hand in his that he lifted a bit higher up. He explained the basic one-two-three-four mambo steps, and they began to sway to the rhythm. Feeling her tense in his arms, he bent close to her ear and whispered, “Relax. Just feel the rhythm and let go. The rest comes naturally.”

  Marina loosened her hips and even her head each time she counted ‘two’.

  “Much better,” he praised her. “Want to try a simple twirl?” he raised the stakes when her steps became more self-confident.

  “How do I do that?” she accepted the challenge with a glint in her eyes.

  “Just go underneath my arm, twirl, and spin back to me.”

  He made everything sound so easy, Marina thought, and gave it a try. Her face was ablaze with excitement when the twirl worked, and she spun back into his arms.

  Lorenzo rewarded her with a radiant smile. “You’re a natural!” He showed her a couple more moves, happy to see her smiling face.

  Marina was so into performing the dance steps right that she looked around flabbergasted when the pianist stopped several songs later for his break.

  “Wow! That was great, thanks… But I really think it’s time we looked at the chronicle.”

  “Sure. Would you like to go over it in my room? It’s quieter there,” he said casually.

  Marina hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’m sure we can find a quiet corner in the lobby.”

  Lorenzo stretched his arm for her to lead the way.

  61 - 1467


  Marin quickly solved the cryptogram she had left him as a clue and read the decrypted riddle one more time.

  Where the tree that gives us the liquid gold and the tree whose leaves Pythia ate at Delphi lean on the tree whose seeds are gauge for jewelers’ carat, you’ll find me.

  He scratched the back of his head. This woman always had a way of adding a touch of extraordinariness to their encounters. He had come up with an extraordinary idea, too, that he couldn’t wait to share with her. Provided he found her first, he thought, and chuckled. He had a rough idea where she might be.

  He followed the stream up the hill to the spot where an olive tree and a bay leaf tree leaned on a carob tree. He remembered that spot only too well because that’s where they last bathed together.

  He found her reading aloud Dante’s Divina Commedia, which he had asked his father to bring from Venice, to Ioanna, who was rolling on the blanket by her side, and to Hippocrates that was dozing off in the heat. Elena was sitting in the shade of the century old tree with her back leaning against its trunk, half-hidden amongst the tall pink and white oleanders. The moment she saw him approach, she sprang to her feet, filled her palms with water from the stream, and when he came to stand close to her, she sprinkled him with water.

  “Hey! What was that for?” he asked startled but smiling.