by Mari Biella
For a long time after he had stopped speaking we sat in silence, watching as the fireworks burst in the night sky. I could think of nothing to say. The man was either a prankster or a madman, I thought; and what words could be offered to such?
Another part of my mind, though, whispered: What if it’s the truth? What then?
Eventually, the silence became oppressive. I glanced down at my watch, and realised that it was later than I had thought. I suddenly yearned for my dank little room, for the door that I could lock on the world; but still some lingering curiosity kept me at the table.
“What happened after that?” I asked at last.
The man started very slightly, and sighed, as if I had roused him from a reverie. “I awoke the next morning to find myself alone in the palazzo. Of Pietra, there was not a trace. I searched for her, of course. I looked in every room, and saw nothing but empty spaces, cobwebs, dissolution and decay. I wondered if I had imagined the entire thing – but no, my body knew with certainty that this had been no fantasy or dream. I had, simply, changed. Just hours before, I had been a man contemplating his own death. Now, I was a being that might never die. I stumbled out of that cursed place into a dull winter morning, and made my way back to the boarding house, shielding my eyes from the daylight. When I arrived in my room I closed the shutters against the light and fell onto my bed. I slept for several hours; and then, after nightfall, I went back to the palazzo.
“When I arrived, however, I found that the front door was bolted fast, and the shutters secured. I stood knocking at the door for a long time, willing Pietra to hear and answer me. All in vain, of course – I think I already knew, in my heart, that she had gone. I could feel her absence, much more strongly than I had ever felt her presence. Eventually I gave up, and slunk back to the pensione with a heavy heart.
“I had to know, of course, had to be sure. Barbarigo’s words – about how the Caresinis now resided in San Michele – came back to me, and one evening I took a gondola out to the island. I wandered there for several hours, gazing at the gravestones, reading only the names of strangers. Then, at last, I found her resting place. It stood in one of the oldest and most neglected parts of the island, where the memorials were cracked with age and decay, and where the grass grew high. It was a crumbling rectangular tomb, obscured by cypress trees, and two snarling stone wolves lay around its base, as if guarding its occupant – or, perhaps, as a warning to the innocent. I saw the family name CARESINI engraved in large letters, followed by PIETRA, and the legend Α 1775 Ω 1810. There was another inscription beneath, so faded and worn that it took me a few moments to decipher it. La Morte non è la Fine, it said: Death is not the End.
“I stood looking at the tomb for a long time, while the night deepened around me and a thin rain began to fall. I knew she was not there, of course; she might have been almost anywhere in the world by then. The terror that had haunted Venice for months had come to an end. But of course,” he added, and laughed softly, “another terror had come to take its place.”
“Why would Pietra have left so suddenly?” I asked.
“Because I was a burden on her conscience, perhaps. Or because predators do not allow other predators to share their territory. I don’t know. I have my ideas.” He shrugged. “I waited for her to return, but she did not come – or, if she did, she came silently and stealthily, and left quickly. And in her absence the simple need to survive became paramount. I had become something that I had, until a few months earlier, not even believed in. There was no one to guide me, no reliable source of knowledge. I had to rely on my wits, and on the savagery that comes with hunger. But – and this was the most damnable thing – I found that my human conscience had not left me. I did not relish bringing death. I had become like Pietra – a demon that stalked the city after dark and fed on the blood of the innocent. I was an abomination to God and Man alike.
“I left Venice at last, and spent a long time travelling. I had little idea where I would go from one day to the next; I simple wandered from place to place as the mood took me. I had a vague notion, perhaps, that I would find Pietra, that my very yearning might lead me to her. It did not, of course, and in the end I simply returned to Venice. I went to the palazzo one more time, and found it as still as the grave. Even today, I still go back there sometimes. There are some hopes that are stubborn in their refusal to die.”
The bar was quiet. The owner had gone into the kitchen, leaving the TV to its idiot babble. The middle-aged man and chattering woman had left some time before, and no new customers had come to replace them. The square outside was deserted. I felt very alone.
“Why are you telling me these things?” I asked, and my voice sounded like a whisper: a small, frightened sound.
“For the same reasons that anyone tells anyone anything. Because sometimes our words breach the dam of our silence whether we wish them to or not.” He gave me a strange, cold smile. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I have neither the desire nor the need to do so.”
“It’s late,” I said. I began to gather my things together, and made a show of glancing down at my watch.
“Not very, but I can quite understand if you wish to leave.” He watched me as I stood up. “Good night. Think me a madman, if you wish. But be careful: the world is more dangerous than you think.”
I left the bar and hurried across the square. To my relief, he made no move to follow me. I glanced back and saw his dark, lonely figure sitting quietly at the table, gazing out of the window; and then I turned away, and looked back no more.
The cold cut through me like a blade as I turned into the dim little street that led home. The fireworks had come to an end, and now there was nothing but another quiet, cold, Venetian night. Then I thought of the shadow of decay that fell over this city, of the bones that lay beneath my feet, and I knew that there would never again be just another night. I was living in a world of monsters, and the darkness brought death on its wings.
I decided that I would put the man’s story to the test. I would go to San Michele the next day.
THE END
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Author Note
Thank you for reading Pietra. I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to know more about my books, you can visit my website, or catch up with me on Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads. I also blog monthly with the Authors Electric collective. You can sign up to my newsletter for news, gifts and exclusives, and to pick up a free starter library – go to https://eepurl.com/bXqUnX to get started.
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