Chapter 3
I opened my eyes to the starry night sky in the square of a window I could see above my head. I liked what I saw. The stars were so close, it seemed I could reach them, if not for the glass. I was lost in a reverie. Before I even began to think about where I was and what was happening to me, I was thinking of how little a human being needed in order to be happy. Then I decided to figure out what the hell was going on. I knew my happiness would be short-lived.
First I assumed I had drunk too much last night. I even had that unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth. I soon resolved it was all a product of my imagination, since I remembered that I hadn’t touched a drink in days. I also remembered why. Because of what had happened between me and Luke. Because I hadn’t been myself recently, barely able to eat, never mind drink. I would make a bad addict. I would only take drugs and alcohol when I was happy and merry. When I had problems, I couldn’t drink even coffee. Go figure…
My next thought was about the canal, the bridge and my USB cables. I shivered… Now I became acutely aware of my current mental state and the fact that I was living through a nightmare.
I slightly turned my head and my face was buried in a human shoulder where I felt incredibly comfortable. I shut my eyes and the starry sky bliss from a moment ago came over me again. Francesco… A beautiful stranger, beautiful inside and outside. My saviour and my comfort. I shrunk and clung to his chest, overwhelmed and dozy once again.
An alarm went off. I opened my eyes and my bedmate turned around to switch the alarm off.
‘How do you feel?’ Francesco smiled at me.
‘Good,’ I smiled back. ‘I’m so grateful to you for babysitting me.’
Francesco sniggered, shaking his head.
‘Always tell me if you have any anxieties. We mustn’t let it escalate again.’
He wasn’t just being humane and courteous. He was literally swathing me with his care. He held me. I was becoming addicted to it. I was becoming dependant on it.
‘Are you hungry?’ Francesco asked.
‘Hmm… I haven’t given it a thought yet.’
‘When did you last eat?’
I looked away like a naughty schoolboy.
‘Probably not last night,’ he helped me.
I looked him in the eye and faltered, ‘Francesco, I can’t remember eating yesterday. Frankly, can’t remember when I last did.’
The smile faded away from his face. His dark eyes looked at me with profound anxiety.
‘No wonder you were going loopy,’ Francesco said. ‘C’mon, the staff breakfast will begin in fifteen minutes. Come and join us.’
‘Staff breakfast?’
‘Yes, it’s almost 5 a.m. That’s when the morning shift eats.’
‘Is it okay if I join you?’
‘It’s more than okay. It’s a must,’ he said firmly.
He showed me to the communal shower room and gave me a pair of slippers, which he said were a good idea for me to wear, because I wasn’t leaving this place today. I was overjoyed. This sense of security he was giving me with his care and his unsolicited claim to my life was exhilarating. I had survived only thanks to him: that was a given. But it seemed I continued to function only thanks to him too. This man was the reason for my existence.
I had taken my shower and was waiting for Francesco, leaning on the table under the skylight. He entered and it was some sight. My face spread into a wide smile involuntarily. He looked dashing in his uniform. I was certain it had been tailor made for him, because it hugged his figure perfectly, emphasising it, yet leaving plenty of room for the imagination. The colour - dark burgundy - was definitely his. His black hair and deep brown eyes could only be complemented by saturated but subtle colours such as this. The gold stripes running along the sleeves, trouser legs and the pockets added something princely to his look. I knew, perhaps as no one else, that this man had a noble soul, and this delicate yet obvious detail was bringing it out in style, if not in spirit. He smiled again, covered his head with his cap of matching colour, and showed me to the staircase with the elegance of a professional.
‘Guests at this hotel receive exquisite service,’ I said as we walked downstairs.
‘It’s the least they expect for the buck they pay.’
‘No, it can never be the least. This is always extra.’
Francesco chuckled, looking at me sideways.
‘In the morning the service elevator may be a bit busy,’ he changed the topic. ‘I usually take the stairs. We’re going to quickly pop in at the office. I want to look at the rotas. I need to know where I am today.’
‘What are the options?’
‘I could be at the entrance, greeting the guests and showing them into the rooms. I could be on the floors or on room service, which basically means staying close to the kitchen.’
We left the staircase and Francesco led me to a small room with a table and a board above it with a lot of pinned notes.
‘So, today I’m by the main entrance. Here - Di Fiore.’
‘You’re Francesco Di Fiore,’ I said savouring the sound of his name.
‘Yes, I am and if ever you need to find me, please come here and have a look. It’s also updated regularly, which is important, because sometimes they move us about at short notice. I’ll give you my phone number, but I may not be able to answer while I’m working.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you while you work. I’ve taken enough of you in less than twenty-four hours. I promise to be more restrained from now on.’
Francesco smiled.
‘You can call me any time, Ralf. I’ll answer if I can, but in any case you can always find me by looking at this board here. And I insist that you do… if you need me.’
‘Thank you. Listen… I know I’m being repetitive here and I won’t annoy you with my endless thanks from now on. But I want you to know, you are amazing.’
‘I have my darker side.’ He winked and I snorted. ‘Let’s go, we’re running late for breakfast.’
We went all the way downstairs and entered the kitchen area, which was busy and lively at this ungodly hour. A group of people of different ages was sitting around a long table. They were engaged in spirited conversation with occasional bursts of laughter. I could see excitement in Francesco’s eyes. It was apparent that he was glad to see these people, whom I assumed he saw every day.
A girl rose from the table and leaned over to Francesco, who greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
‘You’re looking fresh, as usual,’ he said. ‘I know you didn’t sleep last night.’
‘You know me too well,’ she said. ‘Grab the chairs,’ she pointed towards the wall opposite. ‘Will you introduce us to your friend?’
‘This is Ralf. He’s going to join us at breakfast.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ a young man at the far corner of the table exclaimed, theatrically shaking his head, ‘I never believed his promises. I knew he was going to break my heart.’
The party burst out laughing. The man gave a high five to another, a middle-aged man sitting opposite him, a gesture I couldn’t interpret. The young man was wearing a uniform identical to Francesco’s. He was handsome and confident, and I didn’t know if what he had said was a complete joke or had a grain of truth in it. If he was gay, it was not apparent.
‘Sit down, Ralf,’ Francesco said, offering me a chair.
‘Thank you,’ I responded, moving the chair closer to the table.
The breakfast was awesome. Customers were spoiled for choice here. I realised they were helping themselves to whatever they would later serve to guests. We had a variety of cheeses, pastries galore, a huge selection of yoghurts and so it went on.
‘What would you like?’ Francesco asked me.
‘I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Anywhere at all, since you’re eating everything here.’
‘Oh, you ought to be gentle on me. I need to warm up before a full-blown assault on my stomach.’
‘Some cheese?’
‘Yes, why not?’
Francesco put five different kinds on my plate. I impaled one slice with my fork and started nibbling at it. The life was pouring into me well and truly, and not just from the nourishment I was taking. I was recharged from this merry company at this 5 a.m. breakfast table, from that tender care Francesco was bestowing on me, from my new lease of life I would never have known had I succeeded in what I had attempted last night. At the end of my breakfast, I was conversing freely with my companions. This tight-knit community accepted me as one of them, and I was grateful to share their breakfast.
‘What do you do for a living?’ asked an old man, dressed in overalls, who went by the name of Gio.
‘I’m an artist.’
‘Oh! What a piece of luck! I always wanted to have my portrait painted by an artist. Can you do it for me? Do you think you can do justice to my features?’ he said, turning his head to emphasise his eagle nose and bushy eyebrows.
‘Err… I can certainly try.’
In less than a minute I got five more commissions. I no longer spoke, but laughed, since I leaned towards conceptual art and they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.
I didn’t feel well after breakfast since I’d managed to overeat. My stomach was not functioning properly yet. I didn’t want to worry Francesco, and so when we were parting, I did my best not to betray my predicament.
‘What are you going to do?’ Francesco asked.
‘I’ll probably read a book or find something to watch on TV.’
‘Are you going to stay here?’
‘Of course, I only have a pair of slippers to walk in.’
‘Good,’ Francesco chuckled. ‘I’ll come and check on you when I have time. Listen, do you want to go for a walk at lunchtime?’
‘Oh, I’m allowed to leave the hotel then?’
‘With me - yes. Have you been to Venice before?’
‘Many times.’
‘So, you’ve seen all the major attractions. In that case I’ll just take you to my favourite places, how about that? Show you Francesco’s Venice?’
‘Wow! What a treat!’
‘Okay, then I’ll see you soon, but in any case at 1 p.m.’
I went back to the loft room and opened the skylight, because I was worried I might throw up. I looked out and saw the tiled roofs of Venice, the ones Francesco had told me about. The night had been bright, but the day was gloomy and these tips of human existence were instilling the comfort of protected life oblivious to the forces of nature. The city was underneath. It was your shelter. It was your hope.
A bell rang in a tower nearby. Never sleep, my mind faltered, always remind me that you exist. Call to them and let them feel they’re not alone…
I felt better and shut the skylight, as the room was already filling with chilly air. I looked around the room because I wanted to get to know Francesco better. I noticed a stack of books in the corner. It was covered by a pile of shirts. I approached the formation.
To my surprise most of the books were of poetry. I hadn’t expected to find common ground here. It was a bonus. I looked at the titles. There were plenty of classics here - Petrarch, Dante. A lot of twentieth-century verse - Ungaretti, Montale. There were a lot of foreign poets too. I opened Tennyson, because I wanted to find one poem I thought was very apt. Here:
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out and let it die.
The month of December, which was the end of the year, was also my own end. My old life was no more and I was letting it go, letting it die.
I browsed through Francesco’s collection for a while and finally I felt quite worn out. I remembered I hadn’t had much sleep last night. I thought of poor Francesco who now had to struggle because of me. I wanted to pay him back somehow one day. I knew that money wouldn’t do.
I lay down on the bed, thinking of dozing off for a few minutes, but fell into a deep sleep. When I opened my eyes, I sensed that I was not on my own. I was rolled into a ball and a blanket was over me, even though I had fallen asleep without it. I raised my head and saw Francesco semi-recumbent on the opposite end of bed with a book in his hands.
‘Good morning!’ he greeted me.
‘Oh, my God!’ I exclaimed, sitting up. ‘What time is it? We were gonna go for a walk!’
‘It’s half one. We can go now.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me up? How long have you been here for?’
‘Not very long. I didn’t want to wake you up. You need a rest.’
‘You need your bed yourself. Would you like to lie down? I can go for a walk on my own.’
‘That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? It’s supposed to be Francesco’s Venice tour and not Ralf’s Calle de la Malvasia circle of hell.’
I burst out laughing. He definitely had a sense of humour about him, be it black.
‘It’s hard to argue with that. Okay, shall we go?’
We left the hotel and immersed ourselves in the narrow passages and snaking canals with humped bridges. I loved the shopping streets around here. The shop windows were shining so gleefully that it made you feel warm without heating. I knew that it was the human element that I liked most about Venice. A city meant nothing without its creators. The creators were not only the builders. The process of creation would never end. It was the human activity that was making this place what it was.
We were crossing Rialto Bridge, which had been a shopping arcade for centuries. Francesco caught my excited look as I was admiring the brightly-lit shops.
‘I’m happy to see you like this,’ he said. ‘I may let you go out on your own tomorrow.’
‘Oh, that’s too premature. I don’t know what I’d be like without you. I’m your project. I can’t design myself.’
He sniggered.
‘Tell me when you get hungry. We’ll have lunch somewhere.’
‘It’s on me,’ I said firmly.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. No, don’t get me wrong. This is not my ‘thank you’ for your kindness. I just want to do something for you, no matter how small it is.’
‘Okay. Can’t deny you this pleasure.’
I laughed, leaning on his shoulder.
We spent a while in the midst of Venice and eventually found ourselves on an embankment. We had to go around an imposing cathedral, which I couldn’t regard properly because of its enormous size and the confined space available for observation. I looked all the way up to its cupola and almost toppled over onto my back. Francesco caught me.
‘It wasn’t meant to be seen from here,’ he said. ‘You get a much better view from St Marco’s Square opposite.’
We followed the embankment and found ourselves on the very tip of this island. It cut into the lagoon like an arrow. It was a superb observation point from where we could see the lagoon with St Marco’s Square on the one side and the island of St Giorgio Maggiore with its white marble church on the other. This place felt like the hub of the universe. There was so much open space around you, yet your eye wouldn’t be stilled by the unbroken severity of the horizon. Human hands had left their marks everywhere around here, and your eye would be locked in an endless cycle of exercises, gliding over sloping roofs and curvy cupolas and balancing on the spires.
‘This is my favourite place in Venice. I like walking around this land’s end.’
‘It’s a very special place,’ I said. ‘Everything is so special about you,’ slipped out of my lips. ‘Francesco, you must know I’m completely smitten by you.’
He looked into my eyes, reaching, in fact, too deep. He was claiming me and surrendering to me. It made me weak at the knees. This magnificent lagoon with all its treasures was gifting me yet another one - this human being, who I could no longer imagine my life without. I didn’t care that this whole thing had happened so quickly. I had been through a horrific ordeal and I knew for a fact that time ran faster in such circumstances. We’d probably had years to get to know each other. It was only here on Earth that it was less than twenty-four hours.
‘Ralf, you’re still very vulnerable. And I’m worried that you’re becoming attached to me only because I’ve helped you and you have no one else by your side, which is absolutely natural.’
‘I have to say that you’re taking more care of me than is required from a stranger in such circumstances.’
He looked down. He was just as vulnerable as I was at that moment. He looked across the lagoon and the light breeze ruffled his hair. He turned away and continued walking. I drew level with him. We followed the embankment taking us around the tip of that arrow. On the other side we found ourselves moving along an unbroken wall.
‘I knew I couldn’t leave you,’ Francesco finally said, looking at me. ‘I couldn’t let you go. I had to take you with me.’
He left his lips open and I took it as an invitation. I brought my face close to his and lightly gripped his upper lip with my own lips. My eyelids slipped down. His lips responded with light strokes, which resembled more of a tremble. I thought he was shaking deep inside, but it was so subtle that I perceived it only as those tender strokes. I squeezed him in my arms and he wrapped his around me. We sank deeper and my head started to spin, as this trail of strokes was carrying me away, forcefully and uncontrollably. I was stripped of my will and my powers. I was a speck of dust in a hurricane.
I came round with my back against the wall. Francesco pressed his forehead to mine and rolled over to lean on the wall next to me. We were standing shoulder to shoulder now. Francesco raked his fingers through mine and pulled me off. We continued our stroll along the embankment.
‘In the sixteenth century there was a hospice here for the incurables,’ Francesco said.
‘Black death?’ I asked.
‘Everybody thinks that. But no. The incurables are not those who die, but those who have to live with an illness. This place was giving shelter to men and women suffering from syphilis. It houses the Academy of Arts now. And this is something very interesting, look. You’re a poet, right?’
‘I write poetry, yes,’ I chuckled. ‘Sorry, I’ve seen your books.’
‘It’s okay. I hoped you would. Here, look.’
He took me closer to the wall where hung a memorial plaque with the face of a man. It was drawn with only one line to suggest no more than a contour. It read: Brodskij Iosif (1940-1996), great Russian poet, Nobel laureate, paid homage to this place.
‘He loved Venice,’ Francesco said. ‘He came here every winter for twenty odd years…’
‘Really?’ I exclaimed. ‘Just like me! I too come here every year, and in winter. I haven’t quite hit this milestone yet, although I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been here.’
‘Why winter?’ Francesco asked.
‘Well, I don’t like heat and crowds…’
‘He had similar reasons. He never wanted to settle here, but still it was his favourite place on Earth. Someone called him a “chronic tourist to Venice”.’
‘I’ll adopt the same tag!’ I laughed.
‘He’s buried here, on St Michel Island.’
‘Hmm… I’ll think about it.’
‘Thankfully you don’t have to decide now.’
I looked at him sideways.
‘Thanks to you,’ I said. ‘And what did he write about?’
‘Mostly about love.’
‘I can’t blame him. Do you know anything of his?’
‘This is my favourite and the only one I can remember:
I would only exist with a touch of your hand,
With your head leaning over until you were near.
My poor features were always obscure and bland.
You came closer and they became clear.
You bestowed me with voice to call out you name.
I was blind, but you gave me a vision:
You were hiding from me,
I was looking for you and decided to see.
It was you why I made this decision.
This is how worlds’re created.
And when they are here,
Gods like you leave them spin,
Causing days, causing years.’
I was staring at him and continued to stare when he finished and smiled at me, waiting for my reaction.
‘Wow,’ I finally uttered. ‘I would only exist with the touch of your hand… How apt…’
‘Now I want to hear one of yours,’ Francesco suddenly said.
‘What?’ I blurted. ‘Why?’
‘You are a poet, right? I’ve recited a poem to you. You recite one to me.’
‘I don’t have a plaque here, so why me?’
‘Ralf, what’s the problem? Have you never done a public reading?’
Frankly, I hadn’t, but, after a moment’s hesitation, I decided not to tell him that.
‘Okay, but I have to warn you that your Brodsky guy has something more cheerful to say about his love life. With me, you see, I only write poetry when I feel down. It’s an outlet. A form of self-therapy. My painting is more of an art for all seasons. And I should probably show you my artwork one day. With poetry, honestly, I’m worried you’ll get the wrong idea of me. Taking into account the way we met… I’m not a moody person, Francesco. I’m not melancholic. I like humour. I like entertainment…’
Francesco suddenly stepped towards me, clasped my shoulders and looked into my eyes so closely that he was out of focus.
‘Just do it,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about anything. Don’t you understand, I want to know you!’
‘Got you,’ I said, gaping at him.
He let go of me and left me slightly startled. I didn’t move from the spot, thinking I’d better get it all over and done with right here. Of course, it was only right that Francesco should know what I wrote.
‘It’s called The Secrets of Love,’ I said.
‘I know easy ways
How to see what's been concealed.
You are a different case -
Something about you makes me thrilled.
Maybe it's deep inside
Waiting for reasons to wake up.
Like in the darkest night
I follow tracks you've left behind.
A secret of love or a lie?
Dreams. They haunt me every night,
Oh bring me back to light,
Reveal your secret!
Screams!
My sanity is gone.
Endeavor is forlorn.
Reveal your secret!
They say I've made it up
Just to deny the bitter truth.
This unrequited love
Is only here to abuse.
You never tempted me,
I'm the one who found you.
Maybe one day you'll see
And feel my pain when someone who you
Love becomes a secret to you.’
I looked at him and smiled, inviting him to walk on. He kept on turning his head to see me.
‘Did you write it for Luke?’
‘Not at all. I wrote it long ago, but mind you, when it all went pear-shaped with Luke, I could see it described what I felt perfectly. This is the unique quality of poetry. It’s like fortune-telling. Sometimes you just put words into sentences, making it flow, and later you realise that it resonates with things you didn’t know at the time of writing. It’s like it reaches for the medium at the core of everything, which knows who you are and what will happen to you.’
‘Ralf, it’s very good and that’s why it has this quality. Simply putting words into sentences won’t do it, unless someone like you is doing it.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘I think it’s only fair of me to say so. It’s time for our lunch. No longer lunch, actually, but that’s even better. It won’t be too crowded. Once again I’m taking you to one of my favourite places. It’s called La Paletta.’
‘I’m looking forward it. I absolutely love what I’ve seen so far. When do you have to go back to work?’
‘At eight tonight.’
‘Excellent! We still have a bit of time.’
We walked a short distance and entered a small restaurant, where I could see no more than two tables and very little room to move. It was only when I had to lean against the counter to let someone pass that I realised it had a large seating area at the back. It resembled a glorified cave. It had vaulted ceilings, arched niches in the walls and, to my surprise, classical statutes in them. The walls were adorned with garlands of lights.
‘This place is amazing,’ I said in awe.
‘To be entirely honest, I think I chose it because it was affordable, yet had decent enough food.’
‘But it’s gorgeous!’ I exclaimed as we were sitting down in one of those niches. ‘Well, I have to admit, if you took me to a factory canteen, it would look just as appealing to me. Any Di Fiore place is a sanctuary for me.’
Francesco chuckled.
‘In this temple,’ he said, ‘we worship with a knife and a fork.’
‘This is my type of religion,’ I said, taking the menu.
Time was running too fast. I was amazed at how quickly it raced towards eight o’clock. We had ordered a lot, but spent most of our time talking. We ate from each other’s plates and drank from the same glass. And I was drowning in Francesco’s eyes, but never felt completely satiated. I could not have enough of him.
‘I’m sorry, I need to go,’ he finally said, checking his watch for the third time.
‘Let’s get the bill.’
When the bill came I snatched it from him.
‘I’ll pay. I thought we agreed.’
‘Yes, but we didn’t agree to eat so much. How much did it come to?’
‘Never you mind. I can afford it now. Don’t worry.’
He leaned over to look and I covered the bill with my hand. He chuckled.
‘Just tell me. I swear I won’t attempt to pay.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes!’
‘Okay, it’s 101 euros 11 cents.’
‘Nice number,’ he laughed. ‘Only one digit away from being all ones.’
‘Nope!’ I said. ‘Why settle with imperfections?’
I opened my wallet and extracted exactly the right amount.
‘This is 101 euros,’ I said placing it on the plate. ‘This is eleven cents. And here’s the tip,’ I said throwing another tenner in the pool. Exactly 111.11!’
‘You’re an artist,’ Francesco said. ‘It’s your mission to correct nature’s imperfections.’
I so didn’t want to go back to the hotel. I didn’t want to lose Francesco. Lose him? He wasn’t even mine. Just a gracious stranger who had saved my life. My position in his life was very uncertain. The only tangible thing I’d had from him was a kiss at the tip of that arrow. The rest was only a product of my imagination.
Once again he stood in front of me in his dashing uniform, and that smile I now loved more than the daylight was playing on his lips.
‘Keep yourself busy, okay?’ he said.
‘I’ll be missing you.’
‘You know how to find me.’ He bobbed his head and left the room.
I did try to keep myself busy. I tried to read poetry, but nothing resonated with me anymore. I found and re-read that Brodsky poem, but couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I was missing Francesco so badly that even romance wouldn’t go into my head. I was simply suffering. I thought Francesco might have been right saying that I was vulnerable and saw a protector in him. He was more than that. He was my glue, something that held my broken pieces together. I wouldn’t go to see him and disturb him, even though it was his idea and his invitation. I felt unable to encroach on his space anymore, not after I’d already claimed such a large chunk of his life.
I continued to lie on my back staring into the ceiling, with a book in my hands, having completely forgotten what book that was. And suddenly…
There was a knock on the door.
‘Who is it?’ I blurted.
‘It’s me,’ said his voice.
I sat up and my heart started to race.
‘Come in! Why are you knocking?’
He came in and shut the door. His face was animated and his eyes were glowing. I was drawn to him so much that I leaned forward, trying to reach for him, and had to stop myself in the act.
‘I can’t just walk in,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you might be in the middle of. It’s only one room. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m… I just wanted to see you.’
He slumped down on the bed and threw his arms around me. Our lips merged that same instant, our bodies wrapped around each other. My whole body was singing. It was wailing with joy from this closeness. From those lonely hours away from him and the euphoria at the sudden deliverance. Our clothes were already slipping off. My hands cupped his buttocks. Every iota of my flesh experienced a tremendous thrill from touching his skin. I’d never been so physically close to him. I’d craved it so much and this sudden offering was driving me mad. My eyes stared into the black sky through the skylight. I was no longer in the room. I was hovering above the tiled roofs of Venice. I was reaching for the sky. I was up there and beyond.