After Love (22 page)

I left the bridge and saw that the lights on the third floor of a nearby house had come on. A window opened and a young woman looked out. She waved and before I could respond a sickly-looking old man thrust his head out and shouted at me to
fuck off
. He called me insane and I did feel like a madman, walking aimlessly simply to forget the unforgettable.

I must have wandered for another hour before I suddenly found myself in front of Café Iguana. It was past midnight but the place was open and still busy serving food and music: guitar, violin and bongos. I noticed behind the window glass a photo of Anna with Sophia and Marco. It showed what must have been their first performance together.

Suddenly a young man ran out of the café, followed by a woman. The two of them ran over a bridge, stopped, and leaning against the railing started kissing. I was scared that one of them would slip and fall. They continued to kiss and as I turned to walk away, I heard the woman shout ‘You idiot!', as one by one yellow beads from her broken necklace fell into the water.

On the third night I drifted unknowingly into Dorsoduro. I knew the streets and canals well and yet on that night they seemed strange and unsettling. It was foggy and the waxy moon, sickly and sleepy, was shrouded in a rainbow-like halo. The streets were busy, which annoyed me at first, but then I got used to the crush. Some of the streets seemed familiar from my daily walk to and from the university, but yet no one stopped to talk and I ignored those I recognised.

I sat for a while on the bench near the fountain in Campo Santa Margherita. I had been there with Isabella and helped her sketch. Suddenly I felt the urge to see the golden globe that topped the Customs House, supported by two tired-looking figures of Atlas. I had never warmed to the Goddess of Fortune perched on the globe. She seemed so arrogant even though she was nothing but a weather-vane.

I turned and walked along the Zattere, stopping for a few minutes outside a café where a band was playing jazz. Then I turned right onto Squero di San Trovaso and saw that one of the gondolas near the workshops was turned on its side, exposing a big crack in the hull. In another a couple of pigeons slept soundly. An old man who was painting a new boat to turn it into a charming gondola offered me a cigarette. I declined but accepted his invitation to join him. He soon discovered that my Italian was basic, but that didn't stop him talking to me. I suppose he, like me, just needed someone with whom to share a few moments.

‘India,' he said, looking at me. I nodded.

‘Ravishankar,' he continued. I nodded again, and he got up, went to his work table and pulled out a photo. ‘Roberta,' he said, pointing at the young woman in the photo with a
sitar
. His daughter was in India learning to play it. ‘In Benaras,' he said. ‘The holy city.' Raising his hands he brought the two palms together and said ‘
Namaste
.'

‘
Namaste
,' I replied, looked at his daughter's picture. Soon I left him to continue my walk. I must have walked for fifteen minutes when I had the feeling that someone was following me. I looked round to see a tall young man wearing a red scarf and a white baseball cap. He came right up to me and shouted ‘Money!'

I gave him my wallet. He opened it and found some notes, counted them, exclaimed in disgust and threw the wallet back at me. As I kneeled to pick it up, he kicked me hard, then picked me up and punched me in the face. I fell down and must have hit something sharp. As I tried to get up, he kicked me again, this time in the stomach.

‘No money!' he shouted. ‘Fucking foreigners, go home.'

It started raining again and the moon too vanished completely. I got up in some pain, left the narrow alley and discovered that I was not far from Sophia's house. My eye was swollen and I slipped several times as I climbed her stairs. Maybe I had sprained my ankle.

I reached the door and knocked. As I waited, suddenly my legs gave way and I fell, my head hitting the door.

It opened and from the floor I saw Sophia and, standing behind her, Isabella.

‘It's Zio Vasu, mamma,' I heard Isabella whisper. ‘He needs help, mamma.' I was covered in mud and bleeding from my nose and a cut under my right eye. They helped me get up and stagger inside. I sat on the floor struggling to take my shoes off. Sophia helped me remove my coat. As I lay on the sofa she examined my injuries. They were minor except for the cut under the eye.

‘It will need stitches,' she told me. ‘We'll go to the doctor in the morning,' she reassured Isabella.

I had sprained my ankle. Isabella fetched the ice-tray from the fridge and her mother put the cubes in a pillowcase and wrapped it around the ankle. Next morning the doctor stitched my cut but warned that the scar would take some time to fade.

‘What were you doing out on the streets so late?' Sophia asked me as we returned from the surgery.

‘I was walking,' I said.

‘The whole night?'

‘Three whole nights.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I couldn't sleep in that room without her. It was too hard.'

‘I know.'

‘No, you don't. You can't imagine. You really can't.'

Six months after that night I received a postcard of the Sydney Harbour Bridge with a short note on the back:

Privet
. I am in Sydney. The weather is fine, blue skies and bright sunshine, and I am fine too. Don't wait for me, please, and don't worry.
Ya pridu; Yesli smogu; Yesli zakhochu. AHHA
xx

In a note that was mostly in English, only the greeting and the last three phrases:
I'll come; If I can; If I want
, were in Russian. She had signed her name in Russian, followed by the two kisses.

The date on the stamp was smudged. It took me a few minutes to work out that it had been posted quite a while ago.

In the lunch break I phoned Sophia to tell her about the postcard from Sydney.

‘What are you going to do?' she asked.

‘I don't know,' I replied. ‘It's too late now. And Sydney is so far away.'

She asked me to read out the card to her, which I did, translating the Russian.

‘I can't come over now,' she said. ‘Isabella is sick so I can't bring her with me. But why don't you come round this evening and help me cook a vegetarian meal? Then we can have a long chat. Isabella loves seeing you. You know that, don't you?'

Before I went out that evening I took Anna's things from our cupboards and put them into a suitcase which I dragged to Sophia's apartment. As I approached it I saw Isabella at the window. She spotted me and waved.

I saw her waiting for me at the door, smiling.

‘Zio Vasu, Zio Vasu, I have some news for you,' she announced.

‘Let him in, you naughty girl.' I heard Sophia coming. ‘And get back to bed. You'll make him sick too.'

Sophia kissed me on the lips, drew back, examined me and said: ‘You look fine. I'm glad to see you.'

I went in. I left the suitcase near the door of the sitting room.

‘What's that, Zio Vasu?' Isabella asked.

‘A suitcase with presents,' I replied.

Sophia recognised Anna's suitcase but said nothing.

Isabella was excited. ‘Let's open it and see what's in there for me.'

‘No, not now,' Sophia intervened. ‘It's bedtime for you.'

Isabella looked at me, then at Sophia, then back in my direction, pleading.

‘She can stay up with us, can't she?' I asked.

Sophia gave in, and Isabella brought in her doona, her pillow and her hot-water bottle and arranged herself on the sofa.

‘So what's your news?' I asked her.

She looked at her mother, trying to guess if it would be all right to talk about happy things. She waited and after receiving a nod from her mamma proudly announced:

‘I've won a prize.'

‘Is that right?' I smiled.

‘In the art competition. First Prize, Zio Vasu.'

‘And what did you draw?'

‘It's in the exhibition. You'll have to go and see it.'

‘What's it about?'

‘I don't know, but there's a boat in it.'

‘And?'

‘And there's a bridge—'

‘And?'

‘And on the bridge there's a little girl with a kite.'

‘What sort of kite?'

‘Looks like a Chinese lantern.'

I remembered the Chinese kite she had bought to the Lido and how we had tried very hard to make it fly – but it wouldn't.

I saw Isabella looking at the suitcase and I opened it. She jumped out of her makeshift bed and claimed every piece of Anna's jewellery for herself: the Indian bangles, the necklaces, bracelets and earrings and even a silver nose-bud that Jijee-ma had sent as a gift.

Sophia said she would go through the dresses and other clothes, keep whatever she fancied and take the rest to a charity shop.

‘You really want to give everything away?' Sophia asked.

‘Almost everything,' I said. I had decided on two keepsakes: Jijee-ma's nose-bud and the Budapest scarf.

Next morning Isabella returned everything except six bangles.

That night, by the time the meal was cooked, she was already asleep. I helped Sophia carry her to the bedroom. Back in the kitchen, Sophia looked at the postcard, read the message and put it down on the table.

We talked about work, her music, the launch of my book, Isabella's flu and the tides which, according to the forecast, were going to be particularly bad that winter.

‘I'm sick of this city,' Sophia said. ‘Sick of the water and the wretched smells.'

Like many Venetians she was fed up with the overcrowding and had been waiting for years for a chance to leave. She told me that her family came from Palmanova, a little town to the north-east. She had been born and brought up there and had come to Venice to study. Soon she had found a job, fallen in love, married and settled down.

‘Isabella's Papa was a master glass-blower, like his father and grandfather. He was doing well: had an established clientele, reliable contacts with galleries, showrooms and tour operators, and was a good salesman. He knew how to make potential customers feel comfortable and important. He didn't cheat anyone. He just talked and talked, very fluently and easily convincing you of the extraordinary beauty of this or that piece of glass, praising its design, shape and colour. He was young and energetic and wanted to conquer the world.' She paused, and her face changed. ‘Stupid he was, really stupid.'

‘What's his name?' I asked.

‘Patricio,' Sophia said. She continued with her story.

‘Then one day he met a tall blonde American from San Francisco. She was older than me, yet still looked young and fresh. And the way she walked! You had to move aside to make way for her. She had power. No wonder Patricio lost his mind and his will to resist and couldn't sleep. He packed his bags and flew away with her. No sorry, no goodbye. Just left. Isabella was still tiny, just three months old. I felt so tired, so miserable and useless. Isabella cried non-stop and because I couldn't cope, I cried too. My breasts and feet hurt and I felt utterly useless.'

She paused again. ‘You know what? The most awful moment is when you start hating yourself, blaming yourself for everything. Thank God Gloria, my younger sister, was there to rescue me from this mess. She lives in Milano, running her little boutique and designing her own material. Haven't you met her? She was in love with Marco too, head over heels, as they say. Who wasn't? He's such a charmer.'

‘So Patricio knows about Isabella?' I asked.

‘Of course he does. But she doesn't know him. I've only told her his name. It's easier that way.'

‘Does Patricio write or call?' I asked.

‘No, never.'

‘Have you tried to look for him?'

‘Have you tried to look for Anna?' she shot back. Then she looked at me and said softly: ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'

‘No need to be sorry.' It had been rude of me to ask. ‘No, I haven't looked for him. It's his loss, not mine,' she said.

‘But wouldn't one day Isabella want to know, find out and—'

‘You want to know if she'll blame me. Of course she will. But she'll understand eventually. At least I hope she does. I also hope that she'll be kind to both me and her Papa.'

Kind. Who knows? Perhaps with time; perhaps after she has faced the consequences of her own decisions. But how often do we learn from the mistakes of our parents? Not very often. In fact we often commit similar mistakes, as if to fail is the natural attribute of our life. However hard we try, the time comes when the obverse of our goodness reveals itself, not as an aberration but a necessity, not as a brief moment of madness but a prolonged, incurable affliction of the body and mind.

For a few moments we were silent together. Then Sophia got up to make us fresh coffee. When she came back she sat next to me on the sofa, took my hand in hers, kissed it and said: