Frezza The Death of Venice

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-6678-7734-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 232 Seiten

After a bet between two wizards made when Morgana built Venice on magic water, the city is damned to disappearing from the face of the earth. The incompetency of humankind to preserve the city's beauty is threatens its existence. Yet, hope remains to prevent disaster in the form of one college student's love for Venice and its paladins.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Frezza, Eldo

Leseproben

CHAPTER 4 SOMEONE TO LOVE They stopped in at the Galleone rotisserie for a warm mozzarella in carrozza. They grabbed it to go, and, having exited the rotisserie, turned into an alleyway crowded with trash: empty plastic bottles, used napkins, dashed cigarettes, and splintered plastic utensils. Disgusted, Marco handed his food to Giorgio and bent down to pick up the refuse. “They can’t even place the trash in the canisters!” he said, tossing the stuff into a bin and wiping his hands on his pants afterward. Giorgio handed the fried mozzarella back to him. “You’re on a mission to save Venice singlehandedly, aren’t you?” “So, what if I am?” “Shall we head home?” “The night’s still young,” said Marco. “What do you say we take the long way towards Saint Mark Square?” “Are you sure?” said Giorgio. “It’s more touristy. There’s the possibility we’ll encounter more trash. You won’t be able to restrain yourself and I’ll have to roll you home in a wheelbarrow by the end of it.” Marco smiled as they made their way down the street. To him, there was nothing as magical as walking the narrow calle. But in truth, he was still shaken from his visions. He envied Giorgio for his ability to either shake it off or otherwise be satisfied with some other explanation. But in time, he relaxed, for with each trip down the calle, Venice revealed a secret he hadn’t seen the last time—a new play of light on a building, or the way two buildings seemed to interact as neighbors. In her slowly revealed mystery, Venice was truly beautiful. “Look at this bridge,” Marco said, pointing at the Rialto, in particular to a young couple at its apex, kissing in nighttime silhouette. “I wonder how many wars, secrets, and kisses have been witnessed by this bridge through the years.” Giorgio laughed gently. “Don’t worry, my friend. One day you and beauty will give this bridge something to remember, I am sure. Or at least something to think about.” Was it part of the vision now, or had the couple dissolved into the mist of night at their approach? Marco decided not to ask his friend if the vision was shared. “One thing is sure,” he said instead, “I would never be able to go out with someone like your last girlfriend. Whenever that woman opened her mouth, I wanted to run and hide.” “Okay, okay,” conceded Giorgio. “Probably not the smartest girl, but I was fine with her.” “She could go on for hours. Talking, that is. She talked way too much for one human.” Giorgio punched his friend’s arm. “I guess you don’t like competition, eh?” They walked home on the warm, humid night. Most nights the streets were thronged with tourists, but tonight, Venice was almost deserted. Only a few people gathered on the cobblestone streets next to the canals. One could tell at a glance that they were residents rather than tourists, for they wore short-sleeved shirts, pressed jeans, and nice shoes. Giorgio kicked a plastic bottle as he walked, dancing around it like a footballer. “So, then, I suppose you’d like a Morgana in your life. How about that actress?” “Knock it off. Morgana is the ideal woman, the woman every man wants to love, and the woman every woman wants to be. But even though I am quite fond of her—perhaps I even love her—I would never write that stuff on the wall. Look!” He pointed at the graffiti on the wall of the old church: a large heart that read, Mary, I love you forever. “Perhaps it’s to the Virgin. Ever think of that?” “I’m serious,” Marco replied. “It’s disgusting, the defacing of the old buildings. And I reiterate: even in love I would not do such a thing.” “You love your city and its bricks that much more, eh?” Marco looked over and smiled. “I guess this is why I’m untakeable.” “Listen,” said Giorgio, “not every man wants a woman who will enchant him into wrecking his ship on the rocks by just hearing the sound of her voice. As for you, since you are obviously in love with Morgana, no other woman can measure up. And that is why you don’t have a girlfriend.” The two friends meandered through the calles, eventually taking the route that passed through Saint Mark’s Square. They walked along on the side of the Mercerie heading towards the calle Mercerie Orologio. “Thank God, there’s nobody here!” said Marco. “I rarely come over here because it’s so busy,” said Giorgio, his voice so full of gratitude that it was almost dreamlike. “It is nice when we can see Venice like it this and enjoy the old buildings, the sounds, and the smell of the city.” “Agreed.” “You know, every time I get to this point, I start holding my breath, as I want my next to be in St. Mark’s Square.” “Where do you start holding your breath? Do you have some sign that will signal you to begin?” “Indeed. As soon as I pass the Calle Larga San Marco, I hold my breath till I am under the Clock Tower, all ready to explode once I enter St. Mark’s Square.” “And that helps?” “It intensifies the enjoyment.” Giorgio erupted in laughter. “You are getting weirder by the month, Marco.” The man’s laugh was contagious. La piazza San Marco was breathtaking, with the majesty of the square on the right and the baroque church on the left. They walked just past the church and sat on the front step of the Marciana Library. As they stared up at the Doge Palace, water lapped gently against the gondolas tied to their posts for the night, resting in St. Mark’s Basin. “Valeri was right,” said Giorgio, invoking the poet’s name. “Venice is beautiful and strange at the same time.” “Look at you, referencing Valeri!” “But it’s true,” Giorgio continued unabated. “The spired buildings standing out of the water, the campielli where people come together to celebrate life, the bridges. You need only look at this breathtaking cathedral to appreciate beautiful strangeness.” “You know, for all the trouble you give me, I’m glad you love our home as much I do.” “Nobody loves Venice as much as you do.” A cat jumped from behind an overflowing garbage can, startling the two men with a grating hiss. It was an Egyptian Mau—Marco recognized the rare breed from the coat. One of his college professors had had a similar cat that he claimed was descended from the Sphinx. Giorgio bent down and tried to coax the spitting beast with kissing sounds. “Leave him alone, the poor thing,” said Marco. “He probably doesn’t want to listen to you go on about Valeri.” He watched as the cat darted off toward the lagoon, passed through an archway, and disappeared into the darkness. They continued walking, finally stopping at the library in front of two large granite columns bearing symbols of the two patron saints of Venice. Marco admired the eastern column over its twin, with its winged lion perched atop, standing their chin up with the pride and patience of a sentry. Bringing his gaze back toward Earth, he saw the unusual cat again. The Egyptian Mau had reappeared out of an alleyway on their right. “It’s not only tourists who come from all over the world to visit Venice, but also the cats.” “Huh?” Marco threw his jaw in the direction of the feline. “What do you think an Egyptian cat is doing in Venice?” “Egyptian?” “It’s a Mau. From Egypt.” “Maybe he’s on vacation?” Giorgio bent down again, this time with caution. The cat sat still on a piece of discarded cardboard and looked somberly at them. “I appreciate your love for our city, but you seem blind to anything that’s wrong with it. The garbage, the constant smell of piss in the air.” He continued as if self-conscious, explaining to the unexpected guest why everything was in such disarray. “You see, the canals haven’t been cleaned for centuries. Italy has the technology to clean them, but the government won’t do it because it costs money. Even efforts that cost nothing, like people picking up after themselves, are ignored. There is no motivation to care, and frankly, that confuses me.” The look in the cat’s eyes seemed to convey a parallel disgust. “Come on,” said Marco. A shadow crept over Giorgio’s face. His voice became leaden. “Everyone says they’re proud to be Venetian, yet there is no pride in their actions.” He shrugged. “Or lack of action, I guess.” The cat’s ears turned sideways. “We...