The full moon silvers its way along the Grand Canal. It is late. The tourists are in bed, most Italians too. Only the most die-hard natives wander the fondamenta or linger on the Rialto. It is a time when Venetians can have the city to themselves again. Some take advantage of it.
     The gondoliers have also gone home to their families. No floods to stave, they return to their beds, make love to their women, even some of them to their wives, they check on their children. They relax.
     All but one...
     The Guardian of Venice cuts a tall figure in his dark gondola. Changed from his white suit, he is clothed much like his ship -- in pitch dark colors that make his black eyes seem all the more fathomless. Standing in such a way, solitary upon the moonlit waters, he seems the son of Stygian ferrymen. Such as he is.
     But he is not truly alone. With him, in one of the four red leather seats, is a beautiful woman. It is like the spirit of Venice, no? All of the mystery. All of the beauty. All of the romance...
     Well... maybe not the romance...

     The beautiful woman - well, she is beautiful, though she also looks decidedly indifferent to the masculine figure standing where he poles his vessel. Cosimina has her dark curls wound down for the moment, fingers combing through them gently as she watches the water flow by in the canal. She is clad in silver and charcoal silks, a woven basket in her lap; seated as she is, it's plain that her waist is a bit thick, though whether or not it detracts from the cool loveliness of her demeanor - well, beauty is always and ever in the eye of the beholder.
     "The water is still at a lower ebb, Paolo," she remarks to the gondolier lazily, with a faint bite to her voice. "But it will not remain so low. I do hope you do not intend to get complacent, gondolier. You still have much work to do before you are likely to see any rest."

     Of course, then there are those who simply have nowhere better to be at the moment. Pale skinned and dark haired, Darby looks almost like a ghost as she wanders the darkened streets, arms crossed tightly as her prim outfit, while fine for a muggy London midday, leaves a little to be desired at this late hour, and is beginning to look a little worn after the day's events and the flight over.
     She hugs to herself her beloved leather-bound notebook, the borrowed clutch hanging over one wrist. Right now her goal is mainly not to get lost. Although 'lost' is a relative term when one has no idea as to her destination. Still, she tries to take note of various landmarks as she passes, making her own trail of bread-crumbs, as much for a sense of tangible direction than for any practical reason. Her wandering leads her inevitably to the water and she pauses there a moment to think and reflect and perhaps figure out her next move.

     The figure is standing at the bow of the vessel, his hands working the gondolier's pole. "Even when I am dead, you will be telling me not to be complacent, Cosimina." He does not look back to her, but keeps his attention on his task. The gondola rocks and slides as he guides it.
     "I am hoping you will not let me rest when we get home," he murmurs. "I promise not to be complacent." The gondolier's voice rises then, in sudden song not usually heard at this hour, or this season. " L'Adriatico, La Madre Di Noi Tutta, rende delicato i sogni dei miei bambini. Ora la mia moglie diventa come voi, acque della O di vita. La sua pancia e la laguna per il futuro di Venezia..."
     O Adriatic, Mother of Us All, make gentle the dreams of my children. Now my wife becomes like you, O Waters of Life. Her belly is the lagoon for the future of Venice. So he sings it, an incantation for his wife and children and the future. It makes the water lap at the fondamenta and shoreline.
     Yes, the water of Venice is inevitable. Paolo misses nothing in what he calls his city. He sees a lone figure on the fondamenta, clutching belongings and wandering. Wandering, at this time of night. "Do you mind one last run, Cosimina?" He asks, even as he begins to steer toward the fondamenta. "Notte," the Italian says, lifting his voice so that the person may hear it. "Excuse me... do you need a ride?" He tries it first in English. Has to be a tourist, right?

     "When you are dead? Pah. What makes you think that I will have any more interest in you when you are dead?" The woman's voice is disdainful, and Cosimina tosses her ringlets as she regards Paolo with a fleeting dark-eyed glance. "What possible use could you hold for me when your life has ebbed away? Do not be any more foolish than you already are, gondolier."
     She snorts slightly, settling back on the cushions as she listens to the song, allowing her features to relax so that her eyelids are at half-mast as she watches. She is alert, senses not dulled; but some of her suspicions, at least, are allayed for the moment. Only some - the looks Paolo receives are still edged with steel now and again; steel, and moonlight.
     "One more. What is one more, Paolo? You are the gondolier; I am the free passage." Cosimina shrugs in her indifference. "If it is what you wish. I have no appetite right now, perhaps more delay will make me hungrier to be home. Put away your hopes and prepare to work like an honest man." She falls silent as the gondolier calls out in English, turning those black eyes up to the edge of the fondamenta.

     While not exactly here on vacation, as Darby's response comes, her crisp, upper-class British accent no doubt marks her as a foreigner, as guessed. "Oh, I'm ... not sure, honestly," she replies, looking a little surprised as his voice draws her from her own thoughts. As she lowers her arms to her sides, the clutch brushes against her leg, reminding her of its presence - and its contents. "Actually, I could do with one." She rummages through the bag quickly before coming up with the directions she was given by the mysterious young man. "I've directions, though my Italian is, ah, rusty, so I'm not quite sure where to go myself." She pauses, seeming to check herself from this continual over-sharing that comes from feeling helpless and alone.
     The pair are flashed an uncertain smile as she holds up the card as if to prove what she's said. "Obviously, I'm not from around here. I would be very much obliged if you could assist." That seems a little more fitting an answer and she nods as if in confirmation.

     The gondolier steadies his black, four-seated vessel at the fondamenta, the sidewalk of the road dipping downward so that those on shore might board more easily. One hand masters the pole, the gondola quite steady. He offers his hand to the girl. He takes the card but leaves his hand and his arm there for her to grasp, if she needs to.
     "Get in, I will see what I can do." His English is actually pretty good, if accented. He waits until she is seated to push off. This time of night is no time to play with lonely tourists. Or overcharge him. Leaning back, Paolo holds up the card to read it by the moonlight.

     Cosimina regards the young woman incuriously, as if such things occur every night, in Venice; and perhaps they do. "Paolo is an excellent gondolier," she says in similarly accented but quite decent English. She works with the tourists too much not to have gleaned an understanding, by now. "Make yourself at ease. He is a fool, of course, as all men are fools, but he is not an incompetent fool."
     Compliments, Paolo? Your head may yet swell...
     But she regards Darby the more, instead, looking meditative with her head at a slight angle. "Mm," Cosimina murmurs. "Hurry, Paolo. There is a need."

     Darby makes her way quickly though without any seeming hurry to the water's edge, handing over the card with a polite smile before accepting the offered hand to step aboard. For all her airs, though, the harder that she tries to seem composed and in control of the situation, the more apparent it is that she's a young girl completely out of her element.
     "Thank you," she replies demurely as she smoothes her skirt and takes a prim seat. Being studied by the woman seems to put the girl a little ill-at-ease, though she tries valiantly to cover it, giving a tight smile and slightly curious look at the cryptic statement.

     Stygian eyebrows lift, a dark wave lapping against his expression, and then he hands the card back to the girl. "I know where it is." He pushes off from the shoreline with a gentle rap. The gondola does not rock as he does so. It is a smooth transition from stop to go.
     "As it so happens, it is on our way." This means in his short-hand that he shall not charge her for the trip. Paolo is tall for an Italian, particularly a Venetian. Standing there at the bow, directing the course, he seems like a Titan. His curled dark hair is left to tendril as it will. The wind picks a curl up here, pushes another there.
     "She is too kind to me, as usual. So, you are just arriving? From ... England, si?" Like all "taxi" drivers, small talk is all part of the service...

     Her eyebrows lift, and Cosimina lifts her head to look at Paolo with something almost like disapproval. She does not argue; no, any punishment that he will receive, it will wait until they are again on their way, heading for their home or having arrived there. She leans back again, one hand slowly moving to behind the basket, massaging slightly over her stomach with eyes drifting closed. She is listening...
     She doesn't say anything, though. She reopens her eyes, looking at Darby with a long, considering stare. "Paolo is generous, particularly when it comes to women," she murmurs blandly. "And of course you are English. Only a man could think anything else. And you do not know quite why you are here, hm? But it is very romantic - and you are finding that romance, it is not very comfortable. Not to English sensibilities."

     "From England, yes," Darby confirms with a nod and a polite smile as she looks back to Paolo again, studying him briefly before looking out over the water, mulling over various thoughts that she doesn't seem inclined to share. As Cosimina speaks, Darby shifts slightly in her seat, glancing over at the woman, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she demurely smoothes her skirt over her knee again.
     "I ... could pay, if it is a problem. I have some money. Not much, but some, given for this sort of purpose," she offers, not seeming quite sure what the appropriate response is in such a situation. "I don't know why, no," she admits after a beat, looking vaguely puzzled and perhaps slightly concerned that it is so obvious as that. As to the question of romance, Darby simply looks, indeed, uncomfortable. "I prefer to know whence I am coming and where I am going, but that seems to be a luxury currently denied to me," she finally non-answers in a somewhat clipped tone.

     "Normally, this time of year... it is about... hmmm... 100 euros to ride with me. But you are going to the Libri di Magia e Misteria," Albizzina's shoppe? At this hour? "It is on the way home. I am disinclined to profit off of a trip I would be taking anyway. My wife here seems to think that I give breaks to passengers who have breasts..." He sounds so tormented...
     Paolo glances to his two passengers. "You are going to a bookstore that is probably closed. I know the owner. She keeps late hours. I do not know why you are hoping to get in so late. Mia esposa," a nod to the other woman, "... that is more her expertise. Me, I am a simple pilot."

     Cosimina rolls her eyes expressively at the man who is apparently her husband. "I know that you give many things to passengers who have breasts, Paolo, but that is neither here nor there and certainly not appropriate. She is too young for you, gondolier; concentrate on the pole which is in the water and not the one between your legs, hm? Tss."
     She resumes looking thoughtfully at Darby, hand still resting on her belly. "Albizzina will likely be awake. If she does not know to expect company, she will nonetheless answer the door out of curiosity. This is, after all, not a usual inconsiderateness of tourism. But it would be better if you had brought a bottle of wine; hopefully you will have an interesting tale to tell. Something. And Paolo is half right. He is simple."

     There's a long moment of silence as Darby tries to think of an appropriately British way to respond to all of this openly suggestive talk. "I appreciate it, nonetheless," she manages finally with a tight smile not quite directed at either one of them but at a safer neutral spot out in space. She shifts slightly then, clearing her throat and looking rather grateful as the subject shifts to something a little less directly against her sensibilities.
     "So it is a bookstore then? I was told it was where I should go. And I'm afraid I didn't have much control over the timing of my arrival. Well, I will do what I can to repay whatever hospitality might be extended, though I'm not quite sure why it will be." As is her occasional wont to do, by the end of her speech, Darby is talking to herself more than her companions in the boat.

     The gondola turns and the lighting at this late hour dims even more as you are taken down a much smaller canal. The Grand Canal and all its splendor is now behind you. "You know what gossipy women tell you. I charge everyone, large and small, short and tall, old or young." Just some are given a bit more leeway. Now and then. "Such things you say... we should leave my ...pole out of this..."
     The pole remains still as the gondolier stands tall at the bow of the vessel. And yet... the gondola moves forward, not drifting, but swiftly moving as if held by a current. High arching bridges of stone are ahead. Nimbly, gracefully, the pilot kneels to avoid collision.
     "Albizzina will be awake. I do not know that the Old Watcher ever sleeps. She thinks she will miss something. Or I will get some advantage." Which he does not further explain.
     Paolo's mouth cuts a slant as he glances back to his wife. He stands once more and shakes his head. "Go ahead and say it... but we know whose name you will be calling out later..."

     Cosimina rolls her eyes again, leaning slightly to one side and then forward. "By all means, Paolo, we shall leave your pole out of everything. I am most agreeable to that. Your pole and you may enjoy each other's company, and the company of your gondola..."
     It would not be the first night spent in the gondola, after all...
     But her attention again returns to Darby, the blackness of her eyes seeming almost absolute. "It is a bookstore, among other things, si. You will find Albizzina has many things in stock - and a sympathetic but not too sympathetic nature. At least you are not like this man." Another roll of her eyes in scorn for Paolo.
     "She will see to you. And if you find that she cannot help you - which I doubt - you will have her send for me." Cosimina resettles herself, resettles her basket, then turns to regard Paolo with a bristling gesture. "Fool!", she snaps. "Haven't you done enough? You may sleep in the cold for all I care. I will take myself to my bed. My bed, Paolo. And that is quite enough." She lifts her chin haughtily, making a dismissive gesture. "Hurry up. It is late enough; the moon will be setting soon."

     The water sloshes as the gondola cuts through it. It moves without physical effort on his part but by the power of the water beneath it. And his command of it. Paolo stands again, his curls pushed back by the breeze. On either side of the cramped canal, the Rio di Verona, the buildings are crammed together, no space in between. There are striped and colored poles, thousands of doors.
     The gondolier puts his pole to the water and the waters still, the gondola slowing once more. Ahead, there is a turnaround for a gondola, a small mooring place, and a sudden break in this jungle of buildings, the backsides of palazzi. There is a courtyard ahead.
     Rolling his own eyes, Paolo guides the gondola through the turnaround, halting suddenly and gently at the Via di Grimani fondamenta. "We are here...the bookstore is in the old Palazzi Grimani. The front door has a bell. Ring it and she will likely come for you."

     Even in her current state and circumstance, the scenery is not completely lost on Darby, especially as it provides a welcome distraction during parts of the conversation she would really rather not be privy to. Water, sky, land, the stone bridges - all are observed in turn, even as she keeps one ear tuned to the conversation as to not seem rude when it comes back around to her again.
     "I do hope she can help me," Darby agrees with a small nod. "Though I'll admit I'm not quite sure with what it even is that I need help. But something, clearly," she murmurs as the gondola pulls in to a halt. "Thank you both for seeing me here," she bids politely and sincerely as she takes a look around at her new surroundings and then moves to stand and disembark. "You've restored some of my hope, a difficult task at the moment."

     Paolo nods his head. "I wish you luck in your business, miss." All very polite and considerate and not the least bit inappropriate. Paolo looks to his wife to see if she will have more to say.
     Or more to tell him to do...
     She is always so good at finding work for him to do...

     "There is hope for you," Cosimina says carelessly, leaning back in the gondola. "As much as there is for Venice. I do not wish you ill. Whether I wish you well - it will depend. Much will depend on the next few days for you, Miss Higgins." She smiles faintly, almost cruelly, then closes her eyes, turning her face towards Paolo.
     "I am tired," she tells the gondolier imperiously. "And we are done here. See the girl out and take me home."

     Darby gives a polite nod in return to Paolo's well wishes, though Cosimina's reply gives her pause as she looks at the woman with her eyebrows lifted slightly. "So I see. And I'm beginning to suspect said few days are going to be filled with one surprise after another. I'm afraid I did not get your name," she notes casually and yet ... not.
     Carefully, she finds her footing again on the solid ground, checking to make sure she still has her scant belongings, nothing forgotten, nothing left behind.

     "My mistress bids me. I am helpless but to do her will," Paolo smirks. "Have a good night. It is... just inside the courtyard... you will see a sign for the Libri." With that, Paolo pushes off from the shoreline, guiding his remaining passenger to the home they share.
     "So, io so. Non e lontano. E non sto dormendo nel gondola. State andando averli nella vostra base. Dovrete occuparsi di esso..."
     No, he will not sleep in the gondola tonight.

Posted by rowan at June 18, 2005 11:19 PM