Author's Foreword
This is a story of Venice, but not the Venice you may have visited, or once lived, or dreamt of seeing. This is also a story of love. But what else would such a tale be about? It is a tale of conspiracies, jealousies, broken hearts and the binding of souls, one to another. Within these pages you will find a world strangely at peace, boats that float on air, and an angel in search of redemption.
Romance is a blanket woven from deep affection, and a desire to fulfill another's desire. Perfection in romance is when both share the work of weaving.
--Angelina Marni
“A Priori: A Glimpse of Heaven”
It was a moment in time, the space between the beat of martial drums, or a Curlew’s beating wings reaching for the heights of heaven. It hammered with the delicate stroke of chance and fortune. Etienne looked in awe upon the Angel that stood on the fountain’s bowl, his eyes rapt with wonder, and watching as she lifted away the snowy dress that clung wetly to her breasts and the creamy skin of her stomach. Her hair fell away long and moist, like molten gold, or corn silk and honey.
The sounds of the world dimmed and slowed. The mists that rose from the churning of the fountain’s waters were a gossamer veil, clinging coolly to her dress, skin and buttery tresses. The world had dimmed, but she did not. This was not a vision.
And if this were true, it was also true that the world slowed - the space between moments. Sounds not only dimmed but also grew heavy and distant. The splash of the fountain’s issue, the call of vendors, and the laughter of children, the old men playing at chess beneath the dark awnings of the ristorante, they all seemed frozen in one moment of revelation… an Angel had alighted upon the edge of the fountain, in the Piazza della Sognatore. And her gaze was fixed upon a single pair of eyes.
Etienne stared dumbfounded. His grip grew slack and the flowers in his hand fell to earth, their purpose forgotten, and their scent lost within the heavy air. The piazza was rich with the soft beckoning whispers of hot breads, olives, tart red wines and pastries. But even these voices grew quiet until only the vision that was no vision spoke, that creature of light and love standing on the fountains edge.
“Come love me.” Her eyes of fiery blue, calling…
He stepped toward her, struck dumb, and oblivious to all else until an arm linked itself in his with an insistence that pulled him back.
“There you are!” came a demanding voice at his side. The world suddenly grew and leapt forward, like sprinters off the mark, shattering the Siren’s song, and he was pulled away into the crowd. The spell was broken, the flowers trod underfoot, and the Angel gone.
“The Severing of Ties”
“Oh, Etienne, must I explain everything to you?” She sighed. “How long have you lived in Venice? Have you learned nothing?” She led him through the piazza, both arms wrapped on his, and staring defiantly at anyone who dared get in their way. People moved to one side when they saw her eyes.
She marched him across the cobbled square to the first of many streets that would eventually lead to the small ristorante she liked, the one across from the convent. She had insisted he take her there many times over the months of their tumultuous relationship. The wine was one week too acidic, the next too sweet, but she seemed not to notice. The fare wasn’t much better. Etienne despised the place, but for the sake of harmony always allowed himself to be dragged there. He would eat little and compliment Serafina, the cook and proprietress, who all but adored Pia. But Pia only took him there that she might stare at the bronze gates across the tiny square, the gates that led to paradise itself. And it was there that they would say their farewells, for she was to enter in that very day, and pledge herself to God, before the Mother Superior herself.
He fought a desire to protest. He agreed to walk her to the convent gates if she promised to behave, and she had, with the most charming of smiles she had, but her moods were chameleon-like, changing with every shadow and subtle hue. She sighed. “You have seen them passing overhead every day for all of three weeks now.” She sighed again. “You cannot be so stupid as to still not know why.” And she smiled, thinking herself clever.
“Pia… I have never been stupid.” His voice was flat, though it rang in the narrow street they entered, their heels striking echoes within its narrow confines. “Of course I’ve seen them, but again you misunderstand me. I merely wish to know why they continue on their peregrination, no amount of conversation or study has ever proferred to me a satisfactory answer.” He began to punctuate his speech with gestures from his free hand. “The Pope will not let them set foot upon the earth except in the Holy City. Look at them! They are ragged! Their wings are grimed and abused… they look pitiful.” Looking up, he watched as they moved across a field of sky framed by the rooftops sixty feet above. For weeks the ghostly creatures had been flying overhead, by the millions. Occasionally one would drop down and settle upon a wall or statuary, careful not to touch the earth, shattering whatever stonework it touched, but someone would soon chase it back into the sky, shooing with an apron or jacket as though it were merely a pigeon, and not an Angel of God.
“They are shut out from heaven, Etienne.” Pia said, ignoring his growing anger “God has turned his back on them.”
“And we should do the same?”
“You would go against the will of God?” She turned to look at him with eyes wide smoldering dangerously, her face a mask of contempt.
“I would show compassion!” he argued.
“That is enough!” She snapped. “We will not speak of this any longer!” And he knew she would not.
“Did you see that whore at the fountain?” She demanded, changing tack. “It amazes me that God loves such filthy creatures… but He does. It just stood there, showing off. Disgusting!”
“It?” He asked. “How can you be so callous? You who claim to love God enough to accept Holy Orders, and yet you cannot see the people you would serve as human. They are inanimate to you, without souls... animals. You are too cruel and insensitive for such a commission.”
“Etienne!”
“No, you will listen.” He said, now truly angry, working to keep it from showing on his face “You do not even know that woman, and yet…”
“Did you see her?” She cut in “Wet and showing herself to everyone in the Piazza? A decent woman would not behave so. And you! Staring at her! I do not know why I tolerate you. Standing there like a dumb ox, your mouth collecting bugs. I forbid you to go there again!”
“I will go where I choose, Pia. Besides, are you not joining the Sisters this very day? I am not a child to be told what I can and cannot do, or to whom I can and cannot speak. You have made it quite clear that we are only friends, and yet you still wish to control me like I was your wayward husband, or errant child. It’s not as though I have never asked you to marry me, but you do not love me enough.”
She tugged at his arm, sullen and quiet. “I must be there by the third bell.” She said.
“There is time, Pia.”
“Etienne. Could you love me... I mean, be my husband? I mean, if I were not taking my vows this afternoon?” She was still angry, but cooling quickly.
“We are too different, Pia.” He sighed. “You see the world as an evil waiting to devour the righteous, while I see only the world, people, trying to survive in a harsh world. With you everything is good or evil, light or dark, but I see the shadows of those things that stand between.”
“Why must everything be a poem with you?” She asked. “Must you always speak so?”
He laughed. “The world is a poem. You are a poem. Every man, woman and child is a poem.”
“The world is not that beautiful, Etienne.”
“And that is why we could never be happy together. Because I believe it is. The world is beautiful beyond the ability of words to describe. Pictures but glance the surface. Poems, however, they allow us to see in a new light, from a new perspective, but that doesn’t mean the beauty was never there. Our lives are sometimes so filled with this or that, we neglect to stop and look at the beauty that surrounds our every waking breath.”
“You are hopeless, but sweet.” She said with a quiet voice.
The streets, that had only a few days before been filled with revelers in the gowns and costumes of Carnival, seemed to have lost their magic. The buildings lining the street were just as old, and their facades had grown somehow less magnificent. Pia had looked radiant in her gown that night, but his heart had not been in the evening. He wore a brave face and smiled where he should, and taking care not to laugh where he should not.
That evening was their last together. He made love to her, but his heart was not in it, and he could not stay the night in her bed. He kissed her cheek as she lay sleeping and walked through the darkened streets of Venice to the apartment he rented, and his own bed.
She sent a letter the next day to say she was entering the convent, asking him if he would walk with her and share a last glass of wine.
He couldn’t refuse.
The sun was just beginning to cast long shadows when they entered the small square. The mid bell struck, and she looked to the bronze gates longingly. Yet there was fear in her eyes.
“It is almost time.” She said. “Come let’s have a last glass of wine and say our goodbyes.”
The wine was no better than usual, stinging his tongue, and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The bread was fresh, but hard, and the cheese dry. He ordered some olives, that they might mask the taste of the wine.
“What do you want to do with your life, Etienne?” Pia asked, looking into his eyes.
“I want to create beautiful things. Beautiful art, sculpture, poetry… a beautiful life filled with beautiful things. A beautiful wife. Beautiful children. A beautiful life together with someone I can give my whole heart to.”
“Why could you not give this to me?”
“I have never felt equal to you, Pia.” He whispered. “You have always made me feel as though I were an afterthought. Someone you came to when you needed comforting, but not willing to be the same for me. Every time I have tried to show you my heart you have turned me away, unwilling to look, unwilling to care. Your needs have always come first. I might as well have been your gardener, for that is all I have been. And that is all you have ever wanted, it seems, someone to care for the things in your life that needed tending, while my own needs were relegated to the potters shed.” He looked at her, wondering when the anger would explode, but she sat quietly and began to cry.
“How long have we known each other Etienne?” she asked.
“Ten years or more. I remember when we first met.”
“That little café on the Seine”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“In all this time I have never made you feel as though I loved you?” Her eyes begged for a lie.
But he would not. “Yes, Pia.” He smiled. “You have on occasion made me feel very loved. But I need more than the ‘occasional’ love and acceptance you offer. I need daily care. I need a kiss or caress, a smile full of hinting, and a lover who loves to love and be loved.” He lowered his eyes… “I need these things every day, you do not.”
“I am not sure I can truly love any man, Etienne. My father…”
“I know.”
“I have strung you along these many years and you have been faithful. I know you have. I want you to be happy. I want you to find what you are looking for. But I don’t want you to forget me… is that selfish?”
“Of course not, Pia” He smiled.
“Last week, when we made love. I knew if would be our last time. It was so wonderful. I hope you find her.”
“Her?” he asked startled. His mind leapt to the image of an Angel poised upon the lip of a fountain…
“Yes, the woman who will make you happy. Though I will be very jealous.” And she laughed, then sighed. “I have something for you.” She said, drawing an envelope from her purse. She set it upon the table amid the olives and the wine. “Take it.”
It was thick and bulky. “What is it?” He asked.
“30 Million lira, and the deed to the apartment you rent. You have sacrificed much for me, and this is something I felt I could do for you.” His eyes widened.
“I cannot accept this, Pia. It is too much. Far too much.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be a fool, Etienne. I have not bankrupt myself. I want to know you are taken care of. As you have taken care of me, all these years, never once complaining. You are a sweet man, and I fear that I may have done you an injustice.” Her tears were heavy drops that swelled and rolled from her eyes. “I love you Etienne, but I love God more.”
The third bell struck. The bronze gates opened. The Mother Superior and two sisters stood within the entrance, waiting.
“I must go.” Pia stood, brushing crumbs from her dress. “I will miss fine clothes,” she laughed, drying her eyes, and wiping the tears from her face.
Etienne took her hand and set it in his arm, and walked her to the waiting sisters and the doors that would shut her from his life for good.
He kissed her lips and smiled for her. “Now, you be a good girl, Pia.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I have always loved you, Pia”
“Will I see you again?” She was suddenly afraid, and began crying once more.
“Of course you will, but this is where our lives diverge. We part here as friends and we will remain so. I swear it.”
“Will you visit me?”
“If it is permitted. From time to time.”
“Be happy, Etienne.”
----
The sun was setting over the Piazza, in reds and amber and deep shades of violet. Pia was gone. The Angel was gone. Ten years of his life were gone. He had spent the remainder of the day, inquiring of the Angel that had stood at the fountain, but none knew her name, or would not tell.
He sat at the ristorante and drank wine, hoping to wash away the pain that had suddenly grown too heavy for his heart, and he began to cry, not caring who saw or heard. He pulled from his satchel the battered journal he carried with him and began to write, rambling at first, allowing his pain a voice, and he made himself a resolution, resolving in himself to discover the Angel again. He would return and watch. And wait. However long it took.
ELAshley
2002
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