VENICE WITHOUT YOU
Juan José Camisón
Translation: Sara López
This text is an effort of humbleness
whilst confronting the inevitable,
as it is also an essay written expressively
about the surprise when it comes tonarrative uncertainty...
Dearest Daniel:
If everything happens as I have surmised, by the time you have read this letter, I will not be with you anymore. Neither with you nor with the rest of you. I have been carefully planning this out for a long time and I hope, despite the inconveniences this decision has caused us both, that I have hopefully attained my goal of not raising too much of a scandal. Forgive me. I imagine you have probably spent a few days of terrible uncertainty and despair. But I had no other choice. It just had to be this way and, at least to my mind, I couldn’t find another way out. I have plotted this with the utmost care and, as you men sometimes say, not allowing myself to leave lose ends that could complicate you. I know you would have preferred to participate, in any way, in this my final project, or to give me permission, or even direct it yourself —I know you would have preferred it that way—, but this time it was impossible, so I thought it was better for both of us to take the reins myself and to do it all on my own. You know I´ve always been a woman of sudden resolutions, peculiar reactions and puzzling determination, although this was merely an appearance, for, in the end, I meditated everything very consciously. And precisely, due to these attitudes, you and I have had none too few unsolvable differences. This is the reason why I took my resolution that day, which now seems so far away, taking advantage of our tiff and your hardheadedness when it comes to sticking to your guns relentlessly —although you positively knew that I was right as rain—, of buying a plane ticket to Venice, without thought for the consequences, since one does not know what they are when it comes to a drastic separation from one´s loved ones in a so hard way as I have done, and to make it to here strong and brave.
I´ve never thought of hurting you with this determination or this insanity, as you may prefer to call it. I just thought that, considering the status of the situation itself, it was the most convenient decision for both of us. Sometimes you need to set fire to your own room in order to not burn the whole house down. Besides, in the long run, I haven´t left you. I´ve simply searched for the mildest way of demonstrating certain aspects of my life and my body that perhaps, due to your constant vigilance and protection, I wouldn´t have dared to admit otherwise… Now, however, I may have the courage to do so. A letter is a different story. It’s a much more aseptic emissary between heart and mind than spoken words. Here I can express myself freely, without gazing into your eyes and without feeling the coercion that your stare, always so willing to grant my every desire, could have imposed easily upon my outlandish feelings. Besides, one is more truly honest through a written statement, and things come out with more fluency… Though I know you will tell me that I´m mistaken, that these aren´t ways of expressing this… But it´s irrelevant now… Try to assimilate it, since there will be no turning back in the process. I´ve put as much ground as possible between us, and, by the time you have read my letter, so many things will have happened that, maybe, you will have had the time to digest all of this, and, still better, you may end up understanding and forgiving me.
In any case, I am comfortably settled in a smart and gorgeous hotel near the Giudecca channel, in the Zattere allo Spirito. I haven´t written this before having everything more or less under control… From my window I can see the Vaporetti passing by as they plough through the channel with their bumblebee-like whisper, sailing by the beautiful white stone church and the huge, almost Byzantine, cupola of the Redentore. Although I´m not trying to detract value from the lovely views of the Alhambra from our own terrace, I must say this has been an amazing change. Here, I feel the peacefulness that was almost impossible to experience there at any time of the day or night. Nobody knows me. Nobody is out to judge me. Nobody will cast an inquiring stare at me on the street. I go out when I feel like doing so and I go where I choose without feeling watched… Just behind the block where my hotel is positioned, you can find Santa María della Salute and, right around the corner, by the small river dei Fornari, Gondolas seldom cut through, towing smoothly, like colossal and silent coffins that slither over the blue-green waters. Violet Bougainvillea hang down to the main door staircase of the house across from here. Footsteps from the passers-by echo along the concrete, creating an unusual buzz and new sounds for whom is accustomed to a city where the noise from the cars absorbs it all. Here you can even hear your own breathing, along with the soft brush from the waves as they collide with the building foundations. I sometimes go for a walk around the surrounding area, I reach the Punta de la Dogana, I stop by a small restaurant, I look at shop windows, or I simply catch one of the boats that anchor right here and I let it take me on the round trip until it brings me back to the pier. Just for the pleasure of contemplating and letting the waters sweep me away... Two days ago, I even reached the Lido, but I chose not to get off at that stop, since I preferred to go round and round the Venice Lagoon, gazing at the silhouettes and skylines, the roofs and domes, the graceful and lovely campaniles, and unexpected backlighting… Here, in Venice, something stunning is awaiting at your every turn…
Now It´s almost dusk. There is an ever-changing orange glow coming through the window of the room where I am writing. Your book of sonnets is within sight. I´ve brought a pair of your cufflinks with me, as well as the magenta colored silk cravat we bought together in Florence. And, although I miss you in this afternoon, I still feel happy about having left you, and for not sensing you by my side, watching my pace. Maybe in the future you will understand…
The flight from Madrid was exciting. I had a momentary surge of release from bondage as soon as the plane took off from the ground and stretched out over the clouds. And not precisely referring to the overused cliché of comparing myself to a bird in flight, but because in leaving you behind, our projects unfinished, our home and the bonds between us, I experienced a surprisingly soothing sense of independence. How should I word It? Perhaps a feeling of wellbeing, or one of relief… As if my problems had been, left back, with you, in Granada, and I had been transported alone to a more uncomplicated, lighter, more wholesome and more breathable world… (Oh my, I don´t know if I really meant to say what I just said. Maybe that wasn´t exactly my point, but rather what I aimed to say was that, by escaping from home, I was released and unbound from the many responsibilities that any relationship entails… Yes, that´s it. It sounds better that way…) And I again encountered the feeling of being a different person, myself as a whole being, without having to save back some my emotions which I then was obliged to share with you. In the end, you can´t deny that in every relationship there is always an unspoken pact of surrender and resignation on behalf of both sides… We´ve talked about that numerous times… I´m not going to repeat myself… I found it shocking to still encounter that woman who —for the longest time— had shut her own drawers in the closet to solely organize yours. And to even find her partially alive… Perhaps this is why, once free of my bonds, I experienced, in my breast or in my mind, although I never discovered where one feels or experiences such emotions, this kind of mellowing freedom that filled my lungs from the inside out with new breaths of fresh air… Daniel, this does not at all mean that I love you less. It´s just one more way of confiding in you, and sharing my uncensored intimacy without holding back. A special way of keeping you here, already being so far away… I must say I cried a bit whilst flying over Cerdeña, for I understood that there would never be a chance of returning to the past, and that I wouldn´t allow myself to pull back after meditating, for so long, the resolution to abandon you… It´s so hard to tell you all of this… I love you, and you deserve that love, but it would have been impossible for me to remain by your side a single minute more with all of these thoughts in my head. You might believe I´m crazy. Don´t think that. Don´t judge me until everything has passed. Then you will perhaps forgive me… Here, I feel happy, almost radiant… And there, stuck at home, overflowing with problems…, hiding so many stories in my chest that I had to cope with, not telling anybody else… The Alhambra is beautiful but it´s always surrounded with latticework and walls. Always….
When I arrived in Venice the first night, at that modest little hotel near the Mestre airport, I confess I had a few moments of remorse and anxiety, feeling so helpless. I missed your confidence when it comes to taxis, transfers, carabinieri, your rapid response while going through customs, talking to the janitors… I´ve always been clumsy with languages, you know that… And you´ve always been so determined… For a moment, I thought that I would be booking the return ticket the very next day, but…, as you can see, in the end, as usual, the steadfast fighter within my bowels was victorious, and, as I slammed the door, leaving my difficulties behind, I took courage and said aloud: come what may, you´re going to stay here! And, as you may have realized, I stayed…
Oh, Daniel. You wouldn´t imagine the things I´ve gone through since that moment. You don´t know how many small repercussions a city, supposedly built for honeymooners, uncouth Americans and avid photo-hungry Japanese tourists, can have on you… Venice has incredible streets. Yes, I said streets. If you branch away from the official tourist routes, instead of letting yourself be guided through the Great Channel and the Rialto Bridge that goes to San Marco, you can be mesmerized by the endearing little nooks that will surprise you at every turn… And I´m not only referring to the open spaces such as Campo San Polo or San Giacomo dell'Olmo or Santa María Formosa, which, after all, undoubtedly being places of beauty, are still connected to the beaten tourist paths. Oh, no. I´m speaking about, for example, the Via Garibaldi, the Bandieira e Moro, the Santi Apostoli, Lunga Street, the Canalle della Misericordia… There are so many new places to uncover and so many fascinating spaces that I could spend the whole afternoon naming the places that have, little by little, revealed to me the true identity of this city of Venice. A city that smells of seaweed and freshly brewed coffee, that sounds smoothly like the peaceful heartbeat of the tame seas, that has a profound blue sky, with a slight feeling of death hanging from the clouds... Perhaps this is the reason why they call the surrounding northern waters la Laguna Morta… Maybe that´s why their Gondolas resemble catafalques… Everything seems to mimic its surroundings as time goes by… It may even be the reason why there is always a sad summer Venician story on the headline of every sensationalist newspaper from time to time, claiming it´s sinking, that it´s foundations are relentlessly rotting, that the rising of the High Waters is unstoppable and ever-worrying…
I have to go. I had arranged to meet someone who is going to help me find accommodation in an apartment (this hotel, though very small, is quite expensive and I can´t afford staying here for more than a couple of weeks) and I´ve just received a phone call from reception communicating that the person has arrived… Hugs and kisses…
I am exhausted. You can´t imagine how far we´ve gone. All on foot, and this city fools you. It looks like it´s made of water on the postcards, but then there are many streets, piazzales and squares and fondamenta and rivas and allies and passages, with bridges around every corner, that connect the network of little streets, like miniscule veins, from one end to the other, without having to step on water or a Gondola at any time…
As I was saying, we have been searching throughout the whole city, with a list of indirizzos, provided by an estate agent, in order to find a small apartment or a room (I have no desire for great luxuries) to be able to cope with the expenses that a prolonged stay would mean in this city, so accustomed to robbing anyone wearing a camera hanging about his neck or sporting a wide brimmed hat and shorts or speaks another language other than Dante´s. I have indeed said prolonged stay, since, the truth is I plan on staying for some time, at least for longer than what an agency would consider appropriate for a quick glance at any tourist city, if you visit it on a holiday tour of the type “SEE ALL OF ITALY IN 12 DAYS”. I definitely have other intentions. A person who speaks four languages fluently (although two of them are obviously unneeded in this case) has been accompanying me... I will tell you who it is all in good time. Be patient. Now I´m more interested in telling you the bargain I´ve found (that he has found for me, to be precise). He has unearthed a lovely attic, furnished with the mere basics, but all in good taste, with the cutest little balcony from which you have a clear view of the sea. For only 450 euros a month! Can you believe It? I´m overjoyed. The sea from my own window! Well, the truth is that here the sea is visible all over the place, it´s not something to write home about. But I just love the fact that you can see it from my house. It´s located in Campo dei Gesuiti, opposite a church… This can´t be considered a relevant fact either, since here you run into churches with every step you take… But right next to the street where my apartment is, line 12 of the Vaporetto docks takes you to Burano and to Torcello. The little space is very well situated and connected, and, with some practice, you can get to the Rialto bridge on foot without difficulty, or even as far as San Marco. I´m moving tomorrow. I bet I´ll like it.
I was delighted when I finally hung the four clothing items I brought with me, when I unpacked my bags and when I scattered the contents of my toiletry bag, my hairdryer, my shower cap, my hairbrushes… around the bathroom. I feel as though I have now taken possession of this living space by unfurling my banalities in this way. It feels just like at home. Everything has a place now. All is under control. I have a small table in the sitting room, which is also my bedroom, from where I am writing to you, as usual, with my window open, listening the sirens from the boats that swim by, as well as the incessant purr from their motors… The balcony is small and cozy. It stands above the roofs of lower houses. But above these you can see the vastness of the sea perfectly, today cluttered with clouds. It´s a fourth floor, so, even if the Serenísima floods over a bit, I think I will be safe…
Although this has been my first night in my new residence, I have slept well. There wasn´t a single noise. Just the wandering cats, crying their hormonal swings out at the moon in the late evening for a few hours. At the break of morning I heard the boisterous ringing of the bells. I decided to ignore them, but then, some nearer morning melodies insisted I take ear, and then a third set… Nothing in comparison with the Vela´s peal… That´s all about peace and beauty!
This morning I went shopping by myself at a small market on the other side of the street. They have almost everything and it´s inexpensive. When I don’t know how to ask for something, I just grab it, and ask: cuanto costa? Then I pay for it, or I simply open my coin purse so that the shop assistant can take the correct amount if I don´t understand the price. I find it quite easy. Then I go for a walk around the neighborhood so that, step by step, circling it concentrically, I discover new spaces that help me become accustomed to this gorgeous atmosphere. Today, for example, I reached the Quartiere Grimani and I entered the Madonna dell´Orto church. And I prayed. I prayed for both of us. For this adventure to end as I have predicted, and for you not to suffer excessively when it reaches its happy ending. And you know that I don´t exactly believe in that stuff… But today I prayed to the Madonna. Maybe my prayers haven’t even trespassed the cupola, but they have helped me feel more complete and stronger and more at ease… I also prayed for our children, since I can´t do much more for them, being so far away. Don´t think I love them less for not having mentioned them earlier in this letter. Quite the contrary. To not have kept them updated on my irrevocable decision prior to the events is something that has made me suffer deeply… My Michael, already a grownup man, living on his own, and tasting the success and competition required to reach the top of his expectations. How I remember when he was a child, so dependent on me, always glued to my skirt or my knees, like a stranded little bird… And our little Isabel, my girl, who always wished for the moon and the stars above, forced into conformity by such an ordinary life, all for marrying that third-class moron that was never able to care for her wellbeing and who ruined her life, by getting her into that hell hole of a knick-knack store on Elvira Street. What do hippies have to say nowadays? That´s fine when you are eighteen. At that age, you make as many revolutionary statements as you can, but at some point in your life you have to look into the future and be sensible… Don´t you think? My poor children… Well, although you may think otherwise, I am also doing this for them… You probably won´t believe me, but I´ve done this to save them from suffering people´s sour comments. So that they won’t have to cover their faces in shame when someone whispers whatever absurdity they can think of when they pass them by… Why should I tell them? Don´t you think so, Daniel? Why should I make them suffer unnecessarily if we can just live through this on our own account, like when we were young, using our courage and keeping it mum?
Forgive me, Daniel, for having kept this in the dark for so long. I couldn´t find another way to confront the situation. And, especially, forgive me for not consulting any of you…
I need to tell you these things a little at a time, since I myself am afraid of plunging right into explanations, justifications, excuses and hidden reasons, maybe, behind the madness I´m going to reveal to you from now on… I know you will forgive me, as you always have, and that´s why I love you more than anybody.
The truth is, I met Mauro… Yes, I know, he is the person who has provided everything for me since I arrived in Venice, who has accompanied me everywhere, who was waiting for me in Mestre and for whom I have made this journey… I know I should have mentioned him beforehand… I have kept this under my hat for so long so that you wouldn´t throw this letter straight away, but it had to come out somehow, of course. There is always another man… But bear with me for a while… As I was saying, I met him at our local lending library... No, don’t fret. He has never been to Granada nor to Albaycín nor has he ever been up to the Caldedería nor walked through the Plazuela de San Miguel Alto... It was on a night of solitude, like many others, while surfing the net and immersed in one of those chats that I have so many times criticized and repudiated for considering them annoying and impersonal, and their participants lonely, repressed and self-conscious individuals… But it ended up happening and I have no regrets… I wish I had met him before… Yes, I am being honest. His name is Mauro Salvati, and he is charming, I must say. Don´t be jealous, but it´s true. That´s the way things are. If I´m going to be honest here, I should do so from the start and with every detail and accepting every consequence. Mauro is shy and forthright at the same time. Considerably younger than us, but not enough so as to be taken for my son nor old enough to be taken for my husband. He is polite, but not pretentious. Elegant, but in search of an air of nonchalance. And, up to a certain point, cultured. What we women prefer to call interesting. And quite handsome, why not say so. I spend time with him every now and then… I mean, often… Well, if I were to be honest, I must confess that we see each other every afternoon, since in the morning he works in his clinic and his laboratory. He´s a doctor, as you may have deduced… Responsible, not at all bohemian, nor outlandish, very calm and never impulsive nor vehement when giving his opinion or in his behavior… Just the opposite of the way you are. And, voilà, from the first encounter I didn’t hesitate once in opening my heart to him immediately… And I must admit that he was very understanding. He gave me his complete trust on the spot. Talking to him has been a very easy and comforting activity, but, above all, purgative. He soothes me, and provides me with that sense of peacefulness that I have long ago lost… But this does not mean anything. I still love you like always. You are you, and he is he… Please try to understand, Daniel. I don´t know if you can. This hasn’t been an easy position to take, but a decision I have thought out night after night, for many hours… And I don´t regret it in the least… Mauro has taken care of me thoroughly since I arrived in Venice. He was waiting for me at the airport. And, as you probably has imagined, he was the one in charge of booking the hotel where I stayed the first days, as well as finding my apartment in Campo dei Gesuiti. And, obviously, he became my instant and devoted particolare guide throughout the city since the first moment I set my feet on the ground of this ísola. All I need to do is pick up the phone to have him entirely at my service… You can´t deny it´s a godsend. He´s teaching me some words in Italian, and he´s so attentive that he knows what I need and he anticipates my wishes ipso facto by merely looking at me. Do you remember ipso facto? You used to say that to the children: I want you to do this ipso facto. And they would answer: the question has been undertaken ipso factly, as soon as they had done it… Mauro reminds me of them because of his youth and his promptness.
I have discovered incredible places with Mauro. We have visited I’Accademia. He purchases the tickets, holds my hand to cross the Vaporetto passage, locates an empty seat for me to sit on, again offers me his arm to get off at the stop when the tour concludes, he gives me way and explains everything to me in an almost perfect Spanish… He helps me find my way in the neighborhood, where the street is, and the sidewalk, the quartiere, the sextile… Everything. Everything. He explained that L´Accademia is located in the old Scuola Grande della Caritá, adhered to the church with the same name which stands before it: Santa María della Caritá, built by Bernardo Maccaruzzi, although I´m not quite sure about this last detail… In any case, I don´t need a guide if he´s with me, since he already knows everything. He was born is Astí, near Torino, but he has been working and investigating in Venice, in the Hospedale della Misericordia, for more than a decade… As you can see, I end up getting unconsciously tangled in resultant stories, leaving the central train of thought in such a remote place in my mind that it is then a very complicated task to return to it... I was speaking about the Accademia. That´s it… I found the paintings hanging from its walls fascinating… I especially enjoyed Saint George… While standing before the San Jorge de Mantegna I was completely mesmerized: Such an unimportantly small sized piece of wood and, at the same time, so fiery, with his arrogant form. I was stunned by the defeated dragon, conquered at his feet. And that broken spear, the only remaining proof of his probably agonizing fight against the beast. And he, now victorious, now calm, placing his left hand on his waist, fully relaxed after the battle… Tears almost fell from my eyes when I saw it. Mauro found my fixation on the small portrait mind-boggling, and he tried to drag me to Bellini's triptychs or to Cósmico Turá's Madonnas, but found me incapable of freeing myself from that small but almost magical canvas… Until he finally unglued me from there and so many marvelous masterpieces appeared before my eyes, that, if I had to give you details of all the cumulative beauty I saw, I would have to spend a week writing. Did you know that The Banquet at Levi´s house by Veronesse was, in truth, conceived of as The Last Supper, but the Holy Office forced him to change the title, after a lengthy interrogation, if he didn’t want to see it destroyed, for having included generally disapproved elements in the painting, such as a drunken man, a German Lansquenet, a man with a bloody nose, midgets, animals, jesters and even a black man? Both the gigantic canvas and the anecdote itself are amazing. However, there are so many wonders in the Accademia: Canaletto, Signorelli, Pinturichio… Although I particularly enjoyed the Giorgione Tempest the most, along with the San Jorge of Mantegna. Aren´t I a bore? When I start chattering… You know paintings have always been one of my weaknesses.
The Tempest is simply disconcerting. Even the architecture in the background reminded me slightly of the architecture of the Alhambra... You know, the first feeling is sadness, but it fades within a few moments of staring. The nature, the storm, the humidity of the gloomy landscape, the forthcoming downpour, everything slowly evaporates to give way to much more complex perceptions. You shortly notice an idyllic scene, a serene Arcady, almost Virgilian, with that figure, slightly leaning on his cane, in the forefront, and the half-naked midwife further in the distance, breastfeeding a child… Mauro then revealed that it represented a landscape from the Stazio's Tebaida, but there had been a few critics that had thought of it merely as a portrait of the author and his family, and that even some guides stated that the panting reflected inspiration from the Hypnerotomaquia Poliphili, and, in that case, the woman sitting down would represent Venus breastfeeding Cupid, and that the young man was the protagonist of the novel and the landscape would be a specific scene of the story… But the reasons it trapped me, perhaps, personally enfolded less literary connotations. Who knows? I saw something threatening in it that disturbed me. And, for some mysterious reason, I suddenly had a strange connection with the woman in the painting. I felt as though she were solely looking at me, out of all the guests in the room, from her perplexing and baffling canvas.
It is far from my intention to bore you with these long and elaborated artistic perceptions, but I want to be sincere and tell you absolutely everything that happens these days. Everything, without secrecy. And the truth is, such was my disorientation over The Tempest that, after gazing upon it, I pleaded to Mauro for us to leave L´Accademia, being unable to concentrate on the rest of the paintings. Everything seemed to become superfluous from that point on. The only thing caught in my memory was that woman breastfeeding a… child?
Mauro didn´t object in the least and we walked away. We went along Larga Street to San Marco Square and we entered the Café Florián. Mauro insisted I should see it. He told me that this café had been visited by several artists, from Lord Byron to Giuseppe Verdi… But, to be honest, I found it stifling to see the walls so full of paintings again, and those velvet covered seats that give it such a decadent atmosphere… I slightly fainted while he was trying to teach me the meaning of every painting in the Moorish room… Maybe we should have visited a less overloaded place, such as a market, or a flower shop, or a clothes shop… But making such suggestions was unnecessary, since he immediately proposed for us to leave the café and he walked me home with an almost rehearsed friendliness, and he persuaded me to stop by his clinic first for a checkup. I told him I was fine, but he insisted, so I had to give in… These doctors…
Oh my, Daniel, I went alone to the Fabbriche Vecchie market in Rialto. I took my map, and , like any ordinary Ariadna, willing to uncover the mysteries of this labyrinth, I headed off, without a Theseus to steer me through, determined to reach the Minotaur´s lair with no other resource than a small, plastic coated map. Because I´ve decided that, while I still can (and I can do so), I´m not going anywhere else by vaporetto, but on foot, even if it means, as in this case, to go around the same streets, salizzade, rii terra, sottoporteghi and adjoining small squares two hundred times until I reach my fixed target. And I made it, by myself! It is true that I had to rest every now and then, due to the fact that, apart from the mental fatigue, I have to rack my brains continuously about what direction to take to find the shortest and least difficult path or to choose between left or right, in this suggestive tangle of bridges and channels, and it makes me suffocate every once and a while…
You used to say that it was all in my head, to not give so much importance to such irrelevant things… That it was all about the lack of exercise and the many hours spent reading or in front of the computer, sometimes the whole afternoon. But I would tell you no, that every day I liked this less and less… And, nevertheless, you won. You ended up convincing me that it was all in my imagination, and I put my insignificant headaches and indisposition aside, since I believed in you, of course, until I almost forgot about their existence… But, whatever it was, it didn´t dissipate, and now these migraines are getting more persistent by the day. I have them almost throughout the day and night… And, having reached this point, I´m afraid there is no solution… But it doesn’t really matter… Nothing matters much to me lately…
But, as I was saying. I went to the Rialto markets and I found them fantastic. Little flower stalls, vegetables, fresh fish brought directly from Chioggia or the Venice lagoon itself… Under each tarp I discovered, astonished, those perfectly organized, tiny, boxed worlds, so well divided in shapes and colors. I bought some fish and a few vegetables. Then some prawns and lobster, to make a risotto misto with a recipe which was improvised on the spot by a very nice lady, although, to tell you the truth, I had to use my own intuition more than any other thing to get to the main ingredients of the recipe, due to her incessant chattering whilst giving me the instructions. In any case, I´m going to try it out tonight in the tranquility of my own apartment, and, if all goes well, I may invite Mauro home this weekend. When it comes to cooking, one can´t experiment with one´s guests as if they were guinea-pigs… Signora Gina, as she was called, then took me by the arm and, so as not to have problems in my future visits to the stalls, introduced me to her fishmonger, whose name was Guido and, as you can well imagine, being Italian, he immediately stopped flogging his wares aloud and said hello… (he, as all of them, had the freshest fish in the Lagoon, the best sea food the Adriatic sea could provide, the cheapest prices in the entire peninsula, and so on...) and, at once, he also introduced me to his cousin, who had the neighboring stall, and he, to his brother, who sold vegetables further on, who gave me a card for his brother-in-law, who sold souvenirs at the Rialto Bridge… La famiglia… How friendly but badgering these Venetians can be… Everything was beautiful, though with all the energetic uproar, vitality and color… But It all has its pros and cons, and nothing, not even the Rialto Bridge, is the same as when you and I came here on our honeymoon. Do you remember that café down its stairs, where we used to have breakfast, Daniel? The one where the bartender, aware of our probably dumbfounded, crazy-in-love faces, would play that song, VENICE WITHOUT YOU, by Charles Aznavour? I didn´t want to go in this time. I would have found it disrespectful toward our memories together. Despite what they may think, the bridge is not the same. Now it´s crammed with knick-knack specialized stalls with plastic Gondolas, carnival masks, or those plastic spheres with the San Marco cathedral inside and that, when shaken, simulate a snowy winter in the Alps… I picked one up, out of pure spite, like when one wishes to buy a souvenir for the children, and, in an unfortunate movement of my hands, already full with bags of fish, it accidentally slipped through my fingers and fell to the ground, and then started rolling down the wooden splints of the stairs, causing the fat, bearded and bulging-eyed seller, who resembled Orson Welles in Citizen Kane, to curse at me in so many ways that I was momentarily scatterbrained, staring blankly at him, as though hypnotized. After seeing me in such a shock, perhaps to relieve the tension that he himself had caused, he enquired: cosa aspetta ancora, signora? to which I found no other way to reply than: You tell me: rosebud! What else could I say, right? And there I left him, while I heard another explosion of incomprehensible phrases behind my back… See? I get carried away, speaking of unimportant events, and losing the main thread of the story, and I am not at all chronological. So, to sum things up, as I was saying, the slight climb up the bridge left me almost breathless, and, if I could have, I would have willingly sat down on the wooden steps or called for a taxi in a hurry…
I leaned on the railing of a bridge, just outside the market, for a long while and then, slowly, with my bags full of the shopping, I made stops here and there until, with more harm than good, I reached the Square of the Saints Giovanni e Paolo… There, only two blocks away from my house, believing myself to be incapable of reaching my door, I had the urge to call Mauro for him to pick me up and, leaning against the building foundations, I walked confusedly through the tangled maze that takes me to my little apartment… At one turn, a dozen Polinchinela and Pantalones masks gaze sadly at me from the window of a carnival craftsman´s shop. I would have hidden myself behind any one of those static faces to theatrically disguise my exhaustion at any price. I was worn out, as if split in two. Shaky and bewildered… I imagined myself, in my state of exhaustion and most probably gaunt appearance, as Visconti´s Ashembach himself, asking for the hand, or the smile of a nonexistent Tazzio in order to come out of my trance. How absurd! Can you imagine?
It´s all over now. It seems to have been a simple warning without consequences. But, if I must be honest, if I did become truly frightened, it was for you all, because I already have everything assimilated and accepted…
This morning I went to a nearby hairdresser´s. I was quite sick of seeing the same straggly hair and I decided to change my look, even if it was just to cheer myself up. While the hairdresser washed my hair and dyed it, I slipped into a so comfortable daze, perhaps due to the purring of the hairdryers or because I was placing myself in someone else´s hands (which is, believe or not, quite relaxing), that I fell asleep without meaning to. In my voluntary state of drowsiness I had the time to shuffle through certain aspects of these events that have so quickly taken place since the moment when I started to understand we had no future anymore. A long list of questions paraded through my mind: Was I, with my drastic settlement, a brave being, or a coward? Had I been generous or selfish? Had I proceeded too quickly or, otherwise, reasonably…? But it was difficult to find the right answers. Who will you hurt? Who will you liberate? How complicated everything is, Daniel, how complicated… In every relationship, there is always a more or less lengthy pause for reflection and introspection, that sometimes sounds like regret, after the initial moments of passion and tenderness. But then the circumstances and prior commitments weigh so heavily that you are forced to stop and contemplate before you do something foolhardy, as people say, like breaking lose from all of your bonds and setting sail into an uncertain future without someone else’s rudder to steer you… The truth is that what unwittingly emerges from within you, once you´ve written it down or pronounced the thought aloud, can be frightening… And that´s the thing, Daniel. It´s very hard to share these things, especially with you, and to accept it, and ask you to do the same without any obstacles… If you had been a more compromised and brave man. Yes, if you had been more level-headed, I would have probably put the facts on the table before running away from Granada and all of this would have been unnecessary, but I felt so alone… And I´m not blaming you for any of this, God knows, but it is true that I didn’t have the nerve to look you straight in the eye on the night when I permanently packed my bags… Because this was forever, and, by then, I already knew… But, if I had told you the truth, you wouldn´t have been able to bear it, as you couldn´t bear your friend Pepe´s divorce, nor your sister´s son´s funeral, nor when Michael got his girlfriend from Gandía pregnant, nor Antonio´s misfortune, nor what happened with Matilde and Merche… And so many other terrible things, true it is, that have brushed against your unfortunate life, and have split the spine of your soul, demolishing you enormously, without having had the heart to confront them. Behold that I used the word heart instead of a different one, since I strongly believe that genitals have different purposes that differ from solving life´s defeats. Tell me what in the hell millions of women would otherwise do in order to confront their own adversities during their own existence… But here I am going off the rails again. Forgive me once more… Back to the subject. As I was saying, I myself had to pick up the courage to fly alone in this decision without counting on you. It´s the reason why I decided to go on this journey in solitude, with no other company than my terrible resolutions, my ghosts and sworn personal enemies. Each one of us has an adversary inside who, slowly and almost imperceptibly, deprives us of our importance until it eventually weakens us and wins the battle… And it cannot be misled, for it´s such a powerful force that it lives at our expenses from birth and its only purpose is to cast us to our death. Well, so now I have said the word aloud. It doesn´t matter. One way or another it had to appear and it doesn’t need to be overrated. We are here, and one fine day, we aren´t here anymore. That´s that. There´s nothing more to it. Our existence is our daily life, those small moments of apparent happiness that we share with our loved ones (although there are people who wouldn´t recognize happiness even if it appeared in front of their noses), the immense, moderate or even acceptable surges of joy that we treasure ourselves with, when it´s possible, satisfying ourselves with special moments, things, beings, feelings… And then there´s the truth. The crude reality which perseveres above any circumstance and leaves us marked from the very second it is revealed to us and that we accept the fact that it will never leave our side again… The truth that tells us that, no matter how many exceptional brushes we may overcome, we will, someday, lose the definite battle. Because catastrophe is what prevails in the end. Every story with a positive background is a yet unfinished one. Life is a string of failures that lead to the last crusade. Always. How awful, isn´t it? How difficult to accept. We pull the wool over our eyes to avoid seeing what´s inevitable. We spend our life inventing artificially beneficial activities to forget that we are, in fact, marbles rolling towards a dark hole. This morning, to set an example, I felt old. I felt wrinkles on my skin and my soul and, instead of confronting the truth, I ran away in search of somebody that could fool me. I´ve spent literally two hours in front of the mirror, having my hair fixed by a cute girl, like those in magazines, with all kinds of stuff on my face and in my hair to feel more beautiful. And I think I even made it, or, well, she did. After all, she´s the one who did all the combing and the dyeing on me. At least, while strolling on the street later on, a few men even gave me a look with the slightest intention and interest. Look at that, you´d probably say: at your age, a shadow of what you used to be, and there you are, flirting… Well, you know what? On top of it all, I even entered a music shop, or CD store, or whatever they call them now, to buy Malher´s Adaggietto and the shop assistant, needn´t she had to, after chatting about some unimportant matter about the music industry that had no relevance, told me that she thought I was quite an attractive woman. If she only knew…
Mauro called me early this morning. He has told me that I don’t need to worry more than necessary, but he didn’t sound at all convinced. Or, still better, I believe he was far from clear when he told me, in a way, I guess, of letting me solve the encoded message that he was trying to flatly communicate, and that, anyone living my situation would already expect, without doubt, the delicate matter. I already supposed this would happen. It had to, one day or another, and it was today. His voice was trembling, however, even more than my legs were. I had been ready for this during some time, although, frankly, nobody can be entirely prepared to hear something like this. So I went directly to the Ospedale della Misericordia and up to his office so that he could tell me everything bluntly as it was. He was generous, though. He gave me support, like the first time I contacted him via internet from Granada and he offered to take the reins in all the tests and treatments required, for as much time as it were needed, as well as his complete dedication in his consultation and his care… Only this time, his offer didn´t grant me merely technical informs or miraculous treatments. He is going to deal with my last moments disinterestedly. From today on and until my departure, I will be entirely in his hands. No. Don´t ask neither me nor yourself why I´ve preferred him over my family, you, or my children… One´s personal reasons for certain things can be incredibly complex and chaotic… I´m not going to talk about it right now, since I might not even know them myself… Maybe, if I still have time, in a less tense moment… I hope you resign, my dear Daniel, to knowing that I am now in harmony with myself, having made my own decision that neither you nor anyone else would have been able to dissuade…
I just looked at my reflection. I look horrible. Ugly. My hair dye doesn´t melt from the top of my head like it occurred to the misfortunate main character in Death in Venice at the Lido beach, as his unreachable dream slipped away between his fingers, but the truth is, drops of cold sweat fall throughout my body and I have profoundly dark circles under my eyes… Che potesse venire il cattivo male così subito non mi era passatto nemeno per la mente… Mauro hasn´t allowed me to leave the Ospedale. Soon enough I was accommodated in an individual room to feel as comfortable as possible. But I don´t want to be here when Death carries me away. I want to be taken home, to my attic, and if it´s possible, I want to be sitting on a rocking chair on the balcony looking toward San Michele… Maybe things would be more easygoing that way. It´s human nature to lie to oneself until the very end…
The light from the lampposts in the street shines through the cracks in the blinds, drawing large and wide lines on the ceiling. After the harsh painkillers, the oxygen mask and a very painful cycle, I passed out for a few hours. When Mauro arrived this morning, I felt slightly more recovered. The nightshift nurses had placed me in a wheelchair and, more or less, I could keep my balance without any obvious trouble… He asked them to give me another painkiller… And to take two syringes… I accepted them with stoic resignation, while knowing that they didn´t do more than lengthen an already hopeless existence, without quality of life whatsoever, that was heading toward the near events that would inevitably take place sooner than I had predicted, and I knew… Everything was accelerating faster than it was expected and I could realize this, though my surroundings were cheerful, caring and smiling, as if trying to hide the impossible truth. Especially Mauro. He continues to be so polite, so well mannered… His stare brings me a sense of such peacefulness and trust. The truth is his confident and paused gestures never cease to fascinate me, although my eyesight becomes blurry from time to time by now, or my hands get shaky when I try to pick up a simple glass of clear water from my nightstand or I get lost in the distant memory, without knowing where to go with the thought of my most loved ones, slithering within a past that won´t come back, slowly letting go of my most treasured living moments so that casting this off won´t be so painful… When you abandon your memories, or they start to abandon you, then you are nothing. Everything we are is stored in our archive. If it is destroyed, we become marionettes. A gaze that holds life, pain, sparks, perversion or love is generated and colored by the moments and experiences of our lives and for the memories that the brain keeps within. Without these, the stare slowly dies and our face becomes inexpressive, as mine are now, murky and glass-like, as a fish put on display at the fishmonger´s in Guido.
This morning, however, I have woken up looking better. Without me asking, Mauro took me by wheelchair, obviously, to the Ospedale café. We had breakfast together, reminiscing the many old times in which we had done the same thing, after those never ending speeches following my chemotherapy. He was, he said, surprised that my hair hadn´t fallen off enormously, as it happens to most people. The truth is it does have some bald patches, but with one of these cute little pura seta headbands which you can buy over here around the corner, I have covered it up quite well. We have discussed and arranged my expenses here, and we have it fixed without problems. Although I´ve been very persistent, almost boring, he doesn´t want to charge me anything for his services, just the hospital and accommodation expenses… Everything is paid for. You don´t have to worry about that. Neither about the last will and testament costs, which is already taken care of, paid for, legalized and stored in the house cabinet, inside the secret drawer… There are also some personal belongings that I have decided to leave for the children in the overheads of my wardrobe, behind the feather duvet and the blankets… And for you, Daniel, I leave you a long letter, which I have written and meditated upon during the long nights of solitude and suffering, stuck down with cello tape on the bottom of the second drawer of my nightstand. A letter that tells you about my ambitions, my movements, the weakness and fret that have tormented me during the dark fearful days, and I explain to you, one by one, the long nights on which I cried for you, for Michael, for Isabel and for our children, pissed off with a life that had reserved for me, without notice, around the corner from the best moments of our existence, this horrible trap... I didn´t have the courage to tell you this face to face… Here it all is. Forgive me if you can find it in your heart someday. I never meant to harm you, quite the contrary. When I escaped from your side, I did so with the intention of freeing you of this very painful process. In doing so, I wished you to remember me in an acceptable way, not tattered and torn, as I am now. Call it feminine coquette, if you may, or simply feminine wisdom, that knows all the members of her family deeply. To uncover it all would have meant interrupting Michael´s professional expectations, a stumbling block, apart from being traumatizing for Isabel. An upset for the children, and your own guaranteed collapse. You know what I mean very well. I, who have always been the rudder for our ship, the strongest one, the one who bounced back. now I could not leave this situation in your hands, which none of three were prepared to deal with. I hope that you at least can understand this…
I´ve asked Mauro, and he has agreed, to take me to the Accademia for the last time. Even if it has to be in a wheelchair, and by Vaporetto or by Gondola or however it pleases him. It´s been very difficult. I can´t dress myself anymore. The nurses have to help me get dressed. I barely have any strength to even shove my arms into a sweater… We travelled in a small motorboat and, in a flash, we were in front of Santa María della Caritá and l´Accademia. With some difficulty, between Mauro and the captain, they raised the wheelchair up to the fondamenta… Everything came out better than we thought it would. I wanted to verify something once more, that had left me uneasy while observing Giorione´s painting in my last visit. I told Mauro not to stop in front of any other... That he should place me directly facing The Tempest. When I had it before my eyes, what I now saw upon me was very surprising. I had read in the catalogue that I had picked up at the exit during my last visit, that the young manly figure on the left had once been thought to be a beautiful lady that looked to the right with disdain. With this new reference stored in my brain, by now cloudy and quite confused, the message shown by the painting had become distorted by numerous reflexive visualizations each time I tried to remember it, but, having it before me once more and applying new conjectures to the picture, everything that I had believed changed radically, as I suspected…The impression this caused in me is impossible to describe. Of overwhelming clarity. Of startling shudder… I could no longer see the gallant young man from the Arcadia, but an enigmatic transvestite under whose garments the flesh and the nudity of an even more mysterious woman peeked through… And, suddenly, everything seemed to make sense and fit to perfection in a second, as I feared… In the background, an abandoned city, that, for me, without a doubt, was still Granada. Above it, the dark tempest that I had left you and our children when I fled. The space between the walls and the figures must have represented my own distance, my long trip, and the ground set between you and myself. The woman, who, silling down, consciously turns her back on the city, and hides from it under a shawl and who nurtures the small and defenseless being, myself. Myself covering my shame before you, but nude from my arms on down with my vital organs exposed and resigned to nurture the monster that was devouring my insides night after night, without letting go of my breast for a single moment, sucking out my life. The mysterious woman, hidden under the vestments and the appearance of a man, was already clearly to be the representation of Death. A death that made a brief pause, biding his time resting on his spear in his right hand and on his right foot, but, at the same time watching, now impatiently, myself, going through the long, almost unending process of nurturing the deathly creature that was nestled on my stomach and at my breast without finally deciding to go along with him… There was still a bridge — hope never dies — made of wooden slats and pillars over which one could escape back into life. But that fateful man, or that deathly woman, however you wish to call it, blocked every hope of fleeing with his staunch presence. Everything was plotted, even the rotting architectural obstacles and my shameful nature, to stop me from escaping. Just a matter of waiting a little more before my inexorable destiny reached its conclusion….
Nothing to compare with Saint George of Mantegna! He had just obtained the victory as he gazed proudly at his surroundings, satisfied with his certain triumph over the monster. At his feet, defeated, laid the defenseless dragon, completely harmless... Behind the saint, arrogant choirs of seraphim and thrones sounded singing praises... Whilst behind The Tempest, only the oppressive movement of the heavy storm clouds rumbled, announcing the imminent catastrophe… And, for the first time, I felt desperation seizing my breast. The monster that had grown within my body, nurtured by my own lifeblood, as it devoured my insides, becoming more powerful than myself, not allowing me to feel strong enough to even reject its presence… My last hope was death… All these thoughts drove me to a state of profound uneasy apprehension, anxiety and nervousness, and so, in my desperation, I looked for a flaw within the canvas or some other mean to make this transvestite disappear forever… But then I fainted, and Mauro had to take me home quickly.
After taking who knows how many drugs, I find myself now seated in the rocking chair on the little balcony that gives onto Canalle delle Navi, in front of the Laguna Morta. You see the irony? Death Lagoon. Everything seems to conspire against life, or maybe it´s just that Venice herself has decided to accompany me on my terrible journey to the definitive silence, and that’s why everything reminds me of dying… It must be that… Through the haze I can see from here the pink hues of the island of San Michele, covered with cypress trees in the middle of the waters. Only the pure white dome of the stones of its church shines, where its campanile stands above, like an arrow. It seems that many illustrious gentlemen, who fell in love with Venice and were trapped by her fascinating web on one of their journeys, are buried here. Also, the Venetians. Unlike before. They used to be buried in cemeteries scattered throughout the city, or in her churches, but the stench given off by their rotting corpses in summer, as they were shallowly buried due to the lack of space, as well as the contamination of the Venetian wells located in the fields, caused by the waters in contact with these bodies filtering through, forced the government of La Serenisima to remove the cemeteries from the city limits. Today, most are buried in San Michele (I am more and more convinced that, one day, the most prevalent part of the earth will be formed by dead bodies…) It looks like a beautiful place to rest eternally. But resting here is very expensive. There are very few perpetual tombs. All of the inhabitants of the city will end up here one day or another, as it is one of the places most in demand. Its sepulchers have become much more expensive locations than those of the Fenice… But I´m not planning on leaving you, or myself, penniless after my passing, don’t worry… Nor do I intend to contaminate an already reeking city even more than it is… I have asked Mauro ,with your permission, to cremate my body and scatter my ashes before the Redentore church, at the Giudecca channel… This was the first sight I was given from the window of the hotel in which I stayed when I arrived here two months ago. Oh, how time slips away for whom doesn´t have much of it left! And it was such a breathtaking view that it seemed impossible to remove it from my memory. The pure whiteness, the golden glow at dusk, the perfection of its façade, the balance of its bulkiness, the masterpiece Palladio created, distributing the architectonic mass so perfectly, swept me off my feet from the first time I gazed upon it… So much beauty in such a small space… How fast everything goes, how fast…
The first day I arrived in Venice, it was difficult to accept that the long way I was about to walk alone, was to be made without your help, Daniel, but, as you can see, now that it´s all to beack its end, I have no fear. And I´m happy for not being with none of you, Michael, Isabel, nor Clara and Roberto, the children… But especially, I´m relieved you are not here with me… Look! I can see, just now, a plane across the sky that is going straight to the continent… But there is no turning back now. There are no remaining wings left in order to fix this in any way… I wanted you to remember me as I´ve always been, that´s all… If you could see me now… This morning, as the nurse was trying to comb my hair, you could see full strands tearing out with each brush… It´s already terribly painful for me to lift my arm towards my head, and that´s why I let them do it for me… I´ve repeatedly asked Mauro whether the lights suddenly went out and came back on again or if I was slowly becoming blind… As if that were also necessary… He lied to me and told me that, in a city with so many artistic and very enlightened buildings, electricity failed from time to time, but I knew he was merely trying not to scare me…
Daniel, I´ve never loved anyone like I love you… Not even my children... And it is said that children empty all of one´s possible affection and daily devotion… If I may speak the truth, I think that, from the vigorous lover you were during the first years, you slowly emerged as another big child for me… As my particular silent, distinguished, defenseless and cherished lover… My beloved partner in sweetness… This was precisely the reason why I decided to escape from your hands, as soon as I knew how everything was going to build up, ending in this such a terrible process… I know that a true separation can never exist, but think of how animals behave when they sense their end nearing. They also run away from the clearing of the jungle and hide beneath the highest foliage just to avoid being looked upon during their last living moment… Can you imagine the scene in Granada, at the San Juan de Dios hospital, continuously crowded with relatives, friends and acquaintances, throwing inquisitive looks upon the beast as it gradually reveals itself and overcomes my body, or, on my last days, as they witness the well-aimed, repeated clawing of death…? Not in a million years… I always told myself… This is something of my concern, and my life… Call it as you wish, but for me this has been the last gesture of selflessness that I could possibly offer you, in order to help you avoid such terrible moments… Forgive me for treating you like a child, and lying to you, with all those misleading letters from London and Paris, simulating a nonexistent journey. My helping partners were Solange and Katy, who kept in touch with me during these months, sending you my letters from their home addresses. They know nothing of my story, though. It was much easier to make them believe that I had run off with my lover while they silently covered up for me, than to tell them my crude and awful truth… In these things, we women can be foolish and we tend to easily believe stories involving affairs. They didn´t even question me. Please call them, when everything has passed, and apologize for me.
Time is running out… I am at the Ospedale della Misericordia again and I can hardly sustain the pen between my fingers… The sun is setting and the dark shadows of twilight are peeking through the window… I believe I am not going to fulfill my dream of dying whilst looking out over the sea from the balcony of my apartment… Mauro had to bring me inside quickly because I was suffocating… Breathing for me is now difficult and exhausting… In spite of the oxygen mask, I constantly ask them to open the window… I feel as though I didn’t have enough space… There isn´t enough night… enough sky… I don´t want to suffer during my last moment, and Mauro has promised that he won´t allow this to happen… Quite a few nurses have just entered the room… I am now surrounded by tubes and wires that connect to my body… They have tied up my left arm, where the trickiest IVs are positioned, so that I won´t move it… I suppose they are already injecting some sedative narcotic into my veins so that it all occurs placidly and without excessive spasms, but, despite it all, I still retain consciousness and I can scribble these last words… I must tell you that I love you, once more, before it is too late… Daniel, I miss you… I would love to say goodbye while holding your hand, but, at the same time, I am aware that I do not wish you to preserve this last terrible image of me… I sense a faint pain all through my chest… I can hear bells ringing nearby… They resound loudly, but they don´t even bother me anymore… The bells always toll for one, don´t they? When you receive this letter it will all have ended, and that comforts me deeply… Mauro is still with me… He has given the word to inject the necessary dose of morphine so that I´ll stop moaning… He is urging me to let go of the pen… I´m afraid I won´t be able to continue telling you what happens from now on… I won´t be able to tell you what Charon is like... Nor if they have placed the required obolous under my tongue so that I can cross the river Styx… Everything is darkening… Everything is spinning… Elisa.
