The Venice Sketchbook(21)

“Oh, look at that poor thing,” one of the girls said. “It’s so thin. Can we take it with us? It needs a saucer of milk.”

I looked back at the girl and saw the hopeful eyes of myself at eighteen. “Margaret, I’m afraid you’ll find that this is a city full of stray cats. People here don’t value animals the way we do.”

“It smells bad here, miss,” the annoying Sheila complained. “Does the water come out of the canals? Do you think we’ll catch some disease?”

“We shall drink only bottled water and be careful with unpeeled vegetables and fruit. Otherwise, we should be quite safe,” I replied, proud of my calmness. I stopped to read a street name on a crumbling red-painted building. “Oh yes. Nearly there now. Buck up, everyone.”

Have I made a mistake coming back here? I asked myself. Am I seeing the past through rose-tinted glasses? Was it always smelly and dirty and I never noticed?

We turned into a blind alley, so narrow that the girls had to walk in single file. There was a distinct smell of bad drains.

“It should be here.” I consulted the letter. “Convent of Mater Domino? . . .”

Two small boys came out of a doorway, clutching a football. “Scusi. Dove si trova Mater Domino?” I asked them.

They stared at the girls in their school uniforms as if they were creatures from another planet and pointed silently to the end of the alley. “Il primo a destra,” one of them said.

“Grazie.” I turned back to Miss Frobisher. “It’s just around the corner on the right.”

They turned into an even narrower alleyway. We scanned the buildings one by one. Then at the far end I noticed a small plaque saying Mater Domino on a grey stone wall, with a cross above. And in the middle of that wall was a massive wooden door.

“This must be it,” I said, a trifle dubiously. “I must say they don’t make their presence well known.”

“You do the talking, Miss Browning,” Miss Frobisher said. “You have knowledge of the language, don’t you? I only have Latin, which I am sure is no longer any use.”

“I have been studying Italian at home, just for my own benefit, Miss Frobisher. I’m not sure how proficient I am.”

“You made those boys just now understand you.”

I had to smile. “That wasn’t too hard, with all that waving and gesturing.”

Beside the door was an old-fashioned bell pull. I tugged on it and heard a distant jangling.

“It looks awful,” one of the girls whispered. “Why are there no windows?”

“I’ve heard what they do in convents,” Sheila’s voice came again. “They’ll try to convert us, and if we don’t agree, something terrible will happen to us. They brick people up in walls and toss them down wells.”

“Don’t be so silly, Sheila.” Miss Frobisher spoke up now. I could tell she was making a supreme effort to be calm and reassuring. “You are frightening your schoolmates unnecessarily. I’m sure it looks perfectly fine inside.”

At that moment a grille was slid back, and a face, framed by a severe white wimple, appeared. I heard a gasp from the girls.

“Dominus vobiscum,” the woman said.

“Siamo il Gruppo dale scuola dall’Inghiterra.” I had practiced phrases I thought we might need, and this one came out convincingly.

“Ah, va bene.” The woman nodded. “Enter, please.”

The door creaked open slowly, and we stepped into a small courtyard. High walls rose on all sides, blocking out the sunlight.

“Wait ’ere, please,” the nun said in stumbling English, then disappeared into a doorway, her long skirts swishing on the ground. After a minute or so, another nun appeared. This one was younger and actually smiling.

“Welcome, dear girls,” she said. “I am Sister Immaculata. I am your hostess. I show you your rooms. Please to follow.”

“Actually, we are all very thirsty,” I said. “There was no dining car on the train.”

The nun looked puzzled.

“No drink on train. Very thirsty. Siamo assetati.”

“Ah.” The nun nodded. “Is too late for breakfast. All put away, I am afraid. I bring water to your rooms, sì ?”

“Will it be bottled water?” Miss Frobisher demanded, putting herself between the nun and me. “It is essential that we drink bottled water only. The girls must not get sick.”

“If bottled water, you must pay,” the nun said.

“Very well. We will pay for bottled water, but please have some sent up to us. And at what time is luncheon? The girls are also very hungry.”

“Luncheon is at one o’clock,” the nun said. Then her face softened. “I send up bread and fruit to you. Va bene?”

“Sì , va bene.” I returned her smile.

We were led up a steep and narrow stone staircase. The girls were in rooms with two sets of bunk beds. Miss Frobisher and I were to share a twin-bedded room. The bathroom was down the hall—simple but clean. I looked around the room, spartan in the extreme with whitewashed stone walls, two narrow iron-framed beds, on which there was a white sheet but no coverlet, and a large cross on the wall above. I noticed with amusement that the window was barred, and I was immediately taken back to ten years before. I remembered so clearly looking down and seeing Leo’s face smiling up at me from his boat, his arms stretched out to me as he urged me to come down. Was he still in Venice? Of course he would be. His family had been here since the Middle Ages. And he’d be married by now. Married and settled and happy, the way I had expected to be.