The Venice Sketchbook(63)

“This isn’t good,” the wife said, gesturing dramatically with her hands. “What about the fireworks? They can’t have fireworks in the rain. They said on the radio there might be a storm, but whoever believes the radio? We might have to pack up before everything is ruined, Luigi.”

I helped them pack up the food into baskets. It seemed they lived on Giudecca and would take the supplies and furniture home. If it didn’t rain, they’d be back for the fireworks. Did I want to come with them?

The first drops of rain spattered as she spoke, and a wind snatched at nearby tablecloths.

“I think perhaps I had better go home while I can,” I said. “I don’t want to get soaked going across two bridges.”

“Come and visit us again,” the father said. “The Olivetti family. Everyone knows where we live. Just around the corner there. You see? Come and visit. Any time. Come on a Sunday. You’ll always find us having a big meal like today, eh, Giovanna?”

She nodded agreement, smiling at me.

I thanked them profusely. The wife pinched my cheek and said she’d be working on finding a good man for me. The others embraced me. It was strange and wonderful at the same time. I watched them walk away, still talking and laughing loudly as fat raindrops spattered. I wondered whether I should take shelter, then I thought it might be wiser to cross the pontoon before the storm got any worse. Unfortunately, many other people had the same idea. A long line was waiting to get on to the walkway. I joined it, and we moved at a snail’s pace, getting increasingly wet. Around me there were wails and complaints as the rain intensified. I was somewhere just beyond the middle of the pontoon when the heavens opened. Rain came down in a solid sheet. The rain turned to hail, bouncing off the boards of the pontoon and stinging as it hit us. Lightning flashed nearby. Thunder rumbled. And a fierce wind stirred up waves. People were screaming and praying. As I fought to keep my balance, a large woman lost her footing and grabbed on to me. A wave slapped at the wooden planks and we went into the water together.





CHAPTER 24


Juliet, Venice, July 23, 1939

The water was surprisingly cold and took my breath away. The woman was still grabbing on to me, and we were pulled under. I fought my way to the surface, gulping to take a breath as rain and waves buffeted my face. I tasted salt and gagged. The woman was clinging on to me, arms wrapped around my neck.

“Help me. I can’t swim,” she shouted as she lashed out, then clung to me again.

She pulled us both under once more and then bobbed up, choking and crying. She was going to drown us both if she continued like this and nobody came to our rescue. All I could see around me was darkness and waves. I realized I’d have to free myself if I wanted to survive. Let someone else rescue her. I was conscious now of other people in the water, of screams and cries and the sound of motorboats coming towards us. A wave broke over us, and I was dragged under again. I clawed at her hands to free myself and kicked up to the surface, swivelling around so that she was now in front of me. She came to the surface coughing and choking, and I saw the panic in her eyes.

“Maria Vergine,” she gasped. And of course I couldn’t let her drown. I managed to turn her away from me, so that she couldn’t pull me down, and held her head above water. How did you say “Don’t struggle” in Italian? All sensible thought had gone out of my head.

“Be still,” I managed to say. “Help will come.” I just hoped I was right.

I tried to look around as we were borne up on a wave. The current had swept us away from the bridge, and from the odd glimpse I got between waves and rain, it seemed as if the barges might have been torn apart. In any case, there was nothing to grab on to. I wondered how long I could hold her up, whether I could swim with her to shore. I was not the strongest swimmer, having had little opportunity in the cold English seas, and my dress was now clinging to my legs, making it hard to move. I could make out lights in the distance but hopelessly far away. Should I let her go and save myself? The words echoed in my head. But I couldn’t. Then a shape loomed up beside us. Hands reached down, and the woman was dragged onboard a boat. Then the hands came for me, and I was hauled up to safety.

I sat on the wooden deck where I was deposited, coughing and gasping. The woman was crying now, great heaving sobs, and gasping out, “Thanks be to God. Thanks to the Madonna.”

“Must I always have to pull you out of the water?” said a familiar voice, and I looked up to see Leo standing, looking down at me. His tone was light, but I saw the fear in his eyes.

The tension and shock, coupled with the relief, were too much for me.

“Do you have to make a joke of everything?” I replied in English. “I nearly drowned. She couldn’t swim, and she was holding on to me and pulling us both under. If you hadn’t come . . .” And I swallowed back a sob.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. You are safe now. Don’t cry.”

I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I forced back tears. “I’m not crying,” I said defiantly.

Then I noticed that there were other people huddled together in the back of the boat. Judging from their bedraggled appearance, they were those he had already rescued.

“She is an angel sent from God,” the woman said to them, pointing to me. “If she hadn’t held me above water, I would be feeding the fishes by now.”