‘You. Here, now. What isthis?’ He gestured to the arrangement of fifteen-odd chairs, coat-clad students, piles of books, all of which encroached significantly on the already narrowcalle. His tone was sharp and laced with frustration.
Lucia drew a calming breath and stepped forward into La Commedia’s shadow. ‘We are learning about Francesco Foscari, actually,’ she said, to which Foscari yapped at her heel. ‘Basta, amore,’ she directed to the ground, while keeping her eyes on the window.
‘That part I know. I’ve heard every word. I mean, why here, now?’ His chest seemed to inflate with disdain.
It appeared the Alex of their first encounter at the front door was back, the rough and sarcastic Alex who had brushed her aside.What happened to the serene man from the window last night? Huh? Is he in there? Can I deal with him?
She forced a smile. ‘Because it’s a beautiful day. Is it not?’ She turned to the students and they nodded their agreement. ‘It is the middle of the day. What is your issue with the noise?’ She turned to the students once more and lowered her voice. ‘WasI being too loud?’ A sea of shaking heads reassured her.
‘This is a public space. Not a place for lessons. I’m trying to sleep.’
‘AndIam trying to teach.’ She gathered her hair with her right hand and flicked the lengths over her shoulder. ‘You’reinterrupting Venetian history.’
Lucia’s insides felt as if they had begun to effervesce with courage. She wouldn’t let him, oranyone, for that matter, call the shots when it came to her school and students. That threat was growing old and she was exhausted by it. Enough was enough.
‘Then I will simply take matters into my own hands.’ Alex disappeared from the window momentarily, before returning with an A3 sheet of paper, a roll of masking tape, and a marker in his hand. Leaning against the inner wall of La Commedia he penned a message, then affixed the newly fashioned sign to the outer ledge of the window, for all to see.
Silenzio, per favore!it read.
It drew giggles from the students, and Lucia couldn’t help but join them. ‘We have half an hour until we break forpranzo. Thank you for your patience.’
‘It stops now. I am desperate for sleep. I’m working very hard to make my order deadlines for Carnevale.’
‘Go.Dormi!’ She turned to the students. ‘That’s which form of the verbdormire?’
A blonde German woman’s hand flicked skyward. ‘L’imperativo! Giving a command.’
‘Bravissima!’ Lucia couldn’t help but grin. She turned back to the window, and Alex seemed all the more frustrated.
‘Ti prego. Leave me in peace. I don’t want to hear your voice out here again.’ He pushed what seemed to be little yellow earplugs into his ears, then closed the window.
‘Don’t worry about him, Lucia,’ said a recently retired South African gentleman.
She waved off his concerns. ‘Our summers are spent here on Calle del Leone. Lessons. Lunches. Parties. Cooking classes. We even project films onto the façade of the building at night after our Friday nightaperitivi. No one here on thecallehas a problem with it. It’s life-giving. Revives this little part of Venice.’
‘I am not too sure it’s a good idea.’ An Australian woman pointed to the window again, where Alex’s sign threatened to blow away in the spirited breeze. ‘He was pretty angry. Certainly doesn’t want to hearyourvoice, Lucia.’
Mulling this over, Lucia’s eyes narrowed playfully. ‘Yes. That’s right. It’smyvoice that’s the problem. He specifically asked forsilenzio.’ She smiled like the Cheshire Cat and ducked back into the school, only to reappear a few seconds later with a small cylindrical Bluetooth speaker in hand.
‘A listening test?’ asked one student.
‘No. Better. Another voice is going to take over from here.’ She withdrew her phone from her back pocket, paired it to the speaker, and opened Spotify. ‘Carissimi,’ she announced to the class, ‘I give you the master, Giuseppe Verdi, and his incredible nineteenth-century three-act opera,I Due Foscari. Act One. Chorus. Aptly entitled:Silenzio.’
Suddenly, a wave of operatic voices burst from the speaker, which Lucia held aloft in the direction of Alex’s window. It took just seconds for the tempo to increase and the baritone chorus to fill thecalle, which paired perfectly with the students’ raucous applause and delighted laughter.
She knew it was cheeky. She knew she was poking the bear. But that sarcastic rude façade of Alex’s didn’t belong on Calle del Leone, and she wanted to put him in his place. If he was going to blow hot and cold, then she would, too.
The window flew open again, and the class fell silent. ‘What are you doing?!’ Alex’s voice, raised now to be heard over the top of Verdi, was flecked with anger.
‘Just giving you what you asked for.Silenzio. I’ve saved you the overture. It really kicks off well withSilenzio, wouldn’t you agree?’ Her piercing green eyes stared up at him with brazen confidence.
He seethed and shook his head before closing the window and drawing the curtains.
Lucia allowed herself to revel in her victory for a moment, which was only heightened when Alex’s makeshift sign was plucked from its position by the breeze and blew away. She didn’t care where it ended up, as long as it wasn’t in front of her school.
She inhaled deeply into the sunshine then gazed down at her feet, planted steadfast and strong on the pavers below.
With Giuseppe Verdi’s help, Lucia Trevisan had drawn a solid battleline across Calle del Leone.
