Tucking the flower in her coat pocket, she stopped and looked around. To her left theriowas dotted with tourists making their way along the water, cameras and phones poised to capture the Ponte di Rialto at just the right angle in the morning sun. To her right there was a mass of people gathered by the Rialtofermata, most waiting patiently for the arrival of thevaporetto, tickets in hand.
A pair of mothers with similar-looking strollers stood with their backs to Lucia, and spotting them, Lucia stilled. Even at a distance of two or three short blocks, she could see a familiar flat cap bobbing just ahead of them.
Her heart flipped, then dropped.
Alex was either waiting for someone to arrive at thefermataviavaporetto, or he would be catching one. The gathered crowd would take a decent chunk of space on the vessel, which would provide cover should she also have to jump on board. Otherwise, she would linger to see who it was he was waiting to meet. She nodded to herself.
Cautiously, keeping Alex in sight, she slunk along the front of the buildings which lined the two blocks ahead of her, eventually tucking herself behind a potted pine by a hotel entrance just as the unmistakable sound of an approachingvaporettodroned its way across the water.
This is it.
It took a few moments for thevaporettoto moor and for the exiting passengers to disembark. The mass of people waiting at thefermataseemed to swell, growing with purpose as they shuffled along the deck to find a seat on the craft. This included Alex.
At a comfortable distance, Lucia tucked herself onto the end of the queue, all the while keeping an eye on Alex, who had decided to perch by the railing on the port side. Lucia scanned her monthly travel pass and scurried along the pull-out bridge, eventually finding a nook behind the cabin on the stern.
From there, Lucia was able to rise on her toes to peek through the cabin’s windows and keep an eye on Alex. Short of him walking to the rear of thevaporetto, he’d never know she was there.
Just as the motor kicked back into gear and thevaporettojutted forward in the water, Lucia sent a quick text to Francesco.Checco, I’ve just left Rialto. Not sure where I will land. Just wanted you to know.
After a few minutes, his reply arrived:Is this your way of telling me you’ve jumped off the bridge? Because if it is, the bottom of the lagoon is where you will land. It took a few seconds, but then he added,That was insensitive. Sorry.
But Lucia was too distracted by watching Alex to reply.
He tended to his bouquet of flowers as if it were a baby. Precious and delicate. Lucia let her hand dip into her pocket, and she was relieved when her fingertips brushed the silken texture of the petals.
Their journey continued, and Alex disembarked at Murano, thankfully with a sea of tourists in tow who did well to hide Lucia’s presence.
There were two twists, however, that Lucia had not anticipated. The first was that Alex would board a connectingvaporettoto extend his journey. And the second was that his destination was il Cimitero di San Michele.
The cemetery island.
ventotto
Morning must be the preferred time of day to connect with the dead, as a near-fullvaporettohad docked at thefermata del cimitero. A mix of grieving loved ones and a handful of tourists wanting to explore another side of Venice disembarked. Lucia was careful to be among the final few to leave the vessel, watching Alex all the while.
Having rearranged the flowers a number of times, Alex stopped momentarily to adjust his flat cap. The wind off the open waters lashed at the fortress-style façade of the built-up, enclosed little island. The stubborn salty breeze whipped at his coat and the backs of his calves, as if pushing him along the landing and across to the cemetery complex. Alex entered under the iconic white marble archway and took to the gravel path, protected now by the high brick walls that bore most of the weather’s brunt.
Inside, the island’s trees formed a sheltering canopy, casting shadows across the tombstones and memorial plates that dotted the lush, tended grass. The quiet swishing of the foliage entwined with the sounds of the sea, the caw of birds big and small, and the crunch of the fine pearlescent gravel underfoot.
Lucia followed at a safe distance as Alex made his way to one of the closed mausoleum buildings, and at that exact moment, Lucia stopped dead in her tracks.
What are you doing here? What possessed you to think this was a good idea? ANY of it!
An eerie sense of foreboding wrapped itself around her. She felt like a criminal. But then she saw Alex through the foggy glass pane of the mausoleum door and she couldn’t look away.
Alex kneeled before a small wall-mounted cremation grave. He pressed his free hand to the brass name plate and gave it a caress. He then removed his flat cap and lowered his head reverently. His tousled mop of auburn waves was suddenly freed, and Lucia noted how his usually proud shoulders drooped. Eventually, wiping tears from his cheeks, he steeled himself and exchanged a bunch of pink paper flowers from the ornate glass holder with those he had brought. Setting the older flowers down on the floor, he ran his hand over the new bunch, counting the heads with his fingers. Then he turned on the spot, and his eyes traced over the paved flooring behind him. Alex looked towards the door, and his stare followed the path that he had taken inside. The missing flower head was nowhere to be seen.
Lucia had dipped from sight just in time, and when she felt the coast was clear she caught the tail end of his expression melting from sadness to disappointment. There was something about the flowers that tormented him.
Despite herself, and the general level of frustration Alex stirred in her, seeing him like this pulled at Lucia’s heartstrings. There was undeniable hurt there. It was written all over his face. The way the richness of his cinnamon eyes had darkened. The tension which had now set his chiselled chin a little tighter. He was nothing short of vulnerable; Lucia recognised it in the way his usually rigid stance lost its familiar strength. She wondered who he could have lost to alter his stoic, impenetrable façade beyond recognition.
ThisAlex was different.
Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Alex collected the older flowers from the floor and exited through a door on the other side of the building. He was gone, leaving a vacuum of intrigue in his wake.
Lucia waited a few minutes before entering the mausoleum and standing in front of the grave Alex had attended. The raised initials on the brass name plate read:
C. E. M.
