Gritti. It looked a bit boring, being there, compared with being here. People on vaporetti were looking up, wishing they were either up here, chucking free bellinis down their throats, or sitting on the terrace of the Gritti, paying for them through the nose.
‘The thing about a bellini,’ Jeff said to Ben, ‘is that it's actually an extremely refreshing drink.’
‘In these conditions one couldn't wish for a better drink.’ It was the Kaiser who said this, so there were three of them now, with six drinks between them. The problem was that they went down such a treat that in no time at all it would be necessary to start barging back to the drinks table for refills.
‘I just wish they came in a bigger glass,’ said Ben.
‘Good point,’ said Jeff. ‘It's so stingy, serving them in theselittle fuckers.’ He had said it as a joke, or at least that's how he'd begun saying it, but by the time he'd completed this remark its truth was so glaring that he felt genuinely annoyed. Especially since the poxy little glasses were empty. He was girding his loins, preparing to head back to the drinks table, when, in one of those magical Venice moments, a waiter appeared with a jug of bellinis. The three of them stuck their hands out, watched as the waiter filled their greedy pairs of glasses.
‘Didn't the Buddha say that you should take whatever was put in your begging bowl?’ said Ben.
‘Wise words!’ Moved by the serendipity of the moment, they clinked their begging bowls and sipped their drinks, sipped in the sense of gulped. Although a bellini was, as Jeff had claimed, a refreshing drink, the heat was stifling, impossible to keep at bay. A kind of mania was in the air. Atman closed his eyes and gave himself over to the noise around him, the din of voices, the pandemonium of conversation and laughter, the remarks and questions in several languages, the popping of prosecco bottles and the clinking of glasses, the jokes and the laughter sprinkled over everything. It was a representative sample of what people having a good time sounded like. They could have recorded it and sent it off to some distant part of the solar system to sonically illustrate what social life on Earth – or high-quality freeloading, at least – sounded like. Jeff opened his eyes and there he was, gazing out over the Grand Canal. It was like waking up and finding yourself in a more wonderful dream than any you'd had while sleeping. What a city, what an utterly sensational place! Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round.
It was her. Laura. The same person. But dressed differently.
Of course she was dressed differently. There was so muchto see. Her hair, her face, her dress and the small yellow badge – with words too small to read – pinned to her dress. The overwhelming happiness of the moment made him suddenly confident, freeing him to say,
‘You found me! You see. I said you would.’
‘Weren't you meant to be looking for me?’
‘I realized the only way to do that was to let
you
find
me
, to stop looking. But at some level I never stopped looking. I was looking out for you just now in fact – but in the wrong direction.’
Now was the time to bend and kiss her. On the lips. He didn't feel nervous about it at all.
‘I'm glad I found you,’ he said.
‘So am I.’ Up close like this he could read the words on her badge: MY SAFE WORD IS OUCH.
‘Have you been having a good time?’
‘Yes. What about you?’
‘I've got to say, everything has worked out perfectly.’
‘Did you go to the Giardini?’
‘Yes. But what time were
you
there? That's the interesting thing.’
‘I guess I got there at about one-thirty.’
‘What about on the bridge of the Accademia, at about six?’
‘Yes, I think I was there about then. Why didn't you come up?’
‘You were talking to someone. And there wasn't time to get off the vaporetto. Also, you know I was doing that interview with Julia Berman? I ended up getting stoned with
‘The thing about a bellini,’ Jeff said to Ben, ‘is that it's actually an extremely refreshing drink.’
‘In these conditions one couldn't wish for a better drink.’ It was the Kaiser who said this, so there were three of them now, with six drinks between them. The problem was that they went down such a treat that in no time at all it would be necessary to start barging back to the drinks table for refills.
‘I just wish they came in a bigger glass,’ said Ben.
‘Good point,’ said Jeff. ‘It's so stingy, serving them in theselittle fuckers.’ He had said it as a joke, or at least that's how he'd begun saying it, but by the time he'd completed this remark its truth was so glaring that he felt genuinely annoyed. Especially since the poxy little glasses were empty. He was girding his loins, preparing to head back to the drinks table, when, in one of those magical Venice moments, a waiter appeared with a jug of bellinis. The three of them stuck their hands out, watched as the waiter filled their greedy pairs of glasses.
‘Didn't the Buddha say that you should take whatever was put in your begging bowl?’ said Ben.
‘Wise words!’ Moved by the serendipity of the moment, they clinked their begging bowls and sipped their drinks, sipped in the sense of gulped. Although a bellini was, as Jeff had claimed, a refreshing drink, the heat was stifling, impossible to keep at bay. A kind of mania was in the air. Atman closed his eyes and gave himself over to the noise around him, the din of voices, the pandemonium of conversation and laughter, the remarks and questions in several languages, the popping of prosecco bottles and the clinking of glasses, the jokes and the laughter sprinkled over everything. It was a representative sample of what people having a good time sounded like. They could have recorded it and sent it off to some distant part of the solar system to sonically illustrate what social life on Earth – or high-quality freeloading, at least – sounded like. Jeff opened his eyes and there he was, gazing out over the Grand Canal. It was like waking up and finding yourself in a more wonderful dream than any you'd had while sleeping. What a city, what an utterly sensational place! Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round.
It was her. Laura. The same person. But dressed differently.
Of course she was dressed differently. There was so muchto see. Her hair, her face, her dress and the small yellow badge – with words too small to read – pinned to her dress. The overwhelming happiness of the moment made him suddenly confident, freeing him to say,
‘You found me! You see. I said you would.’
‘Weren't you meant to be looking for me?’
‘I realized the only way to do that was to let
you
find
me
, to stop looking. But at some level I never stopped looking. I was looking out for you just now in fact – but in the wrong direction.’
Now was the time to bend and kiss her. On the lips. He didn't feel nervous about it at all.
‘I'm glad I found you,’ he said.
‘So am I.’ Up close like this he could read the words on her badge: MY SAFE WORD IS OUCH.
‘Have you been having a good time?’
‘Yes. What about you?’
‘I've got to say, everything has worked out perfectly.’
‘Did you go to the Giardini?’
‘Yes. But what time were
you
there? That's the interesting thing.’
‘I guess I got there at about one-thirty.’
‘What about on the bridge of the Accademia, at about six?’
‘Yes, I think I was there about then. Why didn't you come up?’
‘You were talking to someone. And there wasn't time to get off the vaporetto. Also, you know I was doing that interview with Julia Berman? I ended up getting stoned with
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