The Last Gondola by Edward Sklepowich Page A

I might add, too much.” Possle looked in the direction of the sala with a faraway expression. “I prefer solitude, and so does Armando. We learn how to live from society. But solitude teaches us how to die; it has no flatterers.”
    In what was by now becoming a puzzling and annoying pattern, Possle’s observation about solitude and his earlier one about gondoliers carried a distinctly familiar ring.
    â€œYou’re looking tired, Mr. Macintyre. Excuse me for drawing attention to it, old man that I am. I never had much patience when the old said I wasn’t looking well. There seemed something ghoulish in it. Here. Take this.”
    He held out his empty cup.
    Urbino got up. A pleasant scent struck his nostrils. It was the scent that he had first noticed upon entering the room, but much stronger.
    As Urbino reseated himself, Possle reached among the cushions. He held up a large crystal vaporizer. Perhaps the cushions contained an endless supply of items to amuse the old man, which he periodically withdrew like a magician dipping into a deep and voluminous hat.
    â€œIt’s a combination of ambrosia, Mitcham lavender, sweet pea, extract of meadow flowers, tuberose, orange blossom, and almond blossom,” Possle recited. “That’s what you’re smelling. It allows me to wander in a constantly changing landscape and all while I’m in my stationary gondola. You can have more Amontillado, if you like. I only allow myself the one. I find I look forward to it much more that way.”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œI wish I could offer you something more suited to your tastes. I’m inflexible in my routines. And being solitary, or relatively so,” he added with a smile, “I’m not accustomed to taking other people into consideration. That’s why I hope you’ll excuse me if I now put an end to our pleasant little visit.”
    Urbino was taken completely by surprise and was not a little disappointed. Possle had been giving no signs that the visit was almost over.
    Possle pulled a dark purple cord that extended from the wall and whose tasseled end was barely visible among the ubiquitous and encumbered cushions of the gondola.
    â€œYou’re wondering why I asked you to come, only to dismiss you so abruptly,” Possle said. “But all in good time. For the moment you can assume it’s only the whim of an old man. I think we’ve had a successful first visit, though, don’t you? When shall I have you here again? Ah, I see from the expression on your face that it pleases you to hear that. But perhaps it would be better not to specify the date. I’ve always found that when I set up a rendezvous too far in advance, I feel that I should cancel it as the day and the hour draw close. Peculiar, but what else do you expect of a man who makes his voyages in a marooned gondola? Armando will show you out.”
    Urbino barely had time to express his appreciation to Possle, when Armando appeared in the doorway like an apparition. Urbino threw a last glance back at Possle, lost in the cushions of his unusual divan.
    He followed the silent Armando across the sala and down the shadow-filled high staircase. The door to the room where Possle had said Armando kept guard was now closed.
    Armando left Urbino to collect his cloak himself and went to the heavy door. A symbol decorated the area above the inner lock, which Armando now turned. There was no bolt or other lock on the door except the one that corresponded to the large keyhole on the outer side.
    The symbol consisted of a blue circle. In its center was a red-and-yellow eight-pointed star surrounded by yellow crescents. It had an air of the occult about it and resembled one of the heraldic emblems painted on the stern of the brightly decorated flat-bottomed boats of Chioggia. It struck Urbino as unusual in its combination of elements and even more so, perhaps, in that it adorned the inside of the door rather