Napoletana,” he murmured casually, as if late-night rambling was something he did all the time. He carried a pair of small lanterns, into which the children slotted the candles that Teo had pocketed.
They swung their lanterns as they walked down the empty streets, making swollen shadows on the crumbling walls. They tried to laugh, pretending to see bears and wolves in those shadows. The one thing they never mentioned was the Butcher Biasio, though their darting eyes made it obvious that they were thinking about him.
Renzo lamented, “Look at this place—deserted! Everyone’s afraid and shut up in their houses. Venice is dying.”
Teo wanted to cheer him up. “But Renzo, Venice is still famous. Everyone loves her.”
Renzo had bristled up like an angry cat. “Forget it,” he snapped rudely. “You wouldn’t understand, Napoletana. What this city once was—your Naples didn’t even have it to lose.”
Then he turned on her, pointing with a shaking finger. “You should not have that book. You don’t have a drop of Venetian blood inside you. What makes you think you’re entitled to it?”
“So that’s what is bothering you, is it?” Teo’s own voice was suddenly sharp. Renzo dropped his eyes, embarrassed at last.
Teo was too stung to tell him the truth, that she had been adopted, and that she could be from anywhere, not necessarily the Naples he despised. He probably assumed she lived on pizza! (Naples was the birthplace and headquarters of pizza. Yet Teo was that rarity—a girl from Naples who hated pizza.) Having seen her steal the dictionary, Renzo probably assumed that she was just some Naples guttersnipe who had pilfered The Key to the Secret City too.
Now the book itself rustled and fell open in her hands. Teo directed the light of her lantern onto the page that was offered, which showed a sepia photograph of a pair of children standing solemnly side by side for the camera. The boy had his arm around the girl’s shoulder in a comradely, protective sort of way.
“How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. The children’s faces were just like hers and Renzo’s, even though the photograph was old and grainy, and the fashions were from fifty years before, from the very dawn of photography. Behind the sepia children were the Campanile and the Basilica of San Marco.
“The book’s trying to tell us to be kind to one another.…” She hardly dared say the words aloud.
“How peculiar,” declared Renzo. “The book makes it look as if you were in Venice before.” He laughed uncertainly. “Not very likely, is it?”
He did not, of course, deign to apologize. But he gave her a lordly smile, and Teo had to make do with that.
They walked gingerly, feeling their way along the railings of bridges. After a while, it became clear, to their relief, that they could trust The Key to steer them safely away from the dangerous gushing wells. But there was no way of avoiding the canals, except by extreme caution.
They paused from time to time to relight the candles in their own lanterns. Like the town’s gas-lamps, the candles guttered frequently for no apparent reason. Outside their uncertain circles of light, the blackness was solid, except when they passed Ca’ Dario. The haunted palace was as ever bathed in a harsh white luminosity, which made it appear as a vast frame of stone with a cage of cold glass hanging inside it. As they watched, a gondola arrived stacked with elephant tusks. Silent black figures opened the water gates and dragged the tusks indoors.
“Look at that!” breathed Renzo. “It’s supposed to be uninhabited.”
Yet white steam poured out of Ca’ Dario’s chimneys into the black sky. When the children stood in the Campiello Barbaro, gazing up at the palace’s tall windows, they heard a rhythmic thumping and intermittent sawing. There was a strong scent of something that definitely resembled furniture varnish, overlaid by a smell of sawdust.
On the Grand Canal outside, a whole
They swung their lanterns as they walked down the empty streets, making swollen shadows on the crumbling walls. They tried to laugh, pretending to see bears and wolves in those shadows. The one thing they never mentioned was the Butcher Biasio, though their darting eyes made it obvious that they were thinking about him.
Renzo lamented, “Look at this place—deserted! Everyone’s afraid and shut up in their houses. Venice is dying.”
Teo wanted to cheer him up. “But Renzo, Venice is still famous. Everyone loves her.”
Renzo had bristled up like an angry cat. “Forget it,” he snapped rudely. “You wouldn’t understand, Napoletana. What this city once was—your Naples didn’t even have it to lose.”
Then he turned on her, pointing with a shaking finger. “You should not have that book. You don’t have a drop of Venetian blood inside you. What makes you think you’re entitled to it?”
“So that’s what is bothering you, is it?” Teo’s own voice was suddenly sharp. Renzo dropped his eyes, embarrassed at last.
Teo was too stung to tell him the truth, that she had been adopted, and that she could be from anywhere, not necessarily the Naples he despised. He probably assumed she lived on pizza! (Naples was the birthplace and headquarters of pizza. Yet Teo was that rarity—a girl from Naples who hated pizza.) Having seen her steal the dictionary, Renzo probably assumed that she was just some Naples guttersnipe who had pilfered The Key to the Secret City too.
Now the book itself rustled and fell open in her hands. Teo directed the light of her lantern onto the page that was offered, which showed a sepia photograph of a pair of children standing solemnly side by side for the camera. The boy had his arm around the girl’s shoulder in a comradely, protective sort of way.
“How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. The children’s faces were just like hers and Renzo’s, even though the photograph was old and grainy, and the fashions were from fifty years before, from the very dawn of photography. Behind the sepia children were the Campanile and the Basilica of San Marco.
“The book’s trying to tell us to be kind to one another.…” She hardly dared say the words aloud.
“How peculiar,” declared Renzo. “The book makes it look as if you were in Venice before.” He laughed uncertainly. “Not very likely, is it?”
He did not, of course, deign to apologize. But he gave her a lordly smile, and Teo had to make do with that.
They walked gingerly, feeling their way along the railings of bridges. After a while, it became clear, to their relief, that they could trust The Key to steer them safely away from the dangerous gushing wells. But there was no way of avoiding the canals, except by extreme caution.
They paused from time to time to relight the candles in their own lanterns. Like the town’s gas-lamps, the candles guttered frequently for no apparent reason. Outside their uncertain circles of light, the blackness was solid, except when they passed Ca’ Dario. The haunted palace was as ever bathed in a harsh white luminosity, which made it appear as a vast frame of stone with a cage of cold glass hanging inside it. As they watched, a gondola arrived stacked with elephant tusks. Silent black figures opened the water gates and dragged the tusks indoors.
“Look at that!” breathed Renzo. “It’s supposed to be uninhabited.”
Yet white steam poured out of Ca’ Dario’s chimneys into the black sky. When the children stood in the Campiello Barbaro, gazing up at the palace’s tall windows, they heard a rhythmic thumping and intermittent sawing. There was a strong scent of something that definitely resembled furniture varnish, overlaid by a smell of sawdust.
On the Grand Canal outside, a whole
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