An Apartment in Venice by Marlene Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

entryways were empty and useless.
    She’d revisit The House of Gold another day. The reward for buying a ticket to enter Ca’ d’Oro was to stand on the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal and speculate how she would have felt living in a house covered with gold, at least on the water side of the building—the side for important guests.
    What kind of life did that family have? Were they content? Such speculation captured her imagination everywhere in Venice. If she could go back in time, she’d choose the sixteenth century, Tintoretto’s century. His older rival, Titian, was—and is—more famous, but Tintoretto’s work and life came across to her as earthy and much more exciting. Jacomo Robusti was nicknamed Tintoretto because his father had been a dyer of cloth and because Jacomo was said to be barely five feet tall. Thus, the little tintore, dyer. According to Melania Mazzucco’s novel about his talented daughter, Marietta, Jacomo was crazy in love with his wife. Giulia liked knowing that.
    She came back to the twenty-first century and noticed she was headed toward La Chiesa di San Francesco Della Vigna, the Church of Saint Francis of the Vineyard. In all of the city, Vigna was her refuge. Since arriving in late February, Giulia had been in a state of agitation partly because of Ogle and Botteri. But she had to admit, she also felt conflicted about how she would run her new life. Would she continue to avoid having a man in her life? Nancy’s words still sounded in her head. “You’ve lived like a nun long enough.”
    Getting settled in Vicenza, beginning classes as a bonafide professor hadn’t allowed her much time in Venice yet. And today she needed time with Saint Francis. Although never really connecting to the faith of her parents, the saint’s cloister had a way of drawing her into a prayer-like state. She yearned for a bit of his serenity.
    She strolled through an immense campo, plaza, and passed beside the church of two saints, John and Paul, nicknamed Zanipolo by the Venetians. In the distinctive Venetian dialect, Zani is John and Polo is Paul. No matter how large a campo might be, in Venice there’s only one Piazza, the Piazza di San Marco. Just another peculiarity of Venice that makes it unique, she thought. She’d drop into Zanipolo another day.
    And one of these days, she’d speak the rather guttural Venetian dialect. Over the years, she’d persuaded Nonno Tony to share a few phrases, because of course, he knew how to converse when in Venice. No doubt his “business” contacts were old, chauvinistic Venetians who avoided speaking Italian whenever possible. Over the years, she had sipped coffee in bars away from tourist areas often enough to get the gist of the locals’ conversations. Yes, she’d give it a try, soon.
    She hurried into Campo Santa Marina, hoping Didovich’s bakery would still be there. It was! Time for a coffee and a sinful treat. As she broke apart her flaky brioche stuffed with a dried-fig spread, she speculated about why this campo didn’t have a church. What had happened to Santa Marina? Like regional malls in the States that needed at least one important store as an anchor, the Venetians always had at least one church per open campo. She was comparing churches to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macy’s, but maybe that wasn’t so far-fetched. Venetians had always been merchants first and Christians second. She leaned back for another sip, basking in the glow of being in Venice again.
    * * *
    Few tourists found this out-of-the-way treasure, but Giulia was enchanted each time she approached the large Vigna complex. The vibrant terra-cotta walls seemed to have been re-stuccoed recently. She wasn’t sure she liked the fresh new look. Maybe she romanticized the crumbling, fragile condition of Venetian buildings too much. Stucco didn’t hold up in the constant damp air, and had to be re-done frequently. It flaked and crumbled at her feet as she walked the ancient calles, narrow