Me: Have you heard from Akiko or Georjayna?
Targa: Negatory. Don't expect to hear much from Akiko, remember? Georjie is probably in the air right now.
Me: K. Buona notte.??
I frowned. My best friend Akiko had warned us at our goodbye dinner that she was going to be mostly MIA. Her grandfather was sending her to a remote mountain village in Japan for the summer. I still hadn't met her grandfather. She had somehow always dodged introducing us and I had finally stopped asking. It was obvious she didn't want us to meet. Either way, I didn't like the guy on principle. When he says 'jump,' Akiko says 'how high?' Besides, who sends a seventeen-year-old girl into a foreign wilderness to spend a whole summer with people she doesn't know? I shook off my annoyance and finished cleaning up the kitchen.
I went to Isaia's room and peeked in. He was sitting on the floor in his bedroom, his back propped against his dresser. He had a book open on his lap. He looked up and held the book out to me.
"You want to read together?" I asked, coming into his room.
He moved to the child sized sofa under his window. I sat down next to him and he crawled under my arm and curled up against my side. My entire body was instantly warmer.
"You want me to read out loud?"
He nodded.
I looked at the cover to see it was called 'La Fenice', The Phoenix. "This is a cool story, kiddo, but I can't read it to you. It's in Italian, and I promised your parents that I would speak to you only in English. Do you have any English stories?"
He looked thoughtful, then he left the room and I heard him push Cristiano's door open. A moment later he reappeared with another book. It was a collection of fairytales from all over the world. I opened it to the first story, but Isaia shook his head and took the book back.
"What, you don't like that one?"
He flipped through and handed it back to me, open to the story he wanted.
"The Firebird, a Slavic Fairytale," I began.
He sighed and settled under my arm.
I began to read slowly, enunciating each word. By the time the young Prince Ivan saw the glowing bird in the orchard, Isaia was asleep. I closed the book and debated waking him but I was loath to move him. I looked down at his pale head, the thin blue veins threading down the sides of his face, his wispy blond lashes delicate against his cheeks. My heart swelled.
His breathing was slow, and seemed just a little bit laboured. His warm, boneless body lulled me into a thoughtless stupor. I barely registered my cheek touching the top of his head as my eyelids, suddenly as heavy as wet canvas, drifted shut.
Four
After our nap, I prepared a bag for our afternoon outing. I put a small bottle of water and sunscreen into my purse. Isaia watched silently. I caught his curious gaze as I was putting a travel-sized bottle of aloe vera lotion into my purse. "Pale girls like me know all the tricks," I winked at him and dangled the little bottle. "Aloe is fabulous on sunburn."
His bottom lip hung open, bemused.
Isaia and I stepped out of the house just as the taxi was pulling up at their private dock. A tall man, slender as a straw and wearing a striped shirt smiled at me from behind the wheel. He doffed his captain's hat. "Ciao!" he said, a wide grin splitting his face. "I'm Giovanni. Benvenuti a Venezia, Saxony. Have you enjoyed your first week in Venice?" He moored the boat and held out a hand to Isaia. "Giorno, Isaia."
"Very well, thanks," I said, "Although this is my first venture out as a tourist. I have been getting to know these little rascals." I stepped into the boat and put a hand on Isaia's head. I realized when my hand touched his blond hair that I'd forgotten to put a hat on him. I rifled in my bag and pulled out my cotton fedora. I placed it on Isaia's head as we pulled away from the dock. I kicked myself for forgetting and shaded my own face with my hand.
We passed under a small arched bridge and into the sun. Tourists snapped photos of the pretty teak boat as we passed beneath them. Laundry hung outside many of the windows and wisteria and ivy crawled over wooden trellises. Algae covered steps disappeared into the murky water. Elda had explained that a long time ago, families used the canals for bathing, swimming, and doing laundry, but now it was illegal to swim in them.
"So, you want to visit Murano today?" asked Giovanni.
"Yes, we have tickets for a private glass blowing demo," I explained. I gazed around at the island of Venezia - the city built on a lagoon. No cars or bicycles were allowed in Venice. It was riddled with canals, piazzas, bridges, stairs, and narrow alleys. People walked everywhere or had to take a boat.
Isaia moved closer to me on the seat and put his little hand in mine, leaning against my shoulder.
Giovanni stared at the boy for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "I've known the Baseggio family a long time," he said seriously. "I've never seen Isaia take to anyone like that. At least, not since he stopped talking."
The Adriatic opened before us, the horizon was dotted with islands. We increased speed as we crossed the expanse of water toward Murano. I looked down at Isaia, and smiled to see him close his eyes as the breeze cooled him.
"That's what Pietro and Elda say, too. Do you remember what Isaia was like when he could speak?" I raised my voice over the wind.
"Certo, certo," he said, nodding. "I've known the boys since they were born." He slowed the boat as we approached Murano. Colourful buildings rose up before us. "It happened like that." He snapped his fingers, just like Pietro had. "One day he was chattering away, and the next day..." He sliced his hand laterally through the air.
"Was he always petite for his age?"
"Oh, yes," Giovanni nodded. "He has always been small and weak, let’s say."
I had the urge to clap my hands over Isaia's ears, realizing with regret that it wasn't good for him to hear us talk about him in this way. I looked down at him but he was looking out at the ocean.
"Sorry buddy," I said under my breath and put an arm around his skinny shoulders. I looked back at Venice. From a distance it looked like a medieval painting - spires, domes and rose-wrapped terraces contrasted the piercing blue sky.
Giovanni steered us into a docking station at Murano. The dock itself was a dead end but it opened into a walkway filled with strolling tourists. A tall stone fountain in the shape of a lion's head graced the edge of the dock. Giovanni and I agreed on a time for him to pick us up, then he backed the taxi out of the dock and waved as he drove away.
"How are you doing, buddy?" I put a hand to Isaia's cheek. He felt warm, and no wonder - the sun was intense. But though I was sweating, he felt warm and dry.
"Here, take a drink." I twisted the cap off the water bottle and gave it to him. He gulped greedily and handed it back empty. "Whoa. Note to self. Bigger bottle next time."
I adjusted his hat and took his hand. We walked by shops filled with every kind of coloured glass creation imaginable. Chandeliers, vases, animals, wineglasses and tumblers, jewelry, picture frames, and dinnerware. The items that could be made out of glass seemed endless.
We found the location of the demo. Their window display held the most elaborate pieces of glasswork that we'd seen so far. I pulled on the red glass door handle only to discover the entrance was locked. I frowned and pulled out the ticket, double checking the time. It was correct. I pressed the button on the small brass panel beside the door.
"Prego," said a pleasant male voice, trilling the 'r'.
"Buongiorno, I have tickets to a private glass blowing demonstration. Are we at the right place?"