"A friend? You've made friends already?"
"By accident. A girl named Federica asked me for change yesterday. She invited me to join her and her friends for the festival."
"Federica Arnago?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Uh... I don't know, I didn't ask her last name."
"Short girl. Cute, with short brown hair? Green eyes?"
"That sounds like her, yeah. You know her?"
"If it’s who I think it is, we went to school together. How funny that you met her."
"So, will you come?"
"Thanks for asking, but I actually have to go to Milan for two weeks. We have a shop there and my father has asked me to look after it while the manager takes a holiday. It'll be the first time I'll miss Festa del Redentore." He took my hand and bent down and kissed my cheek tenderly, just beside my mouth.
I kissed his cheek back, his stubble tickling my lips. A warm feeling spread through me and I smiled at him when he pulled back.
"May I call you again when I am back?" he asked.
"I'd like that," I said. "Are all Italian guys as polite and gentlemanly as you? Because you know we Canadians don't have that stereotype of you at all."
"Oh, really? What do Canadians think Italians are like?"
"Forward. Passionate. Maybe a little pushy." I smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Mama's boys."
He laughed. "Well you're right about two of those things. We are mama's boys, and we are passionate. But we're raised to be gentlemen." He kissed my cheek again. "Buona notte, bella ragazza."
"Buona notte." I didn't intend for it to come out as a whisper, but I seemed to have lost my voice.
Eight
"Saxony!"
I turned toward the sound of my name, scanning the crowd for Fed. Every soul in Italy had turned up on the streets and docks of Venezia for the festival. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon but it was still hot and humid. My summer dress stuck to me. The air hung with clouds of cigarette smoke. The only saving grace of the night was a lazy breeze that lifted the damp curls away from my forehead. I had put the considerable bulk of my hair up to keep it off my neck.
Boats and gondolas choked St. Mark’s Basin. Rows of them had been fastened together, and bobbed in the water. People picked their way along the linked boats, using them as a bridge. Partiers danced on larger boats further out and pulsing beats floated across the water, mixing badly with the rock music pumping from the speaker outside the cafe where I had agreed to meet Fed.
"Saxony," I heard my name again and saw a slender pink palm wave from behind an old man in a fedora. Fed appeared, her face glowing with sweat and excitement. She wove her way through the crowd like a dancer. She kissed first my right cheek then my left. I threw my arms around her neck and gave her a squeeze.
"Oh," she said with delight. She laughed and flapped her hands uselessly against my back.
"That's how Canadians say hello." I released her. "You Italians have mastered the kiss, but you need to learn how to hug."
She took my hand. "Perfect, I'll introduce to you some people you can teach. My friends are over there," she pointed into the middle of the canal and pulled on my hand. "Did you wear your bathing suit?"
"Yes. Under my dress."
"Perfect."
"Do your friends speak English?" I asked as I stumbled through the crowd after her. "Because if they don't we're not going to get very far. Hey, this wasn't here yesterday!" We'd hit a wide bridge floating on the tops of black barrels.
"Yes, they put it up every year just for this festival," she explained. "It links Venezia to Giudecca." She pointed to the island across the water. Fairy lights twinkled along the rooftops of buildings on the far side. "And to answer your question, some of my friends speak English and some don't."
I followed her along the bridge, avoiding slobbering dogs, baby carriages, and crowds of smokers who'd decided to stop in the middle of the bridge and make everyone go around them. Everyone was talking and laughing and sweating. Fed began counting names off on her fingers. "Dante, Jacopo, Karim…” She listed off a few more names. “They’re are all fluent."
"All boys?" We arrived at a short dock.
"Yes, then there's me, Sara, and maybe Rosaria if she decides to come. But the girls don't speak hardly any English. Watch your step here." She took my hand and helped me into an empty gondola. We began to pick our way across the sea of bobbing boats. Every vessel was decorated with balloons, garlands, and flowers.
“Karim doesn't sound like an Italian name." My sandal hooked a paddle, and I nearly tripped.
"Careful,” she caught my elbow. “It's not. Karim is from an Egyptian family, but he's a Canadian, too. Biggest guy you'll ever meet in your life. A teddybear, though."
"People don't care that we're using their boats as lily pads?" We stepped past open coolers full of beer, piles of purses and bags, abandoned shoes, and water bottles.
"No, this is all part of the fun. Scusi!" She smiled at three girls eating bruschetta from a wooden platter and drinking wine. They smiled back and spoke to us in Italian. Fed answered and the three girls laughed. One of them blew us a kiss as we stepped into the next boat.
"When the fireworks start, all of these boats will be full," Fed continued.
We stepped into a gondola where two teenage girls and a boy lounged on pillows. The boy got to his feet. He looked about thirteen. He had a cigarette in one hand and held out his other hand to help us cross. He winked and smiled at me. He asked me something in Italian.
"Mi dispiace," I apologized. "Non parle Italiano."
"Ah," he said with obvious pleasure. "You are American?"
"Canadian, actually." I put my arms out, steadying myself in the rocking gondola.
"Ah." He nodded and took a drag of his cigarette. He blew two streams of smoke from his nostrils. "You are very pretty. Come find us later."
I turned to Fed, my brows up. She was laughing. I made a face as I turned my back to the boy and stepped out of the gondola. "What is he, twelve? They start young here, don't they."
"Get used to it." She stepped down into a wobbly canoe filled with crushed plastic bottles, paper food wrappers, and empty beer bottles. "Local garbage bin. Watch your step."
"Gross." I wrinkled my nose at the smell of stale beer. We stepped into the next boat, which was full of people smoking and drinking. One of them got up to let us pass.
"So basically," I said, resuming our conversation, "I can talk to you, and a few of the boys. The rest have no English?"
"Well, they all have a little bit. We take it in school. But if they have no reason to practice, then it's easy to forget. You'll find that the best ones by far are myself, of course." She paused to take a little bow. "Then Karim, and Dante. Dante is crazy smart. He speaks German, Spanish, and French, too."
"Holy crap. Let me guess, he's funny, cute, and taken, too."
"Yes, yes and no," she laughed. "He's single. Lots of girls like Dante. Lots."
"But not you?"
“Ha! No way. I've known Dante since I was born. Plus, he's..." She paused, and I strained to hear what she said.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
She turned back to me. "He's kind of... dangerous."
As we continued making our way across the boats, I pictured a dark, mysterious rock-star type. Maybe peppered with tattoos. I was about to say how intriguing she was making him sound when she waved her arms and shouted at a motor boat drifting in open water. “There they are,” she said to me.
Her friends waved and shouted. Dance music floated across the water toward us.
"I don’t think we can make that jump," I joked as I looked across the dark water.
Fed grinned. "Unless you really want to swim, they'll come and pick us up. We'll be able to watch the fireworks away from the crowd. It's awesome, you'll love it."
"Whose boat is that?" A nervous flutter had begun in my tummy.
"Dante's."