Lagoon

It is such a beautiful city. Have you ever been there?

No!

You really must go one day.

You almost feel as if its history and magic will wash away your fears and your cares. Make you whole again. Like a baptism I suppose. I like the idea of adult baptism; your soul is cleansed of its sins.

I do believe in the soul you know! If we do not have a soul, an inner harbour that shelters all our goodness, and our wrong doings, what is the point? There must be some kind of reward and some kind of payback for life itself.

If not, why are we here?

 

I’m sorry, I was telling you about our holiday.

‘A few days away,’ he’d said, ‘We can take stock, give ourselves time to think, have some time together.’

What a strange thing for him to say! I thought he’d accepted our life as it was.

I thought I was the one who wanted to escape, to change things.

 

What?

Oh no, it was him who booked the holiday. I never did anything like that. Came back from work one day everything sorted. A smile on his face that I could not fathom and dropped the tickets on the table.

‘We’re going away for a few days. I’ve booked the flight and the hotel. We’re going to Venice!’

Was I pleased?

I’d always wanted to go to Venice, such a romantic city. But did I want to go now? And with him?

I honestly don’t know.

There was a slight thrill of anticipation. But I could see nothing on his face, or in his eyes that echoed my feelings.

Why had he done this?

We prepared for our holiday. Saying little about it other than discussing packing requirements.

 

You think that strange?

Well that’s what our life had become. We did not talk to each other but ‘at’ each other I suppose.

 

The minute I stepped on the boat that was to take us across the Lagoon I was captivated.

He sat with his head in the guidebook, planning all the sights we should see.

 

It was evening. A light mist hung over the water. The sunlight managed to ‘push’ its way through the clouds giving them a misty, pink glow. You know, like those Turner paintings where everything is indistinct. There are no edges, just a merging of colours and textures..

I had begun to feel a little like those clouds.

 

We got to our hotel and even though it was nothing special I could sense its history and the people who had once lived behind its crumbling walls.

I wanted to explore immediately. He was tired and wanted to rest.

‘I’m staying here,’ he’d said. Not seeming too worried about me and what I wanted to do.

‘You go out if you want but be back for dinner!’

 

Yes! That was quite normal in our relationship. He didn’t mind or, I sometimes suspected, care what I did. He was happy in his own world.

I did what everyone does in Venice, got lost!

I walked for hours, marvelling at bridges, buildings, squares and the water. The ever present water.

The next few days passed as I suspected they would. We followed the guidebook, looking at things we were told to look at. We ate at recommended restaurants, we commented on paintings in galleries. We did what tourists are expected to do.

 

No! That’s not what I wanted to do. But, it was his trip, he’d planned it. It seemed the easiest option, to follow his lead.

And then, the day before we were due to leave, he was ill. A touch of food poisoning he thought.

 

‘You go and explore. If I feel better I’ll get something to eat in the restaurant.’

I almost felt that this was an excuse, that he was not ill and just wanted to be on his own.

Whatever the reason I didn’t care.

‘Are you sure?’ I said, ‘I’ll stay and read my book if you like!’

‘No, don’t spoil your last day. Just be back in time for dinner.’

And that was it, no ‘Take care’ or ‘Have a nice time.’

 

I just walked, soaking up the atmosphere.

It was raining. Saint Mark’s Square was flooded. That seemed only to add to its beauty.

It was getting dark.

I just wanted to do one last thing. My last chance of adventure.

Take the first vaporetto I found and get off wherever it stopped.

 

You think I was afraid? Certainly not.

At last I seemed to feel at peace.

I was wet, I was cold and I was hungry but I somehow felt content. I won’t say I felt happy because I no longer knew what happiness was but at last I seemed to have some sort of purpose.

There weren’t many people on the boat, a few tourists and some Venetians on their way home. We headed away from Saint Marks Square towards the island of San Georgio with its splendid church and bell tower. It took just a few minutes and it was here that I decided to get off. The only person to do so.

There were a few other tourists, most waiting for the return boat.

I just meandered, no purpose, soaking up the atmosphere as well as the rain.

I found a wall that was out of the rain and it was here that I sat. I think that I could have sat there forever, I didn’t want to leave Venice to return to a life that wasn’t a life.

I walked towards the water’s edge. The rain had eased off slightly but that mist, which seems to be such a feature of Venice, hung just above the surface of the canal. I felt drawn to it; I wanted to be with it. Such a tiny step and then I would have been part of this wondrous place forever. I felt no sadness, I was not afraid. It did not feel like an ending, more a beginning.

I looked up and could see the vaporetto making its ponderous way towards the island on its way back to Saint Marks Square. For a moment it was lost in the mist and then it emerged, its utilitarianism almost beautiful in that misty half-light.

You ask what held me back? It was not fear I know I would have welcomed it. It was not the thought of leaving him, or family or friends. They would soon have realised that it would have been for the best. No it was just a moment to take in the beauty, to imprint it on my brain. It was a moment too long.

He must have sensed my intention. I was aware of a light touch on my shoulder, of the presence of another human being. I turned and looked and there was an old man. I suppose if this were a story he would have said that he was my guardian angel and that he was there to protect me, to keep me safe and from that moment on my life would have been changed. But it’s not a story! He smiled a toothy smile, ‘Signora, is last boat,’ he said. What alternative was there? I got on the boat, returned to the hotel in time for dinner. He did not ask about my day.

Life resumed its normal pattern.

That’s why I contacted you.

I found you in the Yellow Pages, under counselling. I liked your name.

I needed to explain to someone, someone who would listen. I did agree to your taping our meeting and I won’t mind if you feel the need to share it with someone one day.

That hour has passed so quickly!

No, I’d rather you didn’t have my address or phone number.

I won’t make another appointment to see you; if I need to I’ll contact you. Anyway we’re going on another of his little jaunts, he thinks it helps, blows away the cobwebs!

Where are we going? Oh not to Venice again. I don’t think I’ll ever go there again, but I’ll never forget it.

This time we’re going to Cornwall. I love its wildness in winter. He likes to stay indoors reading. I like to walk along the beach, which you feel you’ve got to yourself. The cliffs are particularly dramatic, the waves dashing against the cliffs is so exhilarating!

Goodbye and thank you for listening.

Things are now much clearer! I know what I must do with my life.