The Bellini Card

112

Maria slipped her arm through Palewski’s.

“I hope you get back to your wolves and sleighs,” she said.

“One day, perhaps.” Palewski squeezed her arm.

A light breeze ruffled the waters of the Giudecca.

“I’ll write,” he said.

She shook her head. “Don’t. I’ll think of you as-as the wind. You won’t be back, will you?”

“No.” He coughed. “I won’t be back. But I’m glad I came, Maria. I met a beautiful Venetian girl who was very brave and very generous.”

He tilted back her bonnet and kissed her.

“I shan’t forget.” He put a little box between her hands. In it was a diamond brooch and a note from a bank in Trieste. “For your trousseau, Maria.” He turned and walked up the gangplank. Yashim was waiting on the deck.

Together they leaned over the rail. The shoremen cast off. The foresail banged in the wind before the sailors aloft made it fast. Then it went taut, the ship creaked, and they began to move away from the dock.

As the gap widened, they saluted their friends. Carla was standing by Father Andrea, who had Nikola by the hand. Commissario Brunelli stood a little apart, but as they watched he offered Maria his arm; her bonnet barely reached his shoulder.

A cloud slid from the sun’s face, lighting the polychrome walls of the Doges’ Palace, the marble columns of the piazza. The Clock Tower across the square glowed.

Palewski raised his hand, and the dwindling figures on the riva waved back.

“Final curtain,” he announced. The ship heeled around. They saw the mouth of the Grand Canal and the calm bulk of Santa Maria della Salute, and the wind from the mainland was in their face.

“Will you miss it?” Yashim asked at last, as the great church of San Giorgio slipped past on the starboard bow.

“Miss it?” Palewski was silent for a while. “Regret it, perhaps, a little. The way one regrets one’s youth and what’s passed. For a moment Venice brought it back.”

He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I missed tea,” he said. “And our Thursday dinners, Yash. I missed the muezzins, too. Venice would be better with muezzins.”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Marta again.”

“She will be happy to see you back.”

Palewski bit his lip. “The Bellini was only an idea, Yashim. We’ll have another.”

“The Bellini…”

“You’re not listening, Yashim.”

Yashim nodded. “Yes,” he said.