Stone's Fall

'I understand from Mr Longman that you occasionally consider allowing people to stay in your house,' I began a little hesitatingly. That was why I was there, and the subject would have to come up sooner or later.

'That is true. Maria will take you to see the rooms a little later, if I decide I can bear to have you under my roof.'

'Ah.'

'I do not do this for money, you understand.'

'Quite, quite.'

'But I find it interesting to have people around me. The Venetians are such bores, they drive me to distraction.'

'You are not Venetian yourself?'

'No.'

She offered no more information and, much as I would have liked to, I felt unable to continue the questioning.

She was not an easy conversationalist. Rather, she was one of those who command through silence, contributing little, but looking with a faint smile that affected her mouth more than her eyes, summoning the other on to fill the void.

So I told her of my journey around Italy, my current stay in the Hotel Europa, my decision to stay and my desire for slightly more comfortable accommodation.

'I see. You leave out much in your account, I think.'

I was astonished by the remark. 'I don't believe so.'

No response to that one either. I sipped my coffee, and she sat quietly, watching me.

'And how do you find Venice, Mr Stone?'

I replied that I found it perfectly agreeable, so far, although I had seen little.

'And you have done as everyone does here, and hired a gondola to think sad thoughts in?'

'Not yet.'

'You surprise me. Are you not disappointed in love? Recovering from a broken heart? That is why people come here, for the most part. They find the city a perfect place to indulge in self-pity.'

A sudden sharpness in her tone, all the more strange for being so unexpected. I looked at her curiously, but could see nothing in her face. She had said it as a matter of fact, an observation only, perhaps.

'Not in my case, madam,' I replied. 'I am perfectly unencumbered.' If she desired to make me ill at ease and put me on the defensive, then she was succeeding. I was not used to such conversations. She saw that and was enjoying my discomfort, which made me fight back.

'Then you are here to have your heart broken. You will become like the others.'

'What others?'

'Those who cannot leave. There are many here. The city traps the weak and never lets them go. Be careful if you stay here for long.'

I shook my head. I had no idea what she was talking about.

'Foreigners, especially from northern countries, make a mistake when they come here. They do not take Venice seriously. They come from their lands full of machinery and money, and feel pity for it. They think it is a harmless relic of the past, once glorious, now beyond hope. They walk and admire, but never rid themselves of a feeling of contempt and superiority. You are the masters now, no?'

Again, I said nothing.

'And Venice waits, bides its time. Most come, and see, and go away again. But the weak are its prey. It sucks the life out of them, bit by bit. Robs them of their will, their autonomy. They stay, they stay a little longer and then they cannot even imagine leaving. Their life has had its purpose removed, they become mere shadows, walking the streets, eating at the same place every day, walking the same routes every day, for what reason they cannot recall. This is a dangerous place, Mr Stone; it is cursed. Beware of it. It is alive, and its spirit feeds on the weak and unwary.'

'I think it unlikely that this is to be my fate.'

She laughed softly. A beguiling laugh, but disturbing in the context of her words, which had nothing humorous about them. 'Perhaps not. But you came for a few days, and now you are taking an apartment for a longer stay. I sense you are searching for something, Mr Stone, although I do not know what it is. Nor do you, I think. But be careful: you will only find sadness here. I feel that in you; you thrive in adversity. You think yourself strong, but your weakest place is your heart. One day it will destroy you. You know that, do you not?'

This melodrama completely reduced me to silence. Obviously she was trying to fascinate me, put me off-balance, and, if you wish, dominate the conversation by the bizarre nature of her words. And, equally obviously, she was succeeding. I felt an air of foreboding descend over me, and realised it was the same feeling I had experienced the day before. The feeling of sadness as I walked the streets, the sense of the inexplicable I had had that first night watching the palazzo, these were all part of the same sentiment that she had expressed in words. The desire to taste the recklessness of extreme emotions, throw off the usual cautious, careful way of life I had developed for myself. That was why I had left England, was it not? Why I had roamed Italy for three months, in search of precisely that? But had not yet found it. I caught myself, at that very moment, thinking of my brief introduction to Mrs Cort, the way her eyes had met mine.