We climbed the several tight polished wooden floors furnished with
exquisite antiques to ascend the roof terrace and spy at the stars and
sleeping Venice.
Whilst by day hoards of tourist colorfully congest
all walking spaces forcing every individual to osmose into a singular
slow moving blob, at night forced by some enchantment the people
vanish, white mists rise out of the black waters, the stone
passageways adopt yellow green shadows.
Venice the birthplace of Casanova is haunted by a warp which binds all
who enter it to some-kind of frivolous romance. Being respectful of
rules by nature, on arrival from Milan to spend the night with me, and
take me to his castle A had all intention of consummating the
romance. However whether because it was full moon a bad time for any
beginnings as every white witch knows, or as a result of previous five
days of overindulgence and exhaustion, when A leaned to kiss,
placed his lips upon mine, and i felt the gentle touch of skin upon
skin, I felt a volcanic urge to vomit.
I stopped in middle of a otherwise perfectly clishe’ moment and ran to
the bathroom to ga’losh as silently as I could. Feverishly washing out
my mouth with tooth paste I retuned in to his embrace. Yet the very
next attempt to kiss me , produced the same effect and I had to run to
the bathroom again. How could I explain in such a situation that I had
developed a sudden allergy to A, and we should stop kissing as
his each caress is making my stomach turn?
The whole situation was rather inappropriate. I woke up in the
morning alone in the house. On the table in the living room I found
,fresh yoghurt, two croissants and a loving note from A
announcing that he was awake and naturally beavering away in the
world.
Soon he returned and asked sweetly why had I not eaten his lovingly
left breakfast, yet alike the kisses the breakfast was impossible to
push in to tummy without it fireworking back .
Decidedley I dressed to look like an A's girlfriend should, in
a pristine white skirt and a silk pink top. He took me by the hand and
pulled trough the crowds to show me Venice. Perhaps not by chance, but
by intention we soon run onto his mother’s sister, to whom he
presented me as his fidanzata and lied how we have been together for
months. Charmed by him still to find this pleasantly amusing I helped
act up the story. He than pulled me trough the whole city , on to
spires and stone towers and into churches, even took me into monastery
where it was forbidden for women to enter, where by mishap I fell
asleep at a table in the liberary whilst he looked for a book. All the
stories where fascinating i am certain, but I was so sick that I could
not remember a thing the said all day. I felt tragic about the whole
affair. The harder he tired to please me the worse where the
consequences.
To crown the day A decided to treat me lunch at a restaurant on
the sunny Riviera and surprise me by ordering octopus feet cooked in
vine.
He remembered I loved all sea food quite correctly. However the
bulbous rubbery suckers squashed by my teeth in such a fragile state,
where quite the worst possible texture to test my volatility with and
of course resulted in my running to vomit pink octipous suckers in the
bathroom.
I attempted to act grateful and polite for the lunch by storing chewed
octopus in my mouth like a hamster, and dispensing of it deescreetley
in the loo which I visited far too frequently, until he accepted how
problematic lunch was and allowed me not to finish the plate.
Extreme seafoods are definitely not a way to win a girls quakey heart
I must conclude at this point . My once school-sweetheart brought me a
giant living crab for Valentine’s once I had already left him, hoping
to win me back. I put it in salt water hoping it would live for
symbol’s sake, but it just took long hours to die. Than we boiled it
until it was hollow, chewed on its legs and that was the end of our
multi-year affair.
When the hour came for A to return to Milan I was relived and
certainly, less sad than I was to leave him the previous day. Sitting
in a bar by station St Lucia drinking mineral water, I drew A’s
portrait from memory into the moleskine sketchbook, as pecisley as if
pinnig a butterfy, and concluded that if my body reacted so violently
to him, there was no future to us.
No comments:
Post a Comment