By Marianna Morè
I remember having noticed that gondola last summer during a nightly walk. The little dock was dimly lighted and the black line of the boat gently rocked on the surface of the sea. Gondolas always look sumptuous and sophisticated, but that one seemed to possess a magic of its own. It was in the shade but shining, swinging but still. While I was captured by this vision, a grey heron landed on it, the pale-coloured wings closing like the arms of a thin, ghostly figure. It stood on the gondola as we walked away, its eyes gazing at the open sea.
One year after that night, we see the craft docked there again. An old man is in the hull, sitting thoughtfully like a Gauguin thinker. A gondola is not a common sight in the suburbs of Venice, so we decide to approach him and ask him for some information. We then become acquainted with Dino, an energic and sometimes scurrilous sailor, a man with an athletic figure, dark skin and a white ponytail.
He is very talkative and lingers on all the difficulties he faced to find a job and make a living. He defines himself as an assistant gondolier: “An assistant,” he underlines widening his eyes and pausing to check if we are listening to him, “because gondoliers are almost like a caste.” The job is, in fact, traditionally transferred from generation to generation within the same family and there is little if any place for outsiders coming from the backcountry.
Nevertheless, Dino soon became a gifted sailor. To row a gondola,” he confesses with a sigh, “is actually a mission: it is a kind of art. One thing is to row a gondola, and another thing is to practice competitive rowing”. “I was born in a casone, and I was born rowing,” he tells us proudly inflating his chest. “I learned it the hard way: I was beaten with an oar on my head!” he says half-jokingly. “But competitive rowing? It is a different thing. I was thought that” he gives us a meaningful glance and wrinkles his nose in disapproval.
Not unlike many in the countryside near Caorle, he has a story or two to tell about Ernest Hemingway. The American writer set his book “Across the river and into the trees” not far from here and was used to spending his evenings in a tavern, where Dino’s aunt served as a waitress. “Go and ask him whether he needs to have his boots cleaned!” she often suggested to the young nephew. “You might get a little money.” Life at that time was not easy,” Dino tells us, “but the American writer was a celebrity. He went hunting. He drank a lot: anyone who met him can tell you that. These stories might be false or might be true, but the tavern is still there” he adds. While we are wondering about his encounters with Hemingway, he suddenly shifts his attention: “Does your cell phone have an internet connection? Can you search on Google Maps? Sansonessa, that’s where I live.” On-Street View appears a house covered with shells, like an ancient embroidery on a blue tablecloth. Shells rise from the concrete railing of the garden, decorate the house walls and even reach the chimneys. “I wanted to bring the sea home with me,” he confesses. He fulfilled his wish. But a little maintenance is often necessary: “Sometimes a shell falls and breaks, and I have to change it. It takes patience,” he admits. “Yes, it takes patience in life.”
Dino is widowed and lost his son many years ago. Life hasn’t been easy for him, but he still retains a broad smile and a generous soul. He is so proud of his eleven-meter-long gondola, that he will be pleased to take you for a ride almost for free: “You can bring me a couple of beers in exchange if you like,” he tells us, “but you have to be in love. Are you in love with each other?”
The clouds are covering the sky in grey layers and the day is windy. “It’s not a good idea to ride on a gondola today,” he announces. “The weather is changing and the gondola is a frail craft. It is not easy to row on it today. The Bora wind will blow: there will be a clear sky, but it will be windy, I am sure. A day like this is not good for gondolas,” he repeats.
I look at the anchor tattoo on Dino’s arm and I know I can trust his forecast. Our gondola ride is postponed, at least for now. We say goodbye to him and he greets us with an amused suggestion: “Don’t marry, be-free!”. On behalf of a sailor, I would have expected it.
I am not sure of the truthfulness of his advice, though. Dino can play the role of a boaster pretty well. But as we leave him alone in the craft, the memory of a heron comes to my mind again: the enigmatic figure of a bird in the night, one year ago. Old sailors love mysterious stories. They can tell you many, like the one about a heron, do you know that one? It’s the one about the ghost of a long lost love, that flies each night on her wings back to her husband’s boat…
I am a writer and I live in Padova, Italy. I have a passion for the sea and its stories, for diving and swimming. I am an avid reader and a rather imaginative and creative woman. My stories were published by Sevenseas, by Bolina, by Gonomad.com and by Il Mattino di Padova, a local newspaper.
Follow my blog at https://shapeofclouds.wordpress.com/
Ps. The boat in the pictures is not a gondola: a simple matter of not having a camera at the right time!
This piece was prepared online by Panuruji Kenta, Publisher, SEVENSEAS Media
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