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Notturno Veneziano
- Thread starter l'bogo
- Start date
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- Tags
- dark fantasy mystery
lupa
Spectator
Next year I want to go to the Carnival of Venice dressed as Gabriella and Baba, naked underneath!
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
I come to watch you and being your Knight! I already have the mask, you'll look at the entrance of the Palazzo Ducale.
Verrò con te!
I do love that open-front black mantle/ dress, it's like some of the dresses I've been looking at
by Hubert de Givenchy, who died today (see 'Passings').
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
We arrive at the Rio della Fava, where the gondolier is held up by the traffic-jam of boats and gondolas. We decide to go ashore and continue on foot to where we shall meet the gondolier who will take us back to the Countess's house. Now we are in Calle della Bissa, not very busy at this time.
'Baba, I’m bursting...'
'Me too…'
'Come on, let's do it here ...'
‘What if someone sees us?'
‘They won’t know who we are ...'
We lift our mantles up above our bums, and crouch down, freeing the liquid we’ve bottled up so for too long. A group of boys notice us, but they are on the other side of the canal, shouting, whistling, shouting:
'Wait! We’re coming! Suck this!'
We hide in the darkness of an alleyway to elude our possible pursuers.
The gondolier who is waiting for us is the one who brought us, he knows the way back. Darkness has fallen now, the street lamps give very little light, we no longer have to concern ourselves about hiding. Getting down onto the gondola, we do not bother to cover ourselves,
‘You lucky youngsters who’ve had fun at the Carnival!'
'Baba, I’m bursting...'
'Me too…'
'Come on, let's do it here ...'
‘What if someone sees us?'
‘They won’t know who we are ...'
We lift our mantles up above our bums, and crouch down, freeing the liquid we’ve bottled up so for too long. A group of boys notice us, but they are on the other side of the canal, shouting, whistling, shouting:
'Wait! We’re coming! Suck this!'
We hide in the darkness of an alleyway to elude our possible pursuers.
The gondolier who is waiting for us is the one who brought us, he knows the way back. Darkness has fallen now, the street lamps give very little light, we no longer have to concern ourselves about hiding. Getting down onto the gondola, we do not bother to cover ourselves,
‘You lucky youngsters who’ve had fun at the Carnival!'
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Many many thanks to l'bogo and Eulalia... 
__________________________________________________________
Monday morning
The gondola is waiting for me, the tide is low, the gondolier gently offers me his hand to help me get down from the step. I sit on the bench clutching my cloak, it's cold and it's snowing, the icy flakes look like grains of rice, they settle on the fabric and they immediately slip away without making it wet. It is not yet dawn, the light from the few street lamps still lit near the bridges struggles to overcome the veil of fog, and the snow freezes on the iron and the hull. I feel as if I’m a can of beer that’s been emptied and crushed and kicked away. But why did not they warn me that I would would have to leave? Of course, they owe me nothing, and the Countess has been generous giving me the collar with the jewel, but even so I feel used, like a rag doll played with and then forgotten. Tears of sadness and despair trickle down my frozen cheeks hidden under the bautta, I cannot dry them without uncovering my face, I am trembling with cold.
I have not been able to understand where exactly the Countess’s house is. The journey of the the gondola does not help me, there are no sure landmarks, only narrow canals I have never seen before, overhung by the backs of buildings. The gondolier has been instructed which route to follow so as to prevent me from recognising, in the intricate maze, any possible way of tracing the house. The view that I saw from the window on Saturday morning gave me a glimpse of the island of San Michele, but it did not allow me to work out where my observation point was, and sine then there has been only fog and rain, and now the snow. In that area overlooking the sea are the Fondamente Nove, and just beyond them the boathouse of the Casin degli spiriti (Casino of the Spirits). But that cannot be the house, the building has been inhabited for some time. There are no windows, but the wind and the sound of the sea that penetrate the walls produce sounds that seem like moaning, leading people to believe that it is inhabited by the ghosts. It is said that crimes occurred here in the past, and not too long ago was the dismembered body of a prostitute found.
A shiver runs down my spine, then, quite suddenly, the gondola arrives at the secret door of the theatre. A knock with the pole signals our arrival and the door opens. Someone has been waiting for me. The gondolier, helping me up to the threshold, and taking the opportunity to receive his tip, when I’ve already paid, slips his hand under my mantle to touch my pubis.
Frau Helga is already here! It’s maybe five o’clock in the morning - how is it possible? How did she know so precisely the time of my return? She hugs me, smiling, rubbing my cloak against my skin.
'You'll be cold, you're all numb, Gaby, my darling. It’s a horrible morning. Come on, a nice massage will warm you, drink this hot tea.'
I drink, without saying a word, the cup of Earl Grey tea. I take off the hat and the bautta.
'You’ve been crying? Poor Gaby, come into my arms and let me cuddle you.’
__________________________________________________________
Monday morning
The gondola is waiting for me, the tide is low, the gondolier gently offers me his hand to help me get down from the step. I sit on the bench clutching my cloak, it's cold and it's snowing, the icy flakes look like grains of rice, they settle on the fabric and they immediately slip away without making it wet. It is not yet dawn, the light from the few street lamps still lit near the bridges struggles to overcome the veil of fog, and the snow freezes on the iron and the hull. I feel as if I’m a can of beer that’s been emptied and crushed and kicked away. But why did not they warn me that I would would have to leave? Of course, they owe me nothing, and the Countess has been generous giving me the collar with the jewel, but even so I feel used, like a rag doll played with and then forgotten. Tears of sadness and despair trickle down my frozen cheeks hidden under the bautta, I cannot dry them without uncovering my face, I am trembling with cold.
I have not been able to understand where exactly the Countess’s house is. The journey of the the gondola does not help me, there are no sure landmarks, only narrow canals I have never seen before, overhung by the backs of buildings. The gondolier has been instructed which route to follow so as to prevent me from recognising, in the intricate maze, any possible way of tracing the house. The view that I saw from the window on Saturday morning gave me a glimpse of the island of San Michele, but it did not allow me to work out where my observation point was, and sine then there has been only fog and rain, and now the snow. In that area overlooking the sea are the Fondamente Nove, and just beyond them the boathouse of the Casin degli spiriti (Casino of the Spirits). But that cannot be the house, the building has been inhabited for some time. There are no windows, but the wind and the sound of the sea that penetrate the walls produce sounds that seem like moaning, leading people to believe that it is inhabited by the ghosts. It is said that crimes occurred here in the past, and not too long ago was the dismembered body of a prostitute found.
A shiver runs down my spine, then, quite suddenly, the gondola arrives at the secret door of the theatre. A knock with the pole signals our arrival and the door opens. Someone has been waiting for me. The gondolier, helping me up to the threshold, and taking the opportunity to receive his tip, when I’ve already paid, slips his hand under my mantle to touch my pubis.
Frau Helga is already here! It’s maybe five o’clock in the morning - how is it possible? How did she know so precisely the time of my return? She hugs me, smiling, rubbing my cloak against my skin.
'You'll be cold, you're all numb, Gaby, my darling. It’s a horrible morning. Come on, a nice massage will warm you, drink this hot tea.'
I drink, without saying a word, the cup of Earl Grey tea. I take off the hat and the bautta.
'You’ve been crying? Poor Gaby, come into my arms and let me cuddle you.’
