“Mi dispiace,” he says, “I’m sorry, sir, but this is the new law. For centuries, the romance of Venezia has attracted the innamorati: the lovers. Lately it has become necessary to close our doors to everyone else.”
Behind the porter, through the gates, I see the Grand Canal and the crowds of people wandering through the streets along the water. “You mean to tell me that everyone in Venice, every one of those people out there, is in love?”
“Sì Signore. And trust me, if you are not in love you really do not want to be here.”
This presumption upsets me. “How do you know? Are you in love?”
“I am in hell, Signore. This is my penance.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or trying to scare me off. I decide to reason with him. “Well how do you know? Exactly how do you know that I am not in love?”
The corners of his mouth curl down. His brow furrows. “Please, Signore,” as if I’ve insulted his intelligence.
I think of one last gambit. “And what if I say that I am, in fact, here to find love?”
The porter smiles at me and says with a compassionate finality, “I can assure you, Signore, that there is no unfound love in Venice.”
#
I wander away and find a bench that does not face the gates and their enticing, Venetian view. I sit and watch the trains.
“I’ve come all this way – I can’t turn back,” I mutter. “Who do these people think they are?” Only then do I notice the woman sitting nearby. “Oh, not you Signora.”
She nods her head, excusing me, otherwise emotionless, staring straight ahead. In her aimless stare I recognize a dejected look, similar to my own.
My eyes and mouth go wide. “They wouldn’t let you in either!”
She responds again with a sad stare.
“How sad indeed.” Feeling a strong rapport I ignore propriety. “Are you here to find love too?”
Her empty eyes have a story to tell but they get caught up watching a train leave the station. She just sits, watching, wearing her mask of silence. I can somehow feel her clenched teeth holding back… holding back everything, and at the same time keeping her face from falling.
An idea forms inside my desperate head. I stand and boldly extend my hand. “Come with me.”
#
The porter is not surprised to see me again.
“Here she is,” I tell him. “I’ve found her.”
“Found who?” he says.
“My love,” I say and smile broadly. I wink at the woman, telling her, in our secret silent language, to play along.
“Questa?” the porter asks, “This is your love?”
“Yes. Look at her. How could she be anything but my love?” I put my arm around her. “I grant you that she leaves everything to the imagination, but you see…” I look around and in a quiet voice confide, “…that is her charm. She is a woman of mystery. She twists, she turns – you get lost in the corridors of her eyes. Her very being demands to be looked at and watched, studied, loved and, yes, wed. I am caught in her trap. She is the Venus for which this city was built!”
Unmoved by my passionate presentation as he remains, the porter has had enough of me. “Allora. If you want to share Venice with this comedy of art, your Mask Bride, do as you please. You have been warned.”
Bride beside me, I enter the city and dive into the narrow streets and bridges and boats of all my romantic dreams. Every via teems with vendors, artists, academics and most of all innamorati. I drink deeply of the grandeur and feed on the romance. I loose my way in the maze of Venetian streets when my distracted eyes become enamored of gondolas and ornate facades and the treasures of shop windows. Behind the glass of one such window I find the truth in the porter's warning. An artisan shapes velvet, paper and glue into a souvenir mask, a mask with my love’s face.
Bewildered, I turn to look for an answer in my bride’s eyes and face-to-face I see her for the first time. Bewilderment becomes shock. I realize that my bride, my soul mate, my newfound love is in fact only a mask, no different than those in the shop window. I stagger back and through blank eyes I see the labyrinth around me. In my haste to find love I have lost myself. Venice swallows me and in its belly I find myself behind a mask of silent solitude in a sea of lovers.
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