Venice (#3) By the time he reached the coolness ofthat threshold, he had already stood in itching reverence hefore the graves of Stravinsky and Ezra Pound, He had wandered in ‘the shade and read the stones and been thoughtful for at least half of the visit. Ho had boarded the vaparetio with the nonchalance of an ltalian, stood outside and nodded to the boatman with a respect and equality that was more than democratic. He had strolled through the carals, passed a market boat and bought a fiesh peach, signalling the number ‘one with his fingers and pointing, holding ont « hand full of change with a naive smile, He had crossed the island to the majesty of the square, taken in an espresso and the people at vast expense, gazing towards the Cathedral in one of the square's two rival cafes. He had not gone inside St, Mark's, being too inclined towards the aun and fair woather to look upon the gold and gloom of the interior. And so he had decided upon an independent tour Yhrough the back streets, canals, and alleyways so narrow that you cannot pass another fiving being without one crouching inside a doorway, apologetically. The day's events read like a model postcard, He had wandered and wandered until the colours began to fade into one and the vwalers seemed putrid, the sun tiresome, and the map he had purchased that morning quite unrelated to any street siga his tired eyes could decipher. He had reached the midday point of a tourist in the August sun, when motivation and exhaustion fight an intemal battle which can only end in sunstroke and the final page of a guide book, or an hour ‘behind closed curtains in an anonymous hotel. ‘The internal war waged between the tovrist and the man. And so be passed inte the building. it wats not tha his mother had ever really forced him to go io church. there was no sense in which she physically impelled hit to that darkened place ane day aweck, one certain day that was abvays the same and seemed like on endless rendition of monotony. and it was not really even that he didn't like those endless mornings, or that he coulds’t sit still, or we bored. he supposed he never really minded them. it was more the sensation of repetition that overwhelmed him. one so rare and yet so perfect in its timeless rendition. and So those howrs passed. (perhaps it was that the monotony of the services had alarmed him, he being so accustomed to change... or maybe it was that it seemed t0 be the only secret that ie and his mother had Between one another, that In going to this place they were committing, their only act of conspiracy, a moment together. when they were gering ready she would check his appearance out of the corner of her eye, sa as not to appear io mind too much about thase things. ond he alvays wore the same tie - what was it? ~ uh those red and blue stripes going diagonally om « black background. he never did understand their incline, why diagonal - why nol just straight actass or up and down, he had never really liked it but then again he hod never really been able to throw it ewer either. he sell! wore it on occasion. even afier that day when everything at fast seemed clear. although it had effectively ruined his relationship with ties, he and wes would never be quite the same again. Hence the cravat. The yellow cravat which he foosened as he stepped into that place of marble and felt the drop in temperature. He always felt it showed up the red of kris face in the heat, but then someone had once told him that it complimented the dark: blue of the blazer so he wore it. He thought st might be summery. Lovely word summery = like summer he supposed - yellow, nice and summeryAnd so he waiked into the breeze and the map seemed to hold no more secrets, and the air soothed his red face, and he stood by the font which seemed rather small Giancing to his right he noticed some oil paintings depicting images of saints in animated poses, each umusual in its own way, making cach onc recognisable instantly in his mind. Selecting the more subtle route, he walked down the right hand side of the pews, rather than pursuing the ostentation of the centrat aisle, carpeted in red, Noticing the rough sackcloth, a pale faded green, beneath his feet he could not help but feel he had made a rather appropriate decision, It sorichow seemed fitting, the simplicity, He tured towards a side chapel, beginning to count the candles buming benesth a statne of the virgin. There were fifteen. He concluded that fiteen others had stood for certain in that same place that very day and was struck by « sense of community. Then wondered whether the priesis lit them to give tie impression of greater numbers Then began wondering whether there was a limit per person or ifone person might have lit all fifteen ‘The thoughts began to tire him and he turned away. On the wall to his right there was fixed a simple wooden statue depicting Christ on the cross. There was nothing particularly special about the carving: it was about life-size or close to it and simply carved without any notable detail or strange ariisiry, But it struck him somehow. He wondered at the contrast between the lights of the candles and the cold dark wood in this comer and thought that was perhaps what made his eyes strain af the carving; and to look at the hands end the feet and try te decide what constituted a fair approximation of reality in terms of wood craft. The place ao longer seemed so coal and full of air and he sat down on a low bench which reminded him of being at school, His palms began to sweat and he considered removing his blazer but it seemed improper. Sitting bent over like a tired child, on thet bonch, he realised he had never quite forgiven god for showing him that he was ordinary. in church when he was younger, he had always had a sense of heing different, or chosen, or blessed, and he had waited in the monotony for a sign or a voice like the ones you heard about and somehow it had never come. he had waited and waited and never een called and somehuw he could not accopt that he head not in fact been chosen and the signeficemce of this never failed to sirike him. he remembered the chilahoed anger, the almost tearfid jousication he had felt when the sign had never come. what aleriness had (Filled that lethourgy of a Sunday as he world wait hutf-expectanily yee without wanted to ‘seem casual ar fon assured, fo Be signalted out among those around him, and rise to mect the challenge without « moment of hesitation. quite how he would fulfil it was never really part of the dream, it concentrated mare an the moment, ihe justification, the triumph, the calling, the rising, the glory. but it abvays did come in his dreams, aud his respanse he chavacierised with a smile, well, more of a glowing euphoria realty, it was hardiy just an ordivesry smile. cand so he hod decided to be ordinary, wher it didn't come, for some time, and after awhile, and this had Been c mountain to be overcome. it sitll haunied him, tho sonsé of lass and of betrayu, and of simple disappointment. hhe was and would not Be chosen. sitting, he began to realise how greatiy this had scarred him, how deeply wounded, he remembered even that he had cried when he realised thed god wasn't listening either through overload or device. and smce god could not be burdened down by others, this heing the meaning uf the word omnipotent, god must be doing it on purpose. so why should he go back?And indeed he did not. Until that day when the sun drove him back inside such doors and it all seemed to come rather naturally to him. Even edging down the outside of the pews, picking a rathcr casual route as e comoisscur or a belicver might, just calling in for the day. His eyes were fixed on the hands with the nails driven through them, with th blood painted in red seeping out ftom behind them. He remembered 2 professor at college ~ years ago - and yet he still remembered, who had called Christiaaity morbid and bload- thirsty and he had laughed derisively and thought it a very clever thing to say indeed, And ‘yet his palms itched so, and he stared at the hands and they were carved so that the skin seemed to be pulled back by the nails, And the palm of the hand caved in where the nails were and the blood was dripping down the upper arms from the wound to the wrist and down, Ttreally was a rather gruesome rendition he thought to himself, And yet those nails. Tt really was rather cleverly captured, and he stroked middle of bis palm with his ‘thumb and iooked up again, How heavy the body must be when hanging from the hands and feet nailed to wood all of that weight just hanging down and pulliag, So that the skin tears and the muscles in the back and iegs contract and spasm until the body pulls the wounds down further. The blood running down the upper arm, maybe dripping at the elbow, slowly, and a trail from the feet moving ever closer to tho ground. Or maybe it was all over before then, He didn't really know, Or did they try to keep them alive with ‘water or by poking them or shouting. Maybe they didn't want you to be unconscious. The back of his shirt began to cling to his skin and his bluzer seemed to pull at him ‘under the arms rubbing against his shirt and he tried to oper it farther or flap it in the air but half heartedly. The noise of'the door closing reised his head end drew his eyes away from the image back towards the candies. He courted them agai, Only fourteen, No, fifteen, he had missed one, He walked out of the side chapel and turned instinctively ‘towards the door to see who had joined him, very casually, Just a sideways glance, But there was no one, He turned his head to the other side in case they had overtaken the speed of his gaze, bul there was no one, Te turned back to his corner but paused in hesitation, looking once more to the door and then to the alter, A small amount of light formed a sort of haze around the altar that made it seem so clean and bright with the lilies aad the white alter cloth with the cecp green stripes on either side in perfect symmetry Staring at the impression of the light and how soft it was to the eye, he wes pleascd by the image. Walking across the nave between the pews he almost begait to break into @ stroll, Tt afl seemed so natural, He traversed the nave with ease, pausing in the fifth pew to sit for a moment and admire the spectacle. The pose he adopted was one that could easily be mistaken for Prayer; a rather subtle and innocuous posture half way between kneeling and sitting with ‘the head slightly bowed - just to add to the ambiguity. He began to feel peaceful, and remembered that they hed sat in pew number seven He silently wished to himself that he thad chosen the same number. Tt would have added a certain symmetry to the occasion, ‘but he did not feel inclined to move, That would be somchow artificial. he recalled the green service sheet and the two red cloth covered iynm books one: slightly larger than the other. he preferred the smaller of the two and loved to fird the numbers placed on ihe board beside the pulpit. he would always find thom at the Beginning of ihe service and then lose thera again on purpose so that there would seem