Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 32

           She’dfalleninloveoncewithaSardinianartist,who’dpromisedheranotherworldoflightandsun,buthadlefther,instead,withthreechildrenandnochoicebuttoreturntoVeniceandrunthefamilyrestaurant.SheismyagebutlooksevenolderthanIdo,andIcan’timaginethekindofmanwhocoulddothattoawomansoattractive.("Hewaspowerful,"shesays,"andIdiedofloveinhisshadow.")Veniceisconservative.Thewomanhashadsomeaffairshere,maybeevenwithsomemarriedmen,butitalwaysendsinsorrow.Theneighborstalkabouther.Peoplestopspeakingwhenshewalksintotheroom.Hermotherbegshertowearaweddingringjustforappearances-saying,Darling,thisisnotRome,whereyoucanliveasscandalouslyasyoulike.EverymorningwhenLindaandIcomeforbreakfastandaskoursorrowfulyoung/oldVenetianproprietressabouttheweatherreportfortheday,shecocksthefingersofherrighthandlikeagun,putsittohertemple,andsays,"Morerain."

           YetIdon’tgetdepressedhere.Icancopewith,andevensomehowenjoy,thesinkingmelancholyofVenice,justforafewdays.SomewhereinmeIamabletorecognizethatthisisnotmymelancholy;thisisthecity’sownindigenousmelancholy,andIamhealthyenoughthesedaystobeabletofeelthedifferencebetweenmeandit.Thisisasign,Icannothelpbutthink,ofhealing,ofthecoagulationofmyself.Therewereafewyearsthere,lostinborderlessdespair,whenIusedtoexperiencealltheworld’ssadnessasmyown.Everythingsadleakedthroughmeandleftdamptracesbehind

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