By Peg Boyers
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Extra info for To forget Venice
Sample text
29 Rooftop: Aerial View She is twelve, an expat brat in a bikini, sunbathing on a rooftop terrace. His terrace. He is her first Jewish Intellectual, a young scholar on a Fulbright photographing Venetian churches. Today, on the sly, he photographs her. It is not important. Only the sun is important, the bikini stencil it burns around her budding breasts, the terrace. There are fresh cherries too, and ice tea: so American she feels, so reassuringly American and adult, drinking ice tea, speaking English on the rooftop, at ease in a bikini, spitting pits into a green Murano dish.
I am listening to Nathan Milstein, your contemporary, play the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. The second movement—sweet, unbearable— followed by the steady rise towards a frenetic end as our landing gear slides into place with a jolt. The plane careens and dips. Allegro vivacissimo. The city beneath us suddenly sideways, then under us as we straighten out, regain balance, hit ground. Hysteria in the harmonics; sanity, dark and continuous, restored in the baseline. Blue, white, and yellow fireflies blink their SOS outside my window.
52 At Sea Drowning again, sucked into the undertow of the quotidian. I am whirling inside the wave, my feet flipped up like a whale’s tail. I sound for you but there is no answer. You are near, but invisible. I have almost found you. I know this the way I know that you are not dead, just lost. Or is it I who am drowning in my own dull panic and you who are trying to save me? A silent cough floats above me, a shimmering bubble that could only be yours, and in that bubble your bewildered face. I swim to you and am absorbed.