“Should I go now?”
“They won’t get polished by themselves.” Agnese’s lips almost curled into a smile. “Come back as soon as you can. No stopping at Bar Maj. I would go with you, but I have to make the challah for Shabbos.”
“Va bene.” Speranza grabbed his hat.
He buttoned his vest as he walked along the canal to the piazza. Overhead, the sky matched the dull blue surface of the canal. He passed the mesh baskets filled with fresh silverfish, clamped to the wooden bumpers in the ice-cold water of the canal. Soon the air would fill with the scent of a woodsy smoke, as the smelts and sardines were grilled for Friday dinner.
The heavy-lidded black Madonna carved from marble looked down from her perch on the roof of Santa Filippa. Beneath her alcove, a soldier in the uniform of the Blackshirts stood guard, his hand resting on the butt of the rifle perched on his shoulder. Speranza remembered when there were no guards or guns in Venezia. Now it was overrun with soldiers in makeshift uniforms. There were more of them than pigeons.
The piazza was filled with traders from the four corners of the world. Their voices ricocheted off the walls as they haggled. The buyers wove in and out among the tables, on the hunt for particular treasures. The sellers, in contrast, modeled their wares—silver, fine fabrics, leather goods, and ceramics—with flair, hoping to close a final deal by sunset. Speranza walked past the display racks of textiles. Nuns, swathed in their navy habits and crisp white wimples, compared the quality of the wool as they bargained with the Scottish merchant. The haggling was spirited. Speranza could barely hear himself think.
Where is this guy? Romeo wondered as he walked along Calle Sant’Antonio. As usual, his wife was right. The shoeblack was waiting for him. The boy was thin, his skin the color of mahogany. He beckoned and bowed from the waist as his customer made his way to the chair.
“Polish and wax?” the boy offered. “Six lire.”
“Grazie.” Romeo sank into the chair. The boy loosened the laces and went to work. “My wife does not like a dirty work shoe, even though that’s their purpose.”
“Your wife is a beautiful woman.”
“You say that about all the Venetian wives? Where are you from?”
“Ethiopia.”
“The land of the white sand and the sapphire ocean.”
“You know it!”
“There’s an aventurine mine there. I went to North Africa to buy the green stones and spinel. After that, I went south to a diamond mine.”
“The Cape of Good Hope. There’s no good and no hope there. Pirates. More rock is stolen than mined.”
“How is that possible?”
“My father and brother work in the mine there. The conditions are terrible. And there are days the owners do not distribute the purse. They steal from the workers. That’s why I came here. I can shine shoes for more than my father’s day wage. I can take the money home someday to help my family. I would like to farm. I know how to farm.”
“You’ll have to go north.”
“Your wife said there are farms outside Treviso to the north. Fields of corn and wheat.” The boy looked up at Speranza.
“Yes. Green fields. Blue sky. And in the far distance, the white peaks of the Dolomites. I live on a farm outside Treviso with my wife in the summer.”
“Do your children work the farm?”
“We don’t have children.” Speranza smiled, but in truth, the mention of children was a sore point with him. He couldn’t give Agnese a child, her highest dream.
“Signora is strong.”
“Yes, she is. She is a mother to all.”
The boy smiled. “I have a strong mother.” The boy stood back with his rag. “There.”
Romeo looked down at his shoes. “I can see the oxblood. More importantly, Signora Speranza will be able to see the oxblood.”
“Fine leather.”
“Florentine. The best leather.” Speranza dug in his pocket. “Shoes should be comfortable. You get more work out of yourself that way.”
The shoeblack’s feet were bare.
“I’m in a shop on Calle Soranzo. A jewelry shop. Come by in the morning, and we’ll see what we can do about your dreams of working on a farm.” Speranza handed the boy seven lire.
“Mille grazie, Signore. Mille grazie.”
“You may change your mind when you meet my cow.”
“I will work hard.”
“You’ll have to. The cow is ornery, the pig is stupid, and the donkey has a bad foot.”
“I understand.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Under the bridge.” The boy pointed.
“What’s your name?”
“Emos.”
“Come and see me tomorrow, Emos.”
“I will, Signore.”
Speranza walked back to the shop. He stopped in the street when he realized what had transpired with the shoeblack. He hadn’t been sent to Calle Sant’Antonio for a shoeshine. Agnese had sent him to the boy to size him up, so the hire would look like his idea. She had probably already made a deal with him to work the farm. He grinned. That would be just like his wife.
The clang of the church bells accompanied the sun as it began its descent. The blue shade of night was slowly pulled over the city. Venezia turned silver in the light. One by one the palazzi that graced the canals fell into shadow, like saints in their alcoves in a dark church when the candles were extinguished.
The island of Murano twinkled in the distance, lit from within as the flames danced in the glass kilns. The furnaces raged, throwing a glow overhead, forming a white halo in the purple sky. Every place is holy when the sun goes down, Speranza thought as he moved quickly through the coming darkness, home to Agnese and Shabbos.
LIVERPOOL
June 9, 1940