I looked around, readying a yell for help, but the piazza was empty.
"Hang on, I'll help you. Te aiuto, te aiuto," I said, hoping he could understand my horrible Italian. He opened his eyes. Blood dripped across the bridge of his nose and onto the floor. I swallowed down a wave of nausea.
Isaia tugged on my hand. He pointed up. A thin stream of smoke crept from the open door at the back of the shop, behind the man lying on the floor.
Fire.
I pulled out my phone, nearly dropping it as my fingers trembled. I looked up 'Venezia polizia.' Three stations popped up, but all of them were off the island, two in Mestre and one in Marghera. I hit dial for the closest one, my fingers trembling. The long dash of the Italian ring tone sounded in my ear and a male voice answered.
"Ciao, uh..." I stuttered. "Is there someone who speaks English?"
The voice asked a question.
"I'm sorry, non parle Italiano. Parle Inglese?"
The voice answered, sounding annoyed. This was getting us nowhere. I shook my head in frustration. I spoke slowly. “There has been a break in, in Venice. There is an injured man. We are..." I looked around at the walls, scanning for a sign, "...at Calle Angelo. In Venezia."
The voice responded, "Sei al Calle Angelo? Calle Angelo?"
“Sì, sì,” I said, relieved. "Calle Angelo, aiuta me. There's a man in trouble. Un uomo in pericoloso. There might be a fire, too. Uh... fuoco, fuoco."
"Aspetta li," grated the voice. He asked for my 'numero di telefono,' which I gave him. After agreeing to wait, I hung up the phone.
Anxiety twisted in my stomach. What if the men who had done this returned? How long would it take for the police to get here? I peered into the shop to see that the stream of smoke from the back room had grown thicker.
I squatted in front of Isaia. "I need you to wait while I help the man get out." I spotted a cluster of benches in the center of the piazza. Leading Isaia to one directly across from the tabbachi, I guided him to sit. "Stay right here, on the bench, okay?"
He nodded, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"It's okay. I'm here." I touched his cheek. "I'm not going far. Just wait for me here, where I can see you." I kissed his head and hurried across the piazza.
I ducked under the broken shutter and crunched over broken glass and a mess of water bottles, packaged food, and candy. I knelt in front of the man. He cradled a bloodied hand against his stomach. He must have fought with the men who had broken into his shop.
He looked at me from under bushy grey eyebrows and my heart squeezed with empathy. Blood ran from his cheek where he'd been cut and pooled on the floor. A wave of dizziness washed over me and I gripped the counter. He pushed himself awkwardly up to an elbow and I helped him to sit up. I opened a package of handkerchiefs. While I pressed one against the cut on his cheek, my hand trembled and I tried to focus on something other than the blood.
"Thank you," he said slowly, his voice thick.
Anger boiled in me and I reminded myself to tell the police about the green t-shirt with the yellow stripes. Maybe they could catch the guys today if they acted fast enough.
Glass crunched behind me and I looked to see Isaia walk under the shutter. His face was pale. The smudges under his eyes had returned and his little chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
"No, sweetie, stay outside please," I said, pointing at the bench. "I'll be with you right away, okay?"
He shook his head and took another step toward me, grabbing his elbows. He didn't want to be alone, and no wonder. I wanted to take him in my arms, but I also wanted to get the old man out of the shop as soon as possible.
The smell of smoke hit my nose. I craned my neck, peering into the back room. Metal shelves piled high with boxes filled the storage space. But aside from a single shaft of sunlight coming from a small window near the ceiling, the room was dark. So where was the smoke coming from?
BANG! BANG!
A scream ripped from my mouth and my heart exploded into a gallop. It sounded like gunfire. Two flashes of bright light illuminated the rear of the shop and my vision peppered with spots.
"Firework, firework," croaked the old man, and resumed trying to stand.
Isaia began to cry. It was the first time I'd heard him make any noise. His little hands clutched against his mouth, a dry heave rasped though his fingers as his shoulders shook.
"It was fireworks, Isaia." I scrambled to my feet, gulping in air to slow my frantic heart. "Just fireworks. You're okay." My voice quavered. "We need to get out. Go back to the bench, Isaia. We'll be right out, okay?" I took a deep breath then gave a sharp cough as my lungs took in smoke.
I put my hands under the man's armpits. I grunted and heaved him upward none too gently. He and I groaned as one. Just as he got his feet under him...
POP!! POP!!! KSSSSSSSSSSS. BANG BANG BANG!
We both ducked our heads at the succession of screaming crackles and popping bursts. My ears rang, and the strobe effect of the fireworks flashing through the shop stole my vision for seconds at a time.
BOOM!
A blast of hot air from an explosion that was too powerful to be fireworks sent me sprawling across broken goods. I cried out as the man fell on my calves and something sharp cut into my knee. A fiery line of pain sliced across my left palm. The walls shook and dust fell from the ceiling.
"Isaia!" I screamed.
Dust and dirt fell in my eyes. I rubbed at them desperately, my mouth dry with fear. All efforts to pretend I was in control had fled. Isaia couldn't respond, and the answering silence froze my blood in my veins. I was faintly aware of a warm flickering light behind me, and a growing heat.
A high pitched metallic scream. A bang so sharp I winced and covered my ears. The shop went from mostly light to mostly dark as the security shutter slammed shut.
Eleven
The crackling flames of a healthy fire licked from the open doorway of the back room. The man let out of a stream of raspy Italian and reached for a cell phone sitting on the countertop.
Heat poured from the storage room in waves. Whatever was burning, it included chemicals and plastics. Dizziness washed over me as I sucked in a toxic breath and coughed. I rubbed at my eyes, blinking the dirt from them. Sweat sprang out all over my body as the temperature inside the shop doubled. Adrenalin flooded my body.
I stumbled to my feet. My left palm stung and felt wet and sticky. I put an arm around the man and pulled him as hard as I dared, away from the fire and toward the security shutter. My whole body tingled at the thought that there might be another explosion any second. My legs shook.
A soft dull thud. The crunching of plastic. I turned to the sound, gasped and nearly choked on my tongue. "Isaia!" It came out a croak.
He had collapsed.
I stumbled across the shop. I tripped and recovered twice. My ankles rolled as I stepped on things I wasn’t looking at. My eyes were glued to him. I dropped to my knees beside him. "Isaia? Isaia, can you hear me?"
In the wavering firelight, his eyes gleamed and flickered. I could have wept with relief. He was conscious, but his little chest heaved.
"Isaia, what's wrong?" I put a hand to his forehead and immediately snatched it back, cursing. His forehead was so hot that I couldn't touch him. Not again! I looked back at the shopkeeper. He cradled one hand against his chest and was holding his cell phone to his ear with the other.
I got to my feet and peeked through the small holes in the shutter. Putting my lips to one, I yelled, "Fire! Fuoco!" I rattled the shutter and tried to lift it, but there was nothing to grab. The warped metal had jammed in the runners and was locked down. I looked back. The flames in the doorway licked higher, and black smoke billowed across the ceiling. I redoubled my efforts and yelled until my head pounded.
A man appeared on the other side of the shutter. I almost collapsed with relief. "Oh thank God. Please help us, can you lift this shutter?"