Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

My daily routine developed and involved much exploration on water and foot, and then private study, as I grew to master this new language. My tutor, a scholarly Venetian of advanced years, undertook the task of working with me for purely financial motives. He lived in a particularly desolate part of the city, in an area whose sluggish canals were choked with refuse and whose many wharves were busy with boats that were repaired daily in thick clouds of black smoke. His crumbling house, like those all around, seemed to have been idly passed from one generation to the next without regard to maintenance. The grey plaster barely clung to the outside walls, its shutters were made of ancient rotten wood, and balcony railings had come adrift and now hung over the canal. In fact, not just this house, but the whole district gave the impression of having been eaten away by time and inclement weather. To reach this man's house, I had to carefully cross many tottering bridges, the flimsy structures of which were carefully balanced on piles of loose stone. From these edifices, one could clearly see the green line that the stagnant water of the canal had painted along the side of all the buildings. However, once I entered this man's book-lined study and began to follow his instructions carefully, I left behind the mournful atmosphere of his quarter and attended to the pleasures of the new world which this language opened up for me. He paid me compliments and claimed that I was a fine pupil, and I believe he was correct for, after some few weeks, I came to the conclusion that there was little more that this man could teach me.

Each week, my solitary migrations through the streets and along the canals of Venice would suddenly achieve a focus as I would journey to the Doge's Palace and present myself to the senators. My weekly visits to the palace generally involved my stalking the waiting rooms and ante-chambers until the grand men were ready to receive me. Once I had been ushered into their presence, they would again remind me that, as a revered leader of military men, I was to serve only in a time of crisis, and that I would not be troubled with the petty affairs of the state. In the meantime, I was to reconcile myself to the fact that I was a man of leisure, occupying the same status as a cannon or a breastplate of armour during a time of peace. There was, however, much rumour abroad which referred to impending conflict with the ever-vengeful Turk, and although none of the senators ever spoke directly to me of this matter, I knew that, should this situation deteriorate, I would be immediately pressed into service.

Spring gave way to summer, and summer, in turn, to a strangely melancholic autumn, and many times I wondered if I had not chosen gold and self-advancement above the more important consideration of my own happiness. The great majority of my days passed off without incident, and a large portion of my time was taken up observing the customs of these Venetians who, perhaps owing to the unique isolation of their state, seemed to obey their own special code. My former language teacher had explained to me how Venice was controlled by a small hereditary aristocracy, and how, because of the republic's power and achievements, most foreigners respected her but none would ever choose to love her. Flamboyant and lavish displays of her wealth stirred hostility and envy in the hearts of visiting dignitaries, but the Most Serene Republic was skilled at protecting herself from problems both within and without. My own position in Venice could be explained by the fact that the republic preferred to employ the services of great foreign commanders in order that they might prevent the development of Venetian-born military dictatorships. In fact, it was common practice to humiliate and break outstanding Venetian soldiers so they did not rise above their station. When the lion of Venice roared, all — outside the small circle of the doge and his immediate advisers — knew that they must bow and acknowledge her power.

After a long summer of isolation, I found it difficult to reconcile myself to this new emotion of loneliness, and, for the first time in my life, I found myself battling bouts of despondency that could persist for weeks. One late autumn afternoon, I was forced to confront my fears and insecurities in a most dramatic fashion. I engaged a gondola and rode, with a light and pleasant breeze born of the vessel's progress stirring my face, down towards the cluster of islands that populated the lagoon. It was my intention to find some location in the mouth of the lagoon from which I might observe the passing sails of the ships of the world, and, in this manner, while away the afternoon hours in a pleasant reverie. At first all was bright sunshine, and my colourfully clad gondolier posed gracefully against the blue sky and rowed with easy strokes. However, we had passed only a small part of our journey into the heart of the lagoon before the wind turned against us and we laboured to a jetty, where our boat was so violently rocked that it made it difficult to land. The rains began to fall, at first only a delicate lace curtain, and then the noisy whirring of seagulls overhead signalled the imminent opening of the heavens. The sky blackened and shrugged off the day, and suddenly there was an ominous silence. Moments later, the silence was broken by a distant roar, then a shrill whine of wind stung my ears, and soon after the inevitable lashing and blinding rain began to cascade, and presently the lagoon was a tempest of sound and movement. My gondolier, a frail-looking fellow with the prematurely puckered throat of an old man, took some comfort in the shadows of the monastery upon whose steps we had alighted. I drew into my lungs the faintly rotten smell of swamp that rose from the lagoon and watched as, before my eyes, nature quickly erased vain beauty.

Suddenly the world was muffled in mist, and from many different towers, both distant and near, came the various notes of the bells: alarmed, angry and finally arrogant city bells. I realized that this city was betraying me, and I was betraying myself. Only so much strength slept in the arms of a warrior, and I had wasted near two-thirds of a year in the rapture of foolish enchantment. I pulled my General's cloak tight about my shoulders and watched as grey fog began to march in from the sea. And then my attention was seized by the loud slapping of water against my moored gondola, and I noticed that small waves were now breaking over the sides and filling the vessel with water. I looked around in search of my gondolier, but my eyes were greeted by the wet masonry of the monastery's outer walls, and the sight of a miserable dog slinking away from me and around the corner. I had made no friends among these people, and my standing in society rested solely upon my reputation in the field. My reputation. It was to be hoped that this one small word might lay to rest any hostility that my natural appearance might provoke. My reputation. Some among these people, both high and low, were teaching me to think of myself as a man less worthy than the person I knew myself to be. My own people, although degraded and without the sophistication and manners of these Venetians, at least regarded me with respect and dignity, and among them I had many friends, and some few enemies, all of whom were easily identifiable. Among the Venetians, all was confusion as I attempted to distinguish those who beheld my person with scorn and contempt, from those who simply looked upon me with the curiosity that one would associate with a child. The storm raged for many hours until, watered to the bone and distraught in mind, I finally decided to join my oarsman and seek shelter among the smoking candles and soft light of the monastery. Thereafter, all memory was lost to fatigue until I awoke some hours later as the faint light of morning touched a distant wall and the Venetian bells began a silver chant. Through the high windows I was able to see a bright and clear sky, by which I judged the peril to have passed and a new day to be spread before me.