Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

During my return journey it began to snow. Tiny white flakes spun down from the dark sky and lightly dusted the gondola with a thin salty layer. And then the pleasing tone of the journey changed as the wind began to drive directly into my face, and the flurries became bothersome. I closed the curtains to the canopy, which disappointed me, for I wished to drink in views of my Venice at every possible opportunity, but my body was as yet unaccustomed to the damp cold which characterized this winter clime. Secreted in the closed cabin of this most perfect vehicle, I felt the swerves and twists as we floated through the darkness, my senses throbbing with the perfect mystery of this journey. And then it occurred to me that the senator's daughter must live a lonely life in her father's large house. Like all the fair daughters of Venice, she was no doubt being groomed for a marriage that would be beneficial to both families and occasion the fortunes of both to swell, but, visits to church aside, I imagined that she remained alone. By the time the gondola arrived at my lodgings and I stepped back on to terra firma, the swirling snow was in danger of becoming treacherous. I thanked my gondolier, whose manner seemed to have improved, and bade him goodnight, and then, as an afterthought, I urged him to be careful on his return journey. He smiled in the manner of one who was grateful for the sentiment, but who wished it to be known that he knew exactly what he was doing. He did not require advice from foreigners.

After some fruitless hours spent tossing first one way and then the next, I arose before dawn realizing that, again, I needed to walk about this city in the moonlight, both to reorder my thoughts and to put into place my feelings. It had ceased snowing, but it remained bitterly cold as I set out towards the north of the city, crossing small bridges and passing stealthily through dark alleyways. The chief problem, of course, was the lady on my mind. And, like a child, I wondered if I were on hers. That we barely exchanged a word seemed to have added to the mystique of this person whom I could not dislodge from my senses. I concluded that she was, without doubt, the most beautiful treasure of Venice. Never had I before witnessed such an effortless tranquillity, a superior air of breeding both aristocratic and modest, and a strength of personality that was at once confident and gently reassuring. When this lady moved, it was as though the universe moved with her, and what light there was in the room was wholly swallowed up by her eyes. I felt as though, against my will, some part of my soul had been captured.

I stopped at the entrance to a small street which led into a square. I could see that at the end of the street there were gates, and marshalling the gates two guards. It occurred to me that this was the district about which my merchant had spoken, the place where the moneylenders resided, and never having entered this quarter, I was keen to satisfy my curiosity while everybody slept. The two Christian guards were naturally suspicious about my approaching them, but seeing that I was clearly not one of their own, and that I did not seem intent upon harming any Jew, they unbolted the gates and, after I had bestowed upon them a small token of my gratitude, they let me pass. And what a strange place was this walled ghetto. Apparently, most of the Jews did not regard this arrangement of being locked behind gates from sunset to sunrise as a hardship, for it afforded them protection against the many cold hearts that opposed their people. On Sundays and on Christian holy days, the Jews were imprisoned for the full length of the day, and they were obliged both to appoint and to pay these Christian guards themselves. In addition, they were required to pay two boats to patrol unceasingly the canals surrounding the ghetto, the outer walls of which were to be windowless. The Jews paid dearly to live and do commerce at the heart of the Venetian empire, rather than in the provinces, and penalties for offending the morals of the people of Venice were severe. Intimacy between Jewish men and Christian women was punishable by a heavy fine and up to twelve months' imprisonment, depending upon whether the woman was a public prostitute. In addition, Jews were forbidden to run schools or teach Christians in any subject, and any Jew found outside the ghetto at night was likely to be heavily fined and imprisoned. Some frightened Jews argued that the ghetto, far from affording them protection, made it easier for popular outbursts against them to achieve some focus, for the Jews were herded en masse and enclosed in one defenceless pen.

As I began to explore, I noticed that the streets were recklessly narrow and ill-arranged, and on either side of them immensely tall and well-appointed houses sat next to equally tall hovels. In this ghetto, the rich and the destitute lived together, the denizens bound only by their faith. Nothing stirred, and I felt as though I were wandering about a village that had been quickly abandoned in a time of plague. Not a single article of clothing hung from a window, and not a single window was ajar to allow a little breeze to penetrate. I longed to catch a glimpse of one of their beautiful black-eyed women, but the inhabitants of this region appeared to be sleeping peacefully. I neither heard the raised voice of a call to prayer, nor did I spy the night-time wandering of an exotic such as myself. Everything remained calm, and it appeared that these Jews obeyed the rhythms of day and night with a slavish adherence. I walked for some time through the maze of little streets and noticed the complete absence of shrines, madonnas, carved crosses, or images of saints. All outward signs of devotion were absent in this dark place, which led me to conclude that religious imagery of any kind probably constituted a particular sin for these people. I continued to wander, but the further I entered the ghetto, the filthier the alleyways became, and the more oppressive these tall hovels appeared, with damp staining the walls, and in certain places causing the plaster to erupt in a manner similar to boils. These towers of poverty seemed to be reaching desperately for a little light or air above a darkness and filth which seemed more befitting of an earlier age of squalor. At precisely the moment when I was beginning to feel hopelessly lost, I emerged into a small square, in one corner of which were buildings of more human proportions. At the far end of the square, and at the end of a reasonably well-paved and brightly illuminated street, I spied the gates through which I had entered this underworld. My exploration had unnerved me somewhat, for it was well known that the Jews were fortunate in their wealth. Why they should choose to live in this manner defeated my understanding. Surely there was some other land or some other people among whom they might dwell in more tolerable conditions?

Once back at my lodgings, I stood outside and stared as the sun began her morning's labour up the steep slope of the sky. Then I listened as the tuneful lament of a flute rose from a half-deserted street behind me, and I breathed a long sigh of relief. With some great difficulty I had managed to navigate my way from the gates of the ghetto and back into a world that I recognized. It was only when I stumbled upon the Grand Canal that my heart finally regained a normal beat. Indeed, it appeared somewhat shameful to me that a man who had endured many wars and faced much danger should panic on finding himself in unfamiliar streets in an admittedly civilized environment. But it was Venice herself which induced this frenzy in me, for her streets led carelessly one into the other, stubbornly refusing to reveal any clue as to where they might ultimately terminate. And then, once back in the region of my lodgings, I was suddenly seized with a desire to witness the start of the day. However, I was soon shaken from my contemplation of the sun's labours by the sight of my attendant emerging from my own door and looking upon me disapprovingly. At first I wondered if my nightly wanderings had upset him, for I could imagine nothing else that might have caused him to feel any new antipathy towards me. It was then that I noticed the letter that he was clutching. He passed it to me and, as was his custom, he chose not to utter a single word. He turned theatrically and re-entered the house, leaving me to contemplate the letter alone. Having failed to recognize the handwriting on the outside, I decided to open it and discover for myself its contents. I was shocked to find that she who had been constantly on my mind had also been moved by our meeting, but, unlike myself, she had taken the initiative and set pen to paper. As decorum demanded, she revealed little of her heart, and simply requested that I visit with her later that same day in her father's garden. According to this lady, I was to enter a gondola that would appear at a determined hour, with a white handkerchief displayed at one of the windows.