The two did not do much that evening, they only had lunch and a couple glasses of red wine in a restaurant unreasonably far away from the coastline. It did not feel like their typical night as they were both exhausted and out of ideas what to do, they thought that was it for the day.
The restaurant was not appealing in any way: tables full of foreign tourists speaking their own languages, waiters and waitresses in predictable white top and black apron uniforms, reflective metal seats readied in case more customer came. They did not feel right about choosing the restaurant, they were not their usual selves. The menu made even evident of their out-of-place touch with its’ list of English cuisines and wines easily found in any large cities.
They left as soon as they were finished with their last sip of distasteful wine and found their way back to the apartment, miraculously despite all the confusing turns Suju had led before. Cay went into the kitchen to make some herbal tea left in a small cheaply-painted pot, while Judas got into bed after changing into his comforts. The only prominent sound in the spacious and somehow messy apartment was the boiling of the metal kettle with a flowery pattern on it.
Suju had not fulfilled his duty as promised, the boiler was not transferring any heat out from the faucet in the toilet. Cay dreaded about tomorrow’s morning shower. Judas had to shower sooner or later, even if he liked it or not. They both had their own worries, but the only thing in common right now was the host’s less than fair hospitality and the unusual day. The conning by canny dressers, the heat, the crowd, the pseudo-quality wine, the barely absorbing atmosphere of their first Venetian night. Everything was at fault.
The two woke up early in the morning, thinking they should give the island a worthy try. If not, there were always its neighbours that they could visit. Anything to make the trip worthwhile. They set foot outside with minds freshened by the instant coffee brought by Judas and the cold shower in which they so reluctantly took.
“We’ll make most of the time by taking the waterbus.”, Cay suggested.
Judas nodded before they turned right and straight for the coastline, where they would find their transports arriving and departing.
They bought their respective ticket and waited in the small, buoyant dock and waited.
“It doesn’t seem like the tickets matter much.”, Judas gestured towards the broken automatic guard, which was unable to fulfil its’ work after too many forceful entries made by vandals and greedy people.
They left the dock when their water bus arrived, leaving Arsenale stop behind. The boat held a fair number of people, not a lot of visitors were awake at the time. They both had agreed earlier that paying a small amount to reach one of Venice’s docks would be better than walking, which ran the risk of getting lost.
It was a well investment made. Not only they reached places that they had intended to go, or at least reached near enough to walk, the travelling included scenery of how Venice and the other islands looked like from a far distance. Tranquil, that was the word Cay thought as their boat rocked against the gentle waves, causing a satisfying ripple to anyone who found travelling on water fun. Simplicity was always Cay’s remedy for anxiety.
*
Judas woke up one night, hearing a faint but unmistakably sound. Yes, it was a wail, perhaps that was what woke him up during previous nights. He was unsure.
He got out of bed and into his slippers, shuffling towards the door for a better hear, to confirm once again his suspicion. He was right, someone was crying, it was coming from downstairs from what Judas could determine. He turned the knob slowly and pushed the creaking door as gently as possible, for fear a loud presence would break the chain of sobs.
He walked down the stairs, still slightly groggy from the abrupt awakening but determined to investigate. He found Alexandre in the kitchen, sitting on one of the dining chairs with her upper part arched forward towards the table but not quite touching it. Both of her hands were covering her face, indicating the origin of the wails and sobs. His mother was sad.
He walked slowly and silently, aided by the carpet floor that muffled his footsteps that absorbed any sound made by friction. One could only hear ruffling noises if you listen closely to carpets tread upon. Feeling confident, Judas walked as close as he could and leaned sideways on the door frame leading to the kitchen, with his mother’s back facing him. She would notice his presence nearby unless he were to accidentally cough or attempted to come any closer.
He was picturing her face in his mind while staring at her physical back. Her slight bony figure from years of silent worrying and the thought of her tearing face caused something to stir within the boy. He looked on, but with changing and conflicting emotions. It was hard to see a mother’s sadness made obvious with physical evidence: the sobs, the puffy eyes, and the depressing feeling projecting outwards.
As he was thinking, Alexandre somehow felt a presence behind her and turned her head almost immediately. Seeing her own son watching her long enough to form a worrying look on his face, she got up and turned towards him. Speechless by the sudden appearance of another figure, she tried to muster something out but could not. She could not make out the words, her throat was throbbing from the soreness of crying and the awkward relationship she has with her son. Judas starred on, her face stained with tears of old and new, her composure he found unfamiliar.
“Judas, my son.”, she approached him as she mentioned her son’s name.
She almost touched his cheeks before Judas backed away from her mother’s hands. She tried asking how he was doing but he seemed irresponsive. She again tried to touch his face but he turned away; Judas wanted to know more why she cried but was repelled by her motherly gesture. He strode upstairs, not knowing what would happen to his mother if he did so.
“Judas! Come back!”, her mother suddenly shouted behind him but pursued no longer. She seemed mentally exhausted from however long her depressive state lasted.
It was the only chance she could speak to her son, her beloved baby she cradled so affectionately a long time ago. She could not believe he walked out on her and blamed herself for not chasing after him, to give her son the embrace he deserved after all these years of torturing silence. My boy, my baby, she thought as she looked up to the stairs where her son was present a few seconds back.
She heard the click of the lock from his door, and knew she just gave away the chance to reconcile with her son. She leaned and slid down slowly on the wall, her hands clasping together.
ns 15.158.61.12da2
