At the station, I purchased a ticket to La Spezia. At last, I was able to sense my presence in Italy. I felt firm and assured. The receptionist had been right: “Such a night…”
There was not much to decide upon in La Spezia. In front of the station grew a tall hedge formed by shrubs covered in dust, and below it, the harbour puffed and panted, from time to time exhaling a jet of smells, hollers and rusty creaking. For me, Corsica had changed into a grimy, unsent postcard. Besides, the target had been achieved, or rather, had revealed itself to me, and I had no wish to reduce myself by further self-examinations; had I not thrust open all windows of my stale fortress and allowed the fresh air to flow through? So why stand in its way and chase my own shadow in circles again?
I returned to the ticked office and asked for the next train to any large city.
“In fifteen minutes to Venice, in forty to Rome” said a voice behind the counter.
So I set off to Venice.
I had been to this city as a small child, together with my parents and my brother, but I could not remember anything. Perhaps only the doves. Exciting fantasies about this city run through my mind, in which mist and the piercing sun intertwined with salty air and heavy, intricate secrets. Blurred outlines of Giacomo Casanova, Lorenzo da Ponte and Antonio Vivaldi. Even more blurred figures of doge narcs, agile gondoliers and carnival masks. The smell of fish and dusk of a damp city. As I learned later, I had not been far from the truth, but I had not anticipated how much this city would get hold of me. Grip me and not let go.
At the Santa Lucia station, I jumped of the train, and I all I could after I stepped outside the building was moan. Without warning, the fireworks of a beautiful city exploded before me. It was eleven at night. This city was waving to me in welcome, Canal Grande seemed to shake its head in disapproval that it had taken me so long, and to my left, Ponte degli Scalzi was beckoning me to enter, everything set ready. All I had to do was to sit down on the steps and wait for my pulse to quieten down and to recover my breath.
For three days, I stayed in this city. And it was of no consequence whether I was naked or whether Venice impressed on of its deceitful masks on me. I was happy. I was in love.
I had fallen in love with the city. I neither will nor want to describe these three days. It was an intoxicating wedding night. On the San Marco square, I drunk the sea and allowed myself to be led away….