Читать книгу Are We There Yet? - Дэвид Левитан, David Levithan, Рэйчел Кон - Страница 31

NAPS AND DINNER. NAPS AND DINNER. IT SEEMS TO ELIJAH THAT every family vacation revolves around naps and dinner. This vacation does not appear to be an exception. As soon as Danny has unpacked, he kicks off his shoes and tears off the bedspread, thrusting it aside in a vanquished heap. They have just arrived – they have just been sitting for countless hours – and still Danny feels the need to lie down and close his eyes. Elijah is mystified. Danny’s behaviour is perfectly predictable, and perfectly beyond understanding.

“I’m going for a walk,” Elijah says.

“Be back for dinner.” Danny nods for emphasis, then nods off.

Because the sky is grey and the time zones are shifty, Elijah finds it hard to gauge the hour. He never wears a watch (his own rebellion against time, against watching). He must rely on the concierge to supply him with a frame of reference. It is four in the afternoon. Two hours until dinner.

Upon leaving the Gritti, Elijah is presented with one of the most exquisite things about Venice – there is no obvious way to go. Although St Mark’s Square pulses in the background, and the canals hold notions in sway, there is no grand promenade to lead Elijah forward. There is no ready stream of pedestrians to subsume him into its mass. Instead, he is presented with corners – genuine corners, at which each direction makes the same amount of sense.

Elijah walks left and then right. And then left and then right. He is amazed by the narrowness of the streets. He is amazed by the footbridges and the curving of paths. He sees people from his flight and nods hello. They smile in return. They are still caught in the welcomeness rapture; they’ve deposited their baggage, and now they wander.

We are like freshmen, Elijah thinks. The incoming class of tourists. The upperclassmen look at them knowingly, remembering that initial rush, when every moment seems picture-perfect and the tiredness distorts the hours into something approaching surreality.

Elijah feels giddiness and delight – although he is now in Venice, he is still high on the anticipation of Venice. The trip has not settled yet. It hasn’t officially begun. Instead, Elijah is staking out the territory – sometimes circling the same block three times from different directions – somehow missing the major squares and the more famous statues. Instead, he finds a small shop that sells shelves of miniature books. The shopkeeper comes over and shows Elijah a magazine the size of a postage stamp. Elijah wants to buy it for Cal, but he’s forgotten to bring money. He wants to come back tomorrow, but doesn’t know if he will ever be able to find the store again. He could ask for the address, but he doesn’t want to travel in such a way. He wants encounters instead of plans – the magic of appearance rather than the architecture of destination.

Seconds pass with every door. Minutes pass with every street. Elijah never realises that he’s lost, so he has no trouble finding his way back. Three hours have gone by, but he doesn’t know this. Night has fallen, but that seems only a matter of light and air. When Elijah returns to the hotel, he doesn’t ask the concierge for the time. Instead, he asks for a postcard. He draws a smile on the back and sends it to Cal. He cannot describe the afternoon any other way. He knows she’ll understand.