A Summer In Europe by Marilyn Brant

Author:Marilyn Brant [Brant, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

For their final day in Venice (a Friday the thirteenth, no less, but Gwen had never been superstitious that way), they were instructed to pack up their bags right after breakfast. They could keep their luggage in the hotel baggage area, but they needed to check out of their rooms because the tour group was going on a morning glassblowing excursion to Venice’s sister island, Murano.

She was sitting next to Aunt Bea on the vaporetto as they pulled up to the workshop and could see the glassblowers sheltered inside as they approached. It was strangely picturesque. Much like her first impression of Venice on the day they arrived, Gwen had no problem sensing an immediate connection to the history of the region.

The sound of happy chitchatting in the water-bus, combined with the swish of the waves and the call of the seagulls, made for a lyrical entrance, but not necessarily a twenty-first-century one. In staring at the working glassblower and his assistants framed in the open doorway, Gwen could almost make her vision of them shift and blur in her mind, much the way kids stared at those optical-illusion cards until the images swirled and blended and emerged from their flat 2-D form into watercolory 3-D, right before their eyes. For a brief moment, with the musical tones of her surroundings and the distorted view she created, Gwen felt again as though she’d been given a motion-picture-like window into the past.

When they disembarked, she had a chance to witness the act of glassblowing itself—a perilous occupation if ever she’d seen one—but she couldn’t help but admire both their craft and their courage.

Zenia, who responded to any performance in the artistic realm with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old in the Magic Kingdom, watched with rapt attention the process of creating just one, thin, red vase, rimmed with gold. “I can’t weave the red glass into any of my projects,” Gwen overheard her whispering to Hester. “Too dangerous. But I can replicate that color. And I can add some gold ribbon to mimic the visual effect.”

“Bet that’d look beautiful,” Hester said appreciatively.

A half hour later, after they’d had a chance to inspect the gift shop and purchase Murano glass of their own (Cynthia was in raptures over the jewelry), Gwen found herself near Hester and Zenia again, this time on their way back to the vaporetto. On the dock, looking out at the canal, Gwen tried to see the collection of islands the way the people of the past must have viewed them. She spotted some gondoliers in the far distance and smiled. Her fantasy Venetians were mental mannequins, stand-ins for the humans who’d once sailed these waters. And being here, walking where they had once walked, seeing what they had once seen, made her feel as though they were a part of her. Their daring in conquering this amphibious land allowed her to stand here today. Even though they died decades or centuries ago ... in her experience, trailing their footsteps, they lived on.

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