Merchant of Venice

Merchant of Venice.
Rowan wandered along the walkways, and side streets in the
pedestrianised areas of Venice. The canals were never far away and the
vendors were plying their trade at every opportunity. The light strains
of the gondolier's baritone voices wafted over on the exotic food
scented air, even at noon they sang. But only in the evening did the
melodious voices mingle and intermingle as the gondoliers sang to the
lovers aboard their craft. There was a magic in Venice that could be
found nowhere else on earth.

They had been to St. Paul's square. Rowan sat lazily with a Cappuccino
at one of the wonderful pavement cafe's while Davey fed the pigeons in
the square, how he had giggled as they rested on his arms and legs.
Rowan smiled at her six-year old child, and watched over him with all
the gentleness of a dove, the sight of a hawk, and the killer instinct
of a golden eagle.

Times had been hard for them since Marty had been killed by a drunk
driver two years previously. Yes there would be an insurance settlement
to come, but so far no actual money had been offered and two years on
the mortgage still had to be paid along with all the other bills and
expenses. Rowan still had her part time job doing clerical work for a
firm of solicitors, but still every penny had to be guarded.

That's why this holiday had been so special, and now it was nearly
over, god alone knew when they would get another one. It was a sad
thought that crossed her miond often, but they had a lot to be thankful
for and she tried not to complain about their lot in life.

She and Marty had come to Venice for their honeymoon eight years ago.
This had been a bittersweet holiday, loaded with sentimental memory.
The previous evening, she had left Davey in the capable hands of the
Hotel baby-sitting service and had gone down to the Grande Canal. There
she had waited patiently refusing all offers of gondola rides; until
she had managed to ride in the same gondola, with the same gondolier,
singing the same Italian love song. He sang especially sweetly that
evening for the lady who wept silent tears for the lost love whom she
had been so happy with in his little boat. Rowan knew Marty was there
with her, she felt the pressure of his arm around her shoulders and his
fingers gently caressed the side of her neck, or was it just the
wind?

This was their last afternoon in beautiful venice. She had a few last
minute gifts to buy and they wandered aimlessly down all the little
side streets packed with souvenir shops and pavement cafe's. They would
have to get the waterbus back to the hotel soon though Davey was
beginning to tire. She had noticed that he seemed to do that rather
easily these days.

It was then that the little man stepped out from a shop doorway. He
smiled a greeting, and then bent down to Davey's level to say a few
kind words to him. "Madam won't you come into my humble little shop and
spare a few minutes to rest from the unkind heat of the day. I think I
have something you will find attractive."

For the last week she had been dragged all but forcefully, into all
manner of gift shops by eager sales people needing to feed their large
and hungry families. She rarely left without having purchased a light
up gondola, or a smiling black Madonna, some fresh flowers, or a
plastic moulding of St. Paul's
.
Yet this little man seemed different from the rather pushy and slightly
aggressive traders. He was small, no more than five foot five, slightly
stooped, and was probably aged about sixty. It was his eyes that caught
Rowans attention though. They were the warmest kindest most crinkly
eyes she had seen in a long time, but behind them there was something
else, maybe it was just fancy, but there seemed to be a great wisdom,
lurking behind those eyes, a knowledge far greater than her own. The
little man just seemed 'to know'.

She found herself being led into the shop. They left the blistering
heat of the noon day sun, and moved into the gloom of the cool interior
of the dark little sanctuary. A chair was courteously provided for her
and she sat. The little man lifted Davey up onto his mother's knee and
gave him some sweets. Rowan found herself relaxing, and feeling very
comfortable with the kind little man.

The shop she found herself to be in was not a cheap gift shop though.
It was a shop full of very expensive looking antiques. Worried now, she
hastily explained to the man that she was a tourist, and couldn't
afford to buy anything expensive. The man waved her protests away as he
reached under his counter and produced a small, but very beautiful
perfume bottle. It was about six inches tall, and crafted in
wonderfully delicate blue venetian glass. Rowan gasped at the bottle's
perfection, it was indeed very beautiful. It was hand blown, the glass
as thin as a wafer and finished in filigree goldwork. She assumed it
would be very expensive indeed, and tried to hand it back to the
man.

" Please madam, this was made for you, observe please the way the
colour of the glass, perfectly matches the colour of your eyes. It is
not expensive madam, only a few pounds, and you would make me very
happy to know that when you gazed upon it in your home in England, you
would remember a happier time you once had in Venice"

She knew instinctively that the man was not referring to THIS holiday.
How did he know, how was he so perceptive? There she was being fanciful
again, he couldn't possibly know about Marty, of course he meant this
holiday she told herself.

The bottle was lovely, and she knew just the place for it at home, a
place where she could indeed look at it as she sat over her morning
coffee, and yes it would invoke happy memories of her honeymoon in this
romantic city. She paid the very reasonable eight pounds and stood to
leave the shop.

At the door the man placed a gentle hand on her arm and held her gaze
with his. His eyes looked slightly troubled. He said two things that
were frightening and strange. As the man looked at Davey he moved his
free hand onto the little boy's head and stroked his hair softly.

"Madam, I don't mean to alarm you, but I once knew of a little boy
just like this one. He became very ill. Please madam watch your son,
and if he begins to experience headaches, waste no time in having him
examined. I beg you madam, heed my words."

The pleasant man seemed suddenly very sinister, threatening illness
upon Davey. It was almost as though having his hand on her son's head
was polluting him, she had to get away from there. And away from the
crazy little man. She began to pull lose from the shopkeeper's
hold.

"Aaaahh see what a silly old man I am, frightening you with my silly
talk. Of course madam your boy is fine" He smiled and she realised that
he was just a lonely old man. Perhaps it was his own son he talked of.
Did he bring all mothers with young boys into his shop and give them
his strange warning? She felt a great sadness for him as she left the
shop, that must be it she decided.

As she turned to leave, he stopped her once more. He really was an odd
little man. " Madam. If ever times become difficult for you, remember
the little perfume bottle. It will help you get through, what you need
to do. When times are hard little things bring relief."

She assured him that it would indeed cheer her up when she was down
and they moved off into the bustle of afternoon holiday makers. Soon
the strange little man was forgotten.

It all started on a Wednesday night six months later. She had just gone
to bed when she was awoken by Davey standing at the end of her bed, he
had tears streaming down his face. "My head hurts mummy, it hurts a
lot."

She had given him a soluble Aspirin, and had bundled him into bed next
to her, as she closed her eyes some words drifted into her
consciousness.

"Please Madam waste no time getting him examined, heed my words." She
tried to shake the sinister warning but it played again and again
inside her head.

"I must be raving mad." She thought as she drove to the hospital in the
middle of the night, with a recumbent Davey bundled in his duvet on the
back seat. It was a headache for goodness sake. Who ever heard of
anyone presenting a child at casualty for a bit of a headache, and all
on the say so of a crazy old man hundreds of miles away.

The tumour had been on the point of suffocating his brain. The
specialist said it was a most cruel form of cancer in that the growth
attached itself to the wall of the Cranium. Left undisturbed it grew
unhindered in an empty space and it was only in the very last stages
that it wrapped itself around the Cerebellum and gradually cut off the
supply of Oxygen to the brain. He said it was almost a miracle that it
had been discovered in time and that she had even suspected anything
was seriously wrong.

They operated immediately and successfully managed to remove the
carcinoma. That was only the beginning though, months of painful and
debilitating chemotherapy ensued. Rowan had to give up her job to nurse
her son, who of course missed months of school. The mortgage slipped
into arrears, and bills went unpaid. Rowan didn't have the energy to
worry about those, all she cared about was getting Davey through this
and well again, She had lost Martin, she couldn't bear to loose her
little boy too.

Davey had just fallen into an exhausted sleep, his little body wracked
and ravaged by the poison of the Chemo. The poison that was saving his
life. The poison that they hated so much, and yet were so grateful too.
Rowan had to get a cup of coffee it had been a tough few hours, as they
watched the drip slowly emptying it's potion of pain into the little
boys swollen vein. She stood at the coffee machine, and brushed her
hand over her tousled hair. She smoothed down her crumpled skirt and
she felt a mess. Exhaustion had numbed all her emotion and she wondered
if she would ever find anything funny again, if anything would ever
make her smile again. At that moment all she wanted to do was find
comfort in the escape of sleep.

She turned from the machine and almost collided with a man heading for
the hospital exit.

"Oh I'm so sorry" she said as she bent to help him pick up his dropped
papers. Coffee had spilled on them and she did her best to wipe them
clean with a tissue. "Please forgive me, I'm afraid I wasn't looking
where I was going, my little boy is sick, and I wanted to get back to
him."

"Oh that's all right hen," said the man with the lilting Scottish
accent. "Just remember when times are hard it's the little things that
bring relief. Good day to you." He bustled off and she heard the
automatic doors slide shut behind him".

What an odd little man she thought. There had been something so
familiar about him. Something she should remember, it was right at the
front of her memory. If she could just push it forward.. Where had she
seen that man before? It hit her like a bolt out of the blue. The
Italian accent had been replaced with a Scottish one, and the rather
shabby suit of the antique salesman had been replaced by the crisp suit
of the Scottish whatever he was, but it was him. The man who had saved
her sons life. She ran through the doors and out into the hospital
grounds where she looked along the long stretch of pavement to the left
and right but he was gone. The man had completely vanished.

At Sotheby's the little bottle brought nearly Eighteen thousand pounds.
The little man had been right, little things do bring relief. It wasn't
a patch on watching Davey tuck into his fist pizza and chips with
gusto, but it paid off all the bills, and some of the mortgage, and
even paid for a little pilgrimage, back to Venice.

She spent a week looking up and down every street in the city. She
re-trod old ground again and again but the shop and the funny little
man were nowhere to be found.
She wasn't unhappy though. She knew that the little man was aware of
her eternal gratitude to him, and that whoever and wherever he was, he
was smiling at a job well done. He would be applying his special kind
of magic to someone else very much in need of a little something for
when times are hard she was sure.