STALKER

Chapter 110 - 11th June.

I have been gone for three days. Not that anyone would know unless I told them. Which I don't plan on doing.  If they were watching this space all they would see is I've changed clothes in a blink, like a magician's stage trick. I've had to come back wearing some of Giacomo's clothes due to a stupid impulse that overtook me earlier in the day. The heavy musk fragrance that he wears lingers on his clothes, as familiar as Alvise much more delicate scent. I've returned to hear Weirdo continuing his rant and him slamming something down in the garage. Ben's voice starts to comfort him. The little shit is bad-mouthing me.

"I am back for your informATION!!!!" I yelled to whoever wanted to know. Unpacking the backpack I can smell Venice in the damp clothes. The messy pile reminds me that my emotions far too often land me in unfortunate situations. There's a crack in my Batau mask, I'll need to replace it. I am sick of regretting my actions. I'm starting to think following my impulses will be the death of me.

Wrapped inside the clothes I've brought back a bottle of brandy and a bottle of English gin, that I am told will make me see God. Both are gifts from the malevolent looking Mr.Sweep. I chuckle to myself when I picture his long horsey face. The man is the perfect example of how a person's outward appearance can be diametrical opposite from his personality.

The business side of my jump went well. Two full days were spent wording the Guardianship Contract and Title Deeds perfectly, to fit the laws of the time both in the Serene Republic of Venice and also in England where the documents will end up after Venice falls to Napoleon and it loses it's autonomy. Then into the future hopefully. Alvise, I could see wanted to question me about the elaborate and unusual clauses in the documents but he remained politely silent. Mr. Sweep was all business. I think he enjoyed the challenge of creating iron clad documents which could not be misinterpreted or diluted, which could be passed down from one generation after another intact.

The gold bars were deposited safely in the Banco del Giro. I have another 50 odd years before I need to move my fortune to England. More about my business deals later, it is complicated and will take time to explain in detail.

Apart from the business affairs and seeing my friend Alvise, I was curious to meet Mr. Sweep from Hoopers &  Schoones,  a firm of Solicitors from Kent. Having done my research, I had a very specific image of him in my head, at first sight he was an absolute disappointment. But as they say you can't trust first impressions. It only took a short time to realise that behind the tiny dark eyes set in a long sallow face, there was a sharp mind and a wicked sense of humour. I needed someone that could think outside the box and see the big picture, Mr. Sweep was the man for the job. Alvise as usual had produced the man as I had asked. Making contacted with the firm of solicitors and transporting him from the rural peace of Kent to the luminous city of Venice with the promise of a years salary and more importantly to Mr. Sweep, adventure.

When I left, the paper work was being written up. Alvise would scrutinize them and present me with the  final drafts for my approval. After that the documents would go through the process of being approved by the Grand Council.  Mr. Sweep's firm would then register them in England as well. They will remain in the firms keeping indefinitely. I came to Venice to buy a teapot but my dream has grown into something much bigger, far more costly and far reaching.

In the evenings Alvise was the perfect host and kept his promise to Mr. Sweep taking him to all the best and worst places in Venice. Mr. Sweep got his adventure. But when Alvise returned to San Gabrielle in the early hours I was waiting for him and we talked quietly about everything and anything over a bottle of champagne. It's the only time I see Alvise with a real smile on his face.

He can talk calmly about his problems with the Grand Council and "the irkesome" issue as he calls it, of his marriage and the wife his parents have chosen for him.  These subjects and the anxiety they cause him normally bring on a visit from a screeching Gizelle who would throw anything she got her hands on at Giacomo...or me or threaten to drown herself in the grand canal.

Alvise doesn't hide his sadness during those still hours we spend together. He lets me see how lonely he is, how much he misses Vittorio. Sometimes we share a joint, it helps with his breathing which becomes laboured at the end of the day since his bout of scarlet fever.   I leave a few joints with Giacomo for when he needs pain relief.  Thank goodness for modern antibiotics he may not have survived it without them. Alvise was already a mess because he thought Vittorio abandoned him and then the fever struck him an he was bedridden for months.

Back to reality, talking about modern things, a coffee is needed. I could still hear Ben nattering away in the garage, something to do with harpooning whales.   If only Weirdo knew half the stuff Ben talked about while he worked. I dumped my smelly, sea soaked clothes in the laundry sink and turned on the kettle.  I lit up a cigarette and took in such a deep breath as I waited for it to boil.  It was nice to be home.

Weirdo and Ben  walked in as I poured the hot water into the plunger.   I gave them a look, they gave me a look.   

"Ok, what look are you going for now?"  Weirdo stood arms folded and frowning.  The outfit wasn't that bad, he was exaggerating.  It was deep burgundy velvet breeches and long coat with a white ruffle and  black boots.    I realise that I have been in Venice to long when this sort of outfit seems normal to me.

Ben was sniffing around me.   "You smell like...like..."  His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was trying to remember something.  "Like when I was alive."  Ben was almost quivering.  It made sense musk perfumes have been around forever, it would have been a common fragrance in his time.

"Stop that."  I slapped him away.  Ben looked at me and pouted, he was almost purring like a cat high on catnip.

"What's he doing?"  Weirdo asked as he came over to me and taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself a coffee.

"Sniffing me.  He likes the scent on the clothes."  Now they were both standing close, Weirdo leaned in as well.  "What is it with you two?"  

"You smell like church."  Weirdo added.

"That's incense,  I smell like musk. I'm going to have a shower.  I haven't had a decent wash in days."

"Days?"  Oops....probably shouldn't have said that.  Weirdo sudden looks more annoyed. "How long were you away?" 

"Three days."  I left the room quickly and headed upstairs to have a shower.  

"You have been gone for THREE  DAYS!!!!"  Weirdo didn't sound impressed.  I reached the bathroom and locked the door just before he caught up with me.

.......

I filled the metal garbage bin with the shirts, underwear, jeans, socks, pencils and note books I bought and sprinkled a little of the sawdust and wood shavings from the plank I took from Ben's tea chest over the top.  I set aside a pile of books and graphic novels to add later.  Then I took it out into the garden, at sunset I would set it alight and say the Prayer for the Dead as it turns to ashes.  If the ritual works they will reach Ben by sunrise.  I have recently found out that you can take it with you when you go...with a little effort.  We have to see if it works. 

 In the meantime I need to hand over this journal to Weirdo plus all the other things I have collected along the way that I haven't sold and let him go through it all.  There will be no more secrets.  He will know every last thought I have had for the last year.

.....

I am writing this as I sit opposite Weirdo.  I've put the bottle of French brandy I bought back with me in front of him and a shot glass.  I think he will need it to steady his nerves, if not his temper.  We are sitting at the dining room table.  He has his cold face on, which means he's annoyed with me.  He also looks curious.  I can see his brain is ticking over trying to make sense of the things I laid out in front of him.   Some clearly can only be described as treasures, while others need a closer look to see their value.  There are several large art folders containing A3 and A2 size photographs detailing my jumps, dated with destination names etc.  A complete record of everywhere I have been and why.   All of it  cross indexed with my journal...this is the perfect example of my obsession with detail.  

 "This is my entire life since the 12th of May last years."