October 15, 2023
Sometimes people have strange ideas about what they want to happen to their bodies when they die. Sometimes they want their ashes scattered in very specific places.
The most peculiar of such specific places is probably Disneyland.
And that doesn't make any sense. Respect the final wishes of the departed, sure. But how do Aunt Gertrude's next of kin not realise they're poisoning the air, ruining family outings by getting rides shut down for cleaning, and potentially traumatizing small children while also risking jail time? More importantly, how the hell does Dearest Aunt Gertrude spell her deepest desires for a Disney scattering out to a notary knowing this is all that will logically come out of it? How is she even at peace with the prospect of her own ashes ending up in the vacuum cleaner of a grossed-out, underpaid employee making mental notes to seek a new job ASAP?
This has nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Jamie just thinks it's wack.
She's sitting at the round dinner table belonging to Mrs. Trovato, Gino's mother. She's the only one in their company nursing a glass of water rather than a cup of coffee. Her insistence on having water earned her an assortment of confused glances—Jamie doesn't usually miss out on coffee. But after all those energy drinks, she wouldn't risk putting any more caffeine into her system. Nothing is worth a heart attack.
Even on land, she still feels miserable. Too miserable to play much of a role in the conversation being held around her, in which Mrs. Trovato chatters happily with her visitors through her son's dutiful translations. It's kind of a shame, really, because Mrs. Trovato seems a kind woman, and her house is a profoundly interesting place.
From what Jamie remembers of Gino's tales, his mother hails from Sicily, eventually moving to Venice for love. Though now at home in the city of water, canals and carnival masks, she brought with her a very particular brand of devout folk catholicism, syncretizing a variety of different old regional traditions and personal beliefs into a whole uniquely suited to her. Her modest home oozes this.
There are plants and herbs everywhere—flourishing in the backyard under the shadow of olive trees, but also mingling with the antique furniture in the living room. A jar of basil stands uncomfortably close to a candle burning on a crucifix-adorned altar, dedicated to Jesus and Mary and a saint Jamie can't recognize at a glance.
There's a statuette of a winged lion on the mantelpiece. Clean and not time-worn, but still similar to the one she saw on Poveglia.
She would inquire about it if she had the strength to do so. On a good day, she'd have bombarded Mrs. Trovato with questions, asked her about ancient tales and rituals and the magic she knows this kind of folk religion often involves. She'd take note of every word and dive down a couple rabbit holes, maybe even request an interview—not bad for a video idea. But her parents wouldn't like it much if she did, so Jamie lingers in the background like she doesn't give a fuck, and seeing as she's still trying not to gracelessly empty the contents of her stomach, that isn't such a bad thing.
She did her best. She showed appropriate interest in Gino's little boat, made Mrs. Trovato's acquaintance with a smile, and hasn't complained about how Mom still manages to look disappointed despite it all—disappointed at what she considers to be a disrespectful and lackadaisical attitude.
(At this rate, Mom is going to end this vacation as disappointed as she was when Jamie almost got excommunicated after the Easter Vigil Incident of 2017. In fact, she may even eclipse that level of disappointment. Jamie would revel in such an achievement if it wasn't the exact opposite of what she's been working to achieve.)
She tried, at least, so she's earned a break. The moment they sat down at this table, she didn't waste a second leaning back and mentally tapping out, only moving to take a careful sip of water every once in a while. She'd soon gotten lost in a tangled web of far too many thoughts, mostly ones about Poveglia—ghosts and plague doctor's masks, graffiti and the lack of it and human-sized furnaces that were once full of ash.
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