Authors: Debbie Rix
M
aria and Daniele
knocked on the old oak door of the hospital. After a few minutes, they heard a rasping, rattling cough, as a woman – grey-haired and dishevelled, in filthy clothes – opened the door.
She took in the two well-dressed young people standing on the doorstep. Both were tall and attractive; neither showing any signs of illness. The girl wore a long dark blue gown over a linen
camicetta
. Her dark hair was covered by a turban of rich dark red silk and, over it all, a dark cloak of the finest wool cloth. The boy, a head taller than his sister, also fashionably turbaned, was wearing dark red hose, with a sage green
coppia
held in place with a narrow leather belt.
‘Well, you’re a fine sight,’ said the woman, looking the young people up and down.
Maria and Daniele glanced nervously at one another.
‘You’d better come with me,’ was all she said, before leading them up two flights of stone stairs to the top of the house. Judging by her appearance, she was neither a nurse, nor a nun; she was simply a serving woman who had survived more by luck than judgement, and now appeared to be in sole control of over two hundred sick and dying patients.
As the old woman opened the door to the ward, Daniele gasped. Rows of beds stretched away from them, with two or three patients to a bed. The bed linen was filthy; the patients’ clothing in tatters. The stench of humanity was overwhelming, in spite of the fact that several of the high, barred windows had been opened. The bedlam on the ward was so at odds with the glorious sunny day outside that Maria could hardly take in what she was seeing.
‘These people are in a terrible state,’ she said sharply to the woman.
‘So they are, and what did you expect?’
‘And where are we to sleep?’ Maria asked incredulously.
‘There’s a bed there – in the middle. It’s just been emptied,’ said the woman.
‘Emptied?’ said Maria.
‘They were taken away an hour or more back.’
Maria cast an anxious glance at Daniele. ‘And you expect us to sleep in that bed, in those sheets, where people have just died?’
‘It’s there, or the floor,’ said the woman.
Maria took a coin out of her pocket and showed it to the woman. ‘There is more where that came from if you find us a bed next to the wall and remove all the sheets. I have brought our own bed linen and will change it myself.’
The woman eyed the coin and snatched it from Maria’s hand before marching into the ward. She dragged the bed down to the far end, and tore the soiled linen off it, throwing it onto the floor.
‘There… Happy now?’ she asked.
Maria and Daniele walked down the centre of the ward. As they passed each bed, bony hands reached out to them begging for help.
‘I am cold… Help me?’ asked one.
‘Water… Please…’ pleaded another.
A young man clutched at his stomach before vomiting violently. He tried to lean over the edge of the bed, but the putrid mess spewed over the sheet and onto his flimsy nightshirt. He sank back onto the soiled mattress, apparently unaware of the filth in which he was now lying.
The patients were in various states of sickness. Most appeared to be suffering from the bubonic form of the disease; the skin on their necks, armpits or groins erupted with vast boils the size of eggs; boils that appeared to be black but were actually due to bleeding beneath the skin. In spite of herself, Maria was revolted at the sight of these poor unfortunate people.
At their allotted bed, Maria took out the sheets that Alfreda and Bella had thoughtfully packed for them. She made up the bed, fighting back tears, desperately trying to remain in control for Daniele, who stood, his back to the wall, staring in horror at the people with whom they would spend the following forty days.
‘Daniele,’ she said to him, ‘look out of the window. You can see the sky from our bed. The clouds are beautiful today. Look… See?’
But he could not hear her. He stood quite transfixed, unable to move.
The bed made up, she guided him to sit on the edge, facing the wall.
‘Look Daniele. . . at the sky. . . out there. That is what you must concentrate on. Would you like something to eat? Alfreda has packed some delicious cheese and bread.’
He shook his head.
The serving woman returned to the ward with a bowl of water and began, ineffectually, to mop up the vomit on the floor. She muttered as she worked. The young man who had been sick raised his head from his soiled pillow and begged her for water to drink.
‘I have water, but it’s not for drinking, you filthy devil. Look at this mess you’ve made.’
Daniele, overhearing this exchange, rose indignantly to his feet. ‘Get that boy some water,’ he demanded. ‘He is sick, he cannot help it.’
The woman looked at Daniele with such hatred that he physically recoiled. He sat back down on the bed next to his sister. But he found his courage again. ‘Where is the water?’ he demanded. ‘I shall bring him some.’
Maria clutched at his arm: ‘Daniele, no!’
‘I cannot sit here and watch this,’ he said.
He strode decisively between the row of beds and down the stairs. On the floor below, he passed two other wards, one on either side of the staircase, each containing as many sick and dying people as the ward above – all of them begging for help, crying, vomiting. He ran down the stairs two at a time now, and rushed over to the front door, yanking it open. He inhaled the clean, salty air that blew in off the lagoon, breathing in deeply.
Returning to the house, he found what passed for a kitchen: a dingy space at the back with a large fire in the grate – long since extinguished. There was a well in one corner with a pump. He took a wooden bowl from a shelf and pumped the water out of the well, filling the bowl. He grabbed two small ceramic cups and returned to the ward, where he ladled water into the mouths of the thirsty patients.
Maria, overwhelmed by his generosity of spirit and bravery, rushed across to him and quickly tore the turban off his head and wrapped it around his mouth. She did the same with her own turban, freeing a length long enough to tie around her face; she also took a cup and went round the ward, helping the patients to drink.
Returning to the kitchen, the pair searched for provisions. There was a crust of bread on the table, blue with mould. A pot of what might have once been gruel lay solidifying near the fire. In a cupboard near the fireplace, Maria found a sack of rice and another of barley. There were a few onions, but little more.
Daniele went outside into the garden and found some pieces of wood to light the fire. An old man appeared as he gathered the wood into his arms.
‘What are you doing there?’ he demanded of the young man.
‘Gathering wood of course – to light a fire,’ Daniele said defiantly. The man was frail, older even than his own father. He was bent over with arthritis. He was no threat to the tall healthy boy who stood boldly before him. ‘What is your job here?’ he asked the old man.
‘I bury them,’ said the old man darkly. ‘Over there, behind the hedge, in the pit.’
Daniele swallowed hard and turned his back on the man.
The old serving woman returned to the kitchen and stared at the two young people, as Maria pumped water from the well and attempted to clean the kitchen whilst Daniele laid wood in the fireplace.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded the woman indignantly.
‘I am trying to cook some food for those poor people up there,’ replied Maria.
The woman stared at the pair suspiciously. ‘Why are you here? You don’t look sick.’
‘There has been a mistake,’ answered Maria. ‘Now pump that well and fill that bowl with water. And light that fire. We need to get some hot water and cook some food for the patients who are well enough to eat.’
The woman shrugged her shoulders and did as she was told, apparently grateful to be relieved of the responsibility of caring for two hundred sick people.
While Maria cleaned the kitchen and cooked up some of the rice with a little of the onion, Daniele went from bed to bed offering water and comfort where he could. He found that he was quite unafraid. He clung to the belief that the turban wrapped round his mouth would protect him. It had protected his father and it would do the same for him.
Once the patients had all been offered water and food, Maria suggested to the serving woman that they begin to wash the linen. ‘If a patient dies, their sheets should be removed and boiled up over the fire, ready for a new patient.’
The old woman looked doubtful, but did as she was told. As sheets hung on a line to dry, Maria and Daniele went outside into the garden and sat on the edge of the jetty looking longingly out to sea. As they removed their masks and allowed the sunshine to warm their faces, they could see distant fishing boats, even the occasional galleon sailing towards Malamocco.
‘Why can’t we just leave here?’ said Daniele. ‘Perhaps we could attract attention somehow, and get one of those boats to come and rescue us.’
‘
Cara
, they all know this is the plague island. Who would come to help us? No, we are here until the boatman comes and take us to the Lazzaretto Nuovo. We must resign ourselves to that and just endure it. But Daniele, I am proud of you for standing up to that horrible old woman. You were right. If we must be here, then at least we can try to help. But we must be vigilant, and keep our faces covered at all times in there. Do you promise me?’
Later that night, their work finished, they returned to their ward and lay down exhausted on their bed.
Daniele was asleep within seconds. Maria lay gazing at the moon, dreaming of Peter, and of their home on the Rio dei Greci. She was startled from her thoughts by the appearance of an old woman patient who had been in the bed near the door and asleep when they arrived. She shuffled towards Maria.
‘What do you want?’ she asked the old woman, grabbing her mask and pulling it up over her face. She tried to pull Daniele’s mask over his face too, but he moaned in his sleep and turned away from her towards the wall.
‘We are trying to sleep. Please leave us alone.’
The woman didn’t move. ‘How did you come to be here?’ she asked. ‘There’s nothing wrong with either of you. You must have made some terrible enemies.’
‘There has been a mistake,’ said Maria. ‘But I’m sure it will be rectified and with luck we will be leaving soon.’
‘Ha! Don’t bank on it,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve been here forty days. I had the pestilence, but it’s gone now and I’m off to the
Nuovo
tomorrow. But there’s many who don’t manage it. I’ve seen over a hundred people die while I’ve been here.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Maria.
‘Do you know what they do with them?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Maria.
‘When they die?’
Maria shook her head.
‘They throw them in a pit – out there in the garden – there’s no burial for ’em. No priest comes near. Hell and damnation, that’s all they can hope for.’
‘I’m sure you must be mistaken,’ said Maria.
‘I’ll show you if you like? Before I leave tomorrow – if you don’t believe me.’
‘No,’ said Maria. ‘Thank you. Now please, leave us, we need to get some sleep.’
‘You’ve got some nice clothes,’ said the woman, eyeing Maria’s bags that lay at the end of the bed.
‘We really don’t have much with us,’ said Maria, pulling the bags closer to her. ‘Just some spare underclothes.’
‘Hmm,’ said the woman as she shuffled back to her bed.
Unable to sleep, Maria lay with her hand clutching at their belongings. She had no real interest in whether the woman stole her clothes, or even some of their food. But she was in terror of someone stealing the vase. It was their talisman, their only protection. If they lost the vase, they themselves would be lost.
Earlier that morning, Maria had discovered that there was a loose stone in the wall near their bed. She had pulled it aside quietly and found a void behind. Maria waited until the old woman had finally fallen asleep and was snoring loudly, her dress pulled up over her naked body. She then began to chip as quietly as possible at the wall. She removed a second stone, and then a third. At last, she had a space large enough in which to hide the vase. She took it out of the bag, still wrapped in her father’s blanket. She held the blanket to her face and inhaled the heady scent of wool mixed with leather from his chair. She placed the blanket back in the bag and then pushed the vase into the void. She put the little bag of money she had taken from her father’s desk in there too before carefully replacing the stones. They were not quite as flush with the wall as they had been, which worried her. Someone might be clever enough to work out that they had been moved. She took an old wooden chair that sat in the corner of the ward and silently moved it in front of the hiding place.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
She woke in the night and was instantly alert. Perhaps it was the light of the full moon gleaming brightly through the high barred window, or the scuffling sound as the old woman from the far end of the ward crouched beneath their bed, rummaging amongst their belongings.
‘What are you doing there?’ demanded Maria.
The woman leapt back, clutching a piece of cheese in her grubby fist, stolen from Alfreda’s picnic. ‘I’m hungry,’ the woman whined. ‘I’ve not eaten for days, and you’ve got all that food.’
‘Take it and go,’ said Maria. ‘But do not think you can steal from us again. I shall be watching you.’
The woman took her prize and retreated to her bed, where she stowed it at the foot beneath her foul sheet.
Her heart pounding, Maria lay watchful and wide awake for the rest of the night. She was grateful that she had hidden the vase, but fearful that the woman may have seen her. Slowly, as the moon descended, the few birds that survived on Poveglia began their morning chorus. A blackbird took up its position on a tall chestnut tree just outside her window. He broke into a song – so beautiful, so full of longing, that Maria lay for a few moments, her eyes closed, imagining herself in Peter’s arms, as her father smiled down upon them.