“It’s because their whole country needs it,” Michiel said.
“True,” Chiara admitted. “I complain of Europe, but in truth Europe is just a hammer that they use to hit us with.”
“Who are ‘they’ and ‘us’？” asked Willem, who had just showed up and taken a seat next to Saskia. He knew how to smooth things over if the conversation became difficult.
“‘They’ are the rest of Italy, who don’t care about Venice, and also the local Greens. ‘Us’ means those who want Venice to still
exist fifty years from now. ‘They’ can always identify a hundred infractions in any plan we come up with, and file papers in Brussels to stop any progress, and then congratulate themselves on being so virtuous.” She put her hands together in the prayerful style of a little girl going to her First Communion.
Michiel sighed and exchanged a few words with his sister in Italian, then added, “To be perfectly honest there is also corruption.”
“You will be shocked!” Chiara added.
“I had heard that there were problems with MOSE,” Willem said sympathetically.
“To give you an idea, it was started in 1987 and the gates didn’t become functional until 2020,” Michiel said.
“By which time the whole system was obsolete!” Chiara said.
“The lord mayor can tell you similar stories about the Thames Barrier,” Willem said. “They started talking about it after the 1953 disaster. They argued about it for twenty years. They started building it in 1974. They got it working in 1982. It is already outmoded.”
Chiara shook her head and looked out the window at a phalanx of wind turbines that extended over the curve of the horizon, red lights blinking in unison. “My brother is too diplomatic,” she said. “I’ll say it. You can’t solve such problems with local barriers. The politics are too . . .” She whirled her hand in the air, exchanged a few words with Michiel, and then settled on “intractable. A planetary solution is the only way.”
“We have a unique attachment to our city,” Michiel said. “It—not Italy—is our country.” He shrugged. “Other Italians, in the high country of Romania or Tuscany, might look at the map of Italy and say, ‘Eh, the Lagoon, it is a small bit of the map. If we lose it, Italy remains and is only a little diminished—we can move all the nice art to higher ground, we can even dismantle St. Marks and the Ducal Palace and reassemble them elsewhere.’”
“Euro Disney!” Chiara cracked.
“Scottsdale, Arizona, is now home to London Bridge,” Saskia pointed out with a wink.
“Perhaps they have room for the Bridge of Sighs!” Chiara shot back.
“There are some in Venice who, sadly, agree,” Michiel said. “We are not among them. We are here to represent those Venetians for whom the Lagoon is the map. Nothing else matters. Venice is our country—our whole country—and if we lose it, we are stateless.”
“Do you see your country as part of Europe?”
“Venice has never,” said yet another new voice, “been part of Europe.”
They looked up to see a woman standing in the aisle nearby. She might have been anywhere between fifty and a well-preserved seventy. Making zero concessions to the informal Western style that had begun to pervade this train, she was in a long dark skirt, cashmere turtleneck, and blazer with a few well-thought-out pieces of jewelry including a big gold pin depicting the winged lion that was the ancient symbol of Venice. Saskia mastered a brief, ridiculous urge to duck her head around the edge of the table to check out this woman’s shoes. No doubt they would be utterly fabulous and yet tastefully understated.
While pleased to see his aunt—for this was obviously her—Michiel was caught off guard and drew breath to make some greeting. The woman cut him off. Gazing directly at Saskia with big anthracite eyes, she said, “Every time we have made the mistake of trusting Europe we have gotten fucked.” She was frank and firm but not quite scary, though Saskia could imagine a younger version of herself being quite intimidated by such a woman.
“Cornelia!” Michiel said. He turned to Saskia. “Your Majesty, may I introduce my aunt—”
“You’re referring to events that happened during the time of the Crusades,” Saskia said, somewhat amazed. It was impossible to make sense of what Cornelia had just said otherwise.
“Well, the Corsican did us no favors either, but yes, that is what I mean.” Cornelia took a step closer and extended her hand. Saskia reached out and clasped it.