Chapter 13

D ear Diary, Luisa's party was everything I had hoped for, and more. Can you believe that she had live snakes intertwined in her hair? I have no idea how she stopped them just slithering away. The food, the music, the costumes, the romance of it all! What a wonderful evening it was. I am a little disappointed that I did not get a chance for the rendezvous that Alessandro promised. Or perhaps I am relieved? Why does the man leave me so confused whenever I am in his company?

Rat behaved quite oddly for much of the night. In fact, he's been behaving oddly ever since we left London. Perhaps the most surprising thing he did all evening was to raise the topic of Senor Graziano's death with me! I had been wracking my brain to come up with a way to persuade him to accompany me to the Ghetto, and then, in the end, he was the one who brought it up.

As we watched the sun rise over the Grand Canal in the gondola on the way back to Lady Bainbridge's palazzo, he asked me to tell him everything I knew about Antonio Graziano and to go back over my observations around his murder. I ended by saying that I thought it important to go to the Ghetto and talk to his son, if possible. Rather than focusing on the fact that I was involving myself further in the murder investigation, Rat was quite distracted and said that going to the Ghetto was a good idea and that he would accompany me. As much as that was the outcome I was hoping to achieve, I do wonder what on earth has got into my brother.

Despite the party having carried on until the wee hours, Rat still had a hard time falling asleep. While he was concerned about what he had overheard, he was also excited at having stumbled across two of Britain's enemies discussing their nefarious scheme, whatever it was. Perhaps he also felt guilty at having dragged Melody into the investigation. He hadn't intended to, of course, but she had been the one to find Antonio Graziano's body and to talk with the police. And, while he would never admit it out loud, his sister had made some interesting observations and deductions about the scene of the crime.

If he were truly honest with himself, Rat welcomed Melody's help asking questions in the Jewish Ghetto. Melody was a genial, likeable person who made friends easily. People opened up to her in a way that always amazed Rat, who found casual interactions far more difficult.

After their very late night into early morning, neither Rat nor Melody stirred from their beds until long past the time when Lady Bainbridge had eaten and then retired for her post-luncheon nap. After eating a light repast, they left word with Rossi and asked Giovanni to take them to the Ghetto. The ride was almost the mirror of their first gondola ride from the station, except that, at some point, the gondolier branched off to a smaller canal. Finally, pulling up at the side of a fondamenta, he pointed to a low, old, wooden door frame that, rather than being the entryway to a building, seemed to lead down a calle.

Giovanni pointed towards the wooden entrance, "This is the Sotoportego Ghetto, which will lead you into the Ghetto Vecchio." Noticing Melody's interest in the entrance, he explained, "This was one of the gates that was closed at night to keep il Ebrei in." Seeing Melody's horror at his words, Giovanni hastened to add, "Non adesso. No more. Back, long time ago back."

Remembering a book he had read on Venetian history before their trip, Rat added, "I believe that the practice ended in 1797 when Napoleon conquered Venice. At that point, the gates were torn down, and the Jews were no longer locked in from sunset to sunrise." He added, "The city then quickly fell under Austrian control, and many of the restrictions that Napoleon lifted were reinstated. However, the insistence that they live in the Ghetto was not. Even so, most Jews continued to live here and, I believe, still do."

"Sì, sì," Giovanni agreed. "Il Ebrei, they live here."

Melody and Rat disembarked from the gondola and made their way through the Sotoportego Ghetto into a narrow calle, immediately passing a bakery with a Hebrew star prominently placed in its window.

There were delicious smells emanating from the shop and Melody's grumbling stomach was a reminder of what a light meal she had eaten earlier. "Let us go in here and purchase a pastry," Melody suggested.

"Is this really the time to worry about your stomach?" Rat snapped.

In a quieter voice, Melody reminded him, "We do not know where we are going. Perhaps spending some coin will encourage locals to help us."

Rat realised the wisdom of his sister's words and nodded. They entered the bakery and were welcomed by a cheerful, motherly-looking woman wearing a simple, functional dress with an apron over it and with her hair tucked under a headscarf.

"Ciao," she said in a friendly tone.

"Ciao," Melody replied while inspecting the wide range of delicious-looking offerings. As she said that, a man dressed as she imagined a baker would be entered from the back of the shop with a basket of what looked and smelled like doughnuts.

Seeing Melody's interest, the woman pointed to the doughnuts and asked in English, "This?"

Melody nodded enthusiastically, "Sì, sì. Grazie."

The woman took a piece of brown paper, expertly wrapped it into a cone, and then placed several pastries into it.

As Rat paid, Melody eagerly took a bite of one of the still-warm doughnuts. It was as delicious as she'd hoped it would be: lemon-scented and covered in warm, sticky honey syrup. The woman appreciatively watched Melody's enjoyment.

"Excuse me, madam, but do you know an Antonio Graziano?" Rat inquired.

They had clearly pushed beyond the limits of the woman's English, and she shook her head in confusion. Turning, she went through the door that the baker had come out of with the doughnuts, returning just a few moments later with a young man in tow.

Melody and Rat had been about to leave the shop when she returned, and the young man said, "Please, do not go. Mama said you asked her something, but she does not understand. Me, I speak the English gooder."

Turning back with relief, Rat repeated his question. The young man nodded his head sadly and replied, "We knew Signor Graziano, but he is no more."

"Yes, we heard of his death." Rat paused, "In fact, my sister here was the one who discovered his body while shopping for books."

Rat hoped that this explanation might suffice as an explanation for why they were asking after the man. The young man continued, "So sad. He was a true mensch, Signor Graziano."

Melody had heard Tuchinksy's grandmother, Bubbe, use the word mensch when talking about Wolfie. She nodded, "I did not know him well, but my slight interaction with him made clear that he was an honest and decent man."

"Sì, Signor Graziano, Zikhrono Livrakha, may his memory be a blessing, taught many of the Ashkenazi Jews in the Ghetto in cheder over the years."

There were so many words in that sentence that Melody and Rat didn't understand that they were both grateful when the young man explained, "Cheder is a Hebrew school for bambini."

"And Ashkenazi Jews?" Rat asked.

"Ashkenazi Jews came here from Poland, Germany, Russia and other countries to the north. The rest of us, those who fled the Inquisition, or other mamzer throughout southern Europe and North Africa who hate Jews, are Sephardim. We have our scuola. They have, as they say, their shuls." The young man then added, " Signor Graziano's levaya, his funeral, is now in the Scuola Grande Tedesca in the Ghetto Nova."

Not that either Melody or Rat would have thought to ask the question, but the young man said, hoping to be helpful, "He would have been buried yesterday; Jews, we bury immediately. But it was shabbat."

Raising a question that hadn't occurred to her until that moment, Melody asked, "Where are people buried in Venice?" Clearly, they couldn't be buried in the watery city itself.

"Jews are buried on the island of Lido. When the levaya is over, the body will be taken out there by boat. Then, the family they return to sit shivah for seven days and nights."

None of this sounded conducive to questioning the family, but Melody did wonder whether they might still glean some information from this helpful young man. "I understand that Signor Graziano had one son still in Venice. I supposed that his other son, in Austria, was not able to return in time for the funeral."

"No, no. Avraham, or as he likes to be called now, Abe, was back in Venice anyway. So, that, at least, was a good thing. I know that it'll be a comfort to his brother, Moische, to have him home." In a lower voice, as if sharing a rather salacious bit of gossip, he said, "Moische is not able to handle things well. He is a grown man who still lived with his papa. A bit of a schlemiel." Melody didn't know what the word meant, but it didn't sound like a compliment.

"I heard that he is an artist," Melody said casually, hoping to keep the gossip coming.

The young man laughed and raised his eyebrows, "Artist. Sì, that is what he says. What kind of work is that for a grown man? If you want to paint, paint the outside of a house. Paint a boat, not a picture of a boat."

Melody couldn't help but argue, "Some of the great artists of all time were Italian men. What about Michelangelo?"

"Uffa! Moische Graziano is no Michelangelo."

Melody considered the distance between the bookshop and the Ghetto and couldn't imagine the elderly, rather frail man who she had met walking it twice a day. "Signor Graziano lived in the Ghetto?" she asked.

"Tipo. When Signora Graziano was alive, they all lived in a house just off Campo di Ghetto Nuovo. But for the last few years, the signor has mostly lived in a little flat above the shop and has left Moische here, ‘painting'."

Well, that was interesting, Melody thought. They would have to find a way to get in and search the flat. She caught Rat's eye, and it was evident he'd had the same thought.

The older baker came into the shop and yelled something at the younger man that Melody loosely mentally translated as, "Get back to work." They thanked the young man for his help and left the shop.

"What do we do next?" Melody asked.

"Well, it seems that we will not get to talk to either son for the next week. Though..." and he paused.

"You wonder how much of a coincidence it is that his son happened to be home from Austria?" Melody finished his sentence.

"Exactly!" For the first time, Rat wished that he could confide in his sister that his role in Venice was to do far more than merely be her chaperone. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something about what he had overheard at the party between Herr Peetz and Conte Foscari. However, he couldn't think how to explain why he was eavesdropping on them without explaining his role in the Secret Service Bureau. He knew that, even after being part of British Intelligence for more than forty years, there were very few people who had any inkling of Lord Langley's secret career. Tabitha, Wolf and the dowager knew, but that was only because of an unfortunate incident many years ago that Lord Langley was unwilling to expound on. What kind of operative would Rat be if he couldn't even keep his secret for two weeks?

They decided to wander further into the Ghetto; having come all the way there, it seemed foolish to go no further than one shop on the first street. The Ghetto was lively. Everywhere, people were shopping, children were playing, and women were hanging out their washing from their windows, merrily calling out to each other between houses. In many ways, the area did not seem much different than the rest of Venice; the architecture was the same, the narrow calles and endless bridges over canals. Yet, when they looked closely, they saw Hebrew lettering on buildings and the Jewish star on shops, and much of what the women were calling to each other didn't sound like Italian.

Melody and Rat wandered until they entered a large, open area. Reading the sign on a wall, Rat realised that they had made their way to Campo di Ghetto Nuovo. Looking around the campo, he thought there were a few buildings that looked as if they might be synagogues, each with rather distinctive arched windows and Hebrew writing on the buildings.

Just as he wondered which was the synagogue that Signor Graziano's funeral was taking place in, he saw a crowd of sombrely dressed people exiting from a mustard-yellow building over in one corner. Out of the crowd, six men emerged carrying a plain pine coffin. Melody hadn't been to many funerals, but whenever she had seen coffins, they'd been incredibly ornate and meant to demonstrate the wealth and status of the deceased. This coffin seemed more suited to a pauper.

Bringing up the rear of the coffin, Melody saw two men, probably in their late thirties or early forties, both of whom had noticeable tears in their garments. As the coffin bearers made their way out of the campo, people approached the two men and seemed to be paying their condolences.

"Let us get a little closer," Melody suggested. "I believe that those two men with the torn clothes are the family. Why would they go to their father's funeral in ripped jackets?"

It seemed that their conversation had been overheard by a nearby old woman, who explained, "Before the levaya, the family tears their clothes to symbolise grief."

Grateful to have found someone else who spoke fluent English, Melody asked innocently, hoping that the old woman would overlook her previous words, "Whose funeral is it?"

"The gonif's funeral. Yimakh shemo, may his name be erased from memory." The old woman said these words with such venom. Melody couldn't reconcile this with the kindly old man she had met.

"What is a gonif?" she asked.

"What you British call a thief."

"Signor Graziano was a thief?" Melody asked in amazement. Was this little old woman just insane?

"Ha! If you only knew what I do," the old woman said with a cackle as she walked away from them.

This was indeed a different view of the deceased than others had expressed. Melody and Rat exchanged looks; were these merely the worlds of a crazy old woman, or had a whole new line of investigation just opened up?