51
The next afternoon at two o’clock Urbino boarded the motonave for the Lido near the Doge’s Palace. Sun and a pale blue sky had succeeded yesterday’s fog and damp.
The boat was crowded with people taking advantage of the fair weather for an outing to the Lido. Gentle waves rocked the buoys and rippled the blue-green waters of the lagoon, scattered with vaporetti, delivery boats, and pleasure craft.
The curve of the Riva degli Schiavoni with its broad pavement, balconied buildings, little bridges, and moored boats and ships slid past. They were soon passing the Naval Museum, with its memories of the day the Contessa had provided the epithet that Urbino kept returning to: the thief of San Polo.
Farther along spread the area that was being prepared for the art exposition. Urbino would soon be swept up with Habib in the parties, photographic shoots, and stream of friends and family coming through Venice. Was it too much to expect that by the time of the opening in June he would be in possession of the poems, if they existed, and that his mysterious business with Possle would be at an end?
As the boat swung away from the tail of Venice, the small monastery island of San Lazzaro degli Armeni, with its cypresses and onion shaped cupola, became visible.
A warm sea breeze was blowing down the main street of the narrow strip of land when Urbino disembarked on the Lido. Some of the passengers who had come over on the boat were renting bicycles from the shop near the landing. One couple was already pedaling away in a tandem in the direction of the open sea.
Urbino went into a bar and, under the influence of the large sign that dominated the boat landing, ordered a Campari. As he drank the bitter red liquid, he asked the bartender for directions to Lino Cipri’s apartment on the assumption that the dapper painter was known in the neighborhood. He was. The bartender named a street a short distance away.
Urbino strolled in the sunshine down the broad avenue toward the sea past the shops, restaurants, hotels, and villas.
Despite his love for Venice, Urbino was sometimes glad to escape it for a few hours on the Lido, although never in the height of summer. At this time of the year, even on a Sunday like today, with more visitors than usual, it was a pleasant change from the claustrophobia of Venice. This was close to what Byron must have felt when he left Venice’s society and intrigue to come horseback riding on what were, in his day, the barren strands of the Lido.
Urbino angled back toward the boat landing and soon reached the street where the Cipris lived. It was closed to traffic and bordered by one of the Lido’s few canals. Small boats were moored alongside the brick walls of the quay.
He went up the cracked front steps of one of the least well-kept buildings and pushed the bell.