Destined

ducking and weaving this way and that, until she was deep in the center of the boat, in the thick of the masses. She pushed deeper, and kept moving. There were hundreds of people crammed together, and she hoped they wouldn’t spot her, or Rose.

Within minutes, the boat was gaining speed. After a while, Caitlin finally breathed deep. She realized that no one was coming after her, or, as far as she could tell, even searching for her.

She began to cut her way through the crowd more calmly, Rose beside her, heading towards the far side of the boat. She finally made it, squeezed her way beside the crowded railing, and leaned over and looked.

In the distance, the brute was still bobbing in the water, pulling himself up onto the dock—but by now he was just a dot on the horizon. Caitlin smiled. Served him right.

She turned the other way and saw that Venice loomed straight ahead.

She smiled wider, leaning over and feeling the cool seawater pushing back her hair. It was a warm day in May, and the temperature was perfect, and the salt air refreshing. Rose jumped up beside her, pressing her paws on the edge of the railing, and looked out and smelled the air, too.

Caitlin had always loved boats. She had never visited an authentic, historic sailing ship—much less, sailed on one. She smiled and corrected herself: this was no longer a historic ship. It was a modern one. It was 1790 after all. She almost laughed aloud at the thought.

She looked up at the tall wooden masts, rising into the sky. She watched as the sailors all lined up and heaved on the thick ropes; as they did, yard and yards of heavy canvas were raised, and she could heard the flapping of the material. It looked heavy, and the sailors sweated in the sun, yanking the ropes with all they had just to raise the canvas a few inches.

So this was how it was done. Caitlin was impressed by the efficiency of it all, by how seamlessly it worked. She couldn’t believe how fast this huge, crowded boat was moving, especially without the benefit of modern engines. She wondered what the captain of the ship would do if she told him about 21st century engines, about how much faster he could go. He’d probably think she was crazy.

She looked down and saw, about twenty feet below, the water rushing by her, small waves lapping against the side of the boat. The water was so light, so blue, it was magical.

All around her, people squeezed in, all trying to make their way to the railing and look out. She looked around and realized how simply most of them were dressed, many in tunics and sandals, and some barefoot. Others, though, were dressed elegantly, and seemed to try to keep away from the masses. A few people wore elaborate masks, with a long, beaked nose. They laughed and jostled each other, and seemed drunk.

In fact, as she looked, she noticed that a good portion of the passengers were swigging from bottles of wine and seemed drunk, even in the early morning. The entire boat, now that she noticed it, had a festive, rowdy atmosphere, as if they were all on their way to a giant party.

Caitlin pushed her way along the railing, through the crowd, past parents holding up children, and slowly but surely made her way to the front. Finally, she had the view she wanted. She leaned over the edge, and watched as the boat bore down directly on Venice.

The unimpeded site of the city took her breath away. She could see its outline, the beautiful, historic buildings, all lined up neatly next to each other, all built to face the water. Some of the facades were really grand, ornate, their white facades covered in all sorts of moldings and details.

Many had arched walls and arched windows open to the water, and, amazingly, had their main entry doors right at water level. It was incredible. One could literally pull right up to one’s front door by boat and step inside.

Amidst all the buildings, there were spires rising from churches, and occasional domes punctuating the horizon. This was a city of magnificent architecture, of a grand, ornate style, and it all seemed designed to face the water. It did not merely co-exist with the water—it embraced it.

And all along it, connecting one side of the city to the other, were small, arched footbridges, steps rising up each side and a wide plateau in the middle. These were crowded with people walking up and down or just sitting on the edge, watching all the ships as they passed by.

And everywhere— everywhere—there were ships. The canals were absolutely crammed with traffic, with ships of every shape and size—so much so, that she could hardly see the water. The famous gondolas were everywhere, too, their oarsmen standing on the edge, steering them in the water. She was surprised by how long they were, some seeming to stretch nearly 30 feet. In between these were smaller ships and boats of all sorts, some for delivering food, some for taking out waste. This place was alive, bustling. She had never seen anything like it in her life.

As she surveyed the crowds, the masses of humanity, she felt a chill in her spine, as she wondered if Caleb could be among them. Could she be looking at him right now? She knew was being foolish, especially from so far away, but still, she tried to look, to scan their faces, to see if maybe, just maybe, she could spot him.

As Caitlin took in the magnitude, the immensity of the city, the thousands of people swarming in every direction, a part of her, the intellectual part, felt hopeless. She realized that this was a futile mission, that there was no possible way she could ever find Caleb among all these people. But another part of her, the part of her that believed in destiny, felt excited, felt optimistic, just knew that somehow, deep down, if Caleb were here, they would find each other.

And either way, she could not help but feel the thrill of adventure and excitement. She was traveling. Journeying around the world. About to experience a new city.

And maybe, just maybe, Caleb would be on its shores.

* * *

Caitlin filed off the boat with the hundreds of other passengers, squeezed between them as she worked her way, Rose beside her, down the steep rope ramp. It was utter chaos. By now, most, if not all, of the passengers were rowdy and drunk, and it was a free-for-all getting to the dock.

Caitlin was relieved when her feet touched the ground, and she quickly guided Rose with her away from the thick crowd, off the dock, and onto the streets of Venice.

It was overwhelming. Caitlin had hoped that once she got away from the boat, that the crowds would ease up—but that was hardly the case. There were crowds everywhere. She was getting jostled left and right.

She found herself in an enormous open square, around which were built immense buildings, all facing it. She read the sign: Piazza San Marco. St. Mark’s Square. Dominating the square was an enormous church, the Basilica di San Marco, and across from it was an immense, skinny tower, reaching hundreds of feet into the sky, The Campanile. As if on cue, the huge church bell tolled, and the sound filled the square like a bomb.

Thousands of people milled about, engaging in a dizzying array of activity. As she ventured tentatively out into the square, strangers approached her from every direction, all trying to sell their wares. They held out small, wooden dolls, brightly colored glass, flasks of wine, and most of all, masks. Everywhere she looked, there were masks. Even stranger, everywhere she looked, she was shocked to see people wearing them. The predominant mask was white, with a long, beaked nose, but there were masks of all shapes and sizes. Even stranger, many people walked about in full costume, some fully cloaked. It was as if she’d arrived in one huge Halloween party. She had no idea what the occasion was. Did people here always dress like this?

As if that were not enough, everyone seemed to be drunk, or quickly getting drunk. People laughed too loud, sang songs to themselves, jostled each other, and openly drank from jugs of wine.

There was music everywhere, every few feet another guitarist, or violinist, sitting on a crate or stool, playing away with an open hat and asking for tips.

Completing the scene were jugglers, comics, clowns, and performers of all sorts. Before her, one man juggled brightly colored balls, while another man juggled torches of fire. Caitlin stopped, in awe, watching.

She was soon jostled roughly, and turned to see a large man, dressed in a cloak and mask, drunk, stumbling, his arm around an elaborately dressed courtesan. As Caitlin watched, he reached down and grabbed her rear roughly, and she screamed with laughter.

This city was like a circus. It was the rowdiest, most chaotic place she had ever seen. She marveled that all this licentiousness could be taking place right here, in front of these churches. It was the strangest dichotomy she had ever seen. Was the city just one, endless party? Or had she arrived at some special time?