sir, wolves were gone from Billings before my time; they poisoned them out. There are plenty of coyotes though.”
“I enjoy listening to them at night.”
“So do I, better than anything, except seeing a sail coming along in the country. Do you see a boat over there?”
“... on the Sile Canal," I told him. She’s a sailing barge going to Venice. The wind is off the mountains now, causing her to move right along. It’s liable to get very cold tonight, if this wind holds and it ought to bring in lots of ducks.”
“... Would be a sight to see, sir.”
“Yes, turn to your left here, DeNeri, and we’ll run along the canal…it’s a good road.”
“They don’t have much duck shoots where I come from, but there was plenty of it in Nebraska along the Platte River.”
“Do you want to shoot were we’re going?”
“No thank you sir. Frankly I’m not much of a shot, and because it is Sunday, I’d prefer to stay in the rack.”
“I know.” I smiled at DeNeri…”You can stay in the sack until noon.”
“I brought my repellant, I should sleep well.”
“I’m not sure you will need it.” I said. “Did you happen to bring any K-rations or ten in one? They are most likely to eat Italian food here!”
“I brought a few cans to help out, and some stuff to give away.”
“Good thinking, DeNeri.”
I turned my thoughts to the road ahead to see were the canal road joined the main highway again. There, I knew he would see it again, on a clear day, such as this one happened to be.
Across the marches, brown as those across the Mississippi, around Pilot Town in the winter, and with reeds bent by the heavy north winds, I saw the squared tower of the church of Torricelli and the high Campanile’ of Burano, beyond it. The sea was slate blue, and I could see the sails of twelve sailing barges running with the wind from Venice.
I knew I would have to wait until we crossed the Deice River above Noghera to see it perfectly, I thought. It is so strange to see how we fought back there along the canal, during that winter to defend it and we never saw it. Once I was back as far as Noghera, and it was clear and cold like today, I could see it across the water. However, I never got into it, though it is my city, because I fought for it when I was a boy, and now I am half-a-hundred years old. They know I fought for it and I am part owner, and they treat me as well.
Do you think this is why they treat me so well, I ask myself? Maybe, I thought. Maybe they treat me well because I am a Bird Colonel, maybe chicken to some on the winning side. I don’t believe it though, I hope not anyway…it isn’t France, I thought. There you fight your way into the city, which you love. Everyone was very careful about breaking anything, and then, if you have the good sense, you are careful not to go back because you will meet some military characters, who will resent your having fought your way into their lives.
Vive la France! The great Clarte’ of the French military minds. France hasn’t had a military thinker since du Picq. He too was a poor bloody Colonel, Magin; Maginot and Gamelin, pick your own poison, three schools of thought.
One, I hit them in the nose, Two, I hide behind this thing, which does not cover my left flank, Three, I hide my head in the sand like an Ostrich, confident in the greatness of France as a military power, and then I take off.
Taking off is putting it cleanly and politely. Sure, I thought, whenever you oversimplify you become unjust? Remember all the fine ones in the resistance, remember Foch…both fought and organized, and remember how fine the people were. Remember your good friends and your dead friends. Remember lots of things and your best friends again, because they were the finest people you knew. Try not to be bitter or stupid, and what does this have to do with soldiering as a trade? Cut it out I told myself, this is supposed to be a trip to have some fun.
“DeNeri, are you a happy lad?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great, soon we will be coming to a view I want you to see. You only have to take one look at it. The entire operation will be practically painless.”
I wonder why he is riding me now, DeNeri thought. Just because he was a General once. Now, if he was worth a shit as a BG, why didn’t he hold on to the rank? DeNeri thought.
“There’s the view DeNeri,” I said. “Stop here by the side of the road and we’ll have a look.”
DeNeri got out of the car and opened the door for me as a driver is supposed to do and we walked over to the Venice side of the road and looked across the lagoon. The water, whipped by the strong cold winds coming off the northern mountains, sharpened all the buildings, causing them to be geometrically clear.
“There is Torricelli directly opposite us.” I said pointing out the site to DeNeri. “It is where the people lived who were driven off the mainland by the Visigoths who first invaded the Roman Empire in the 4th century. They built the church you see there with the square tower. There were thirty thousand people who lived here once. They built the church to honor their god and to worship him. Then, after they had built it, the mouth of the Sile River silted up, and all the land we came through, just now, was flooded. The flooding started to breed mosquitoes and they brought Malaria with them. The civilians all started to die since there was no cure. The elders got together and decided they should pull out to a healthy place, which would be defensible by boat and were the Visigoths, the Lombard’s and other bandits couldn’t get at them. They knew the sea bandits had no sea knowledge or the power of the sea. The Torricelli’s were aggressive sailors, so they took the stones from their homes and built Venice, a city on a canal.
DeNeri just said, “Imagine.”
“Am I boring you DeNeri?” I asked.
“No, sir, I had no idea of the history.”
“The men, women and children of Torricelli, were very salty people and they had this marvelous vision, a great taste for design and construction. They had come from a small coastal village called Carole. They were fishermen and they drew commerce from the little adjoining towns and the farms, which had been over-run. The boys from Torricelli were running guns into Alexandria. These same people discovered the body of St. Mark (for whom the great square is named) and smuggled it out under a load of fresh pork to keep the infidel Muslim customs agent wouldn’t check them. You know how insane the Muslims are about pork? This kid outwitted them and brought the body of St. Mark to Venice, and St. Mark is the patron saint of Venice to this day. Just like St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, and now, just less than 100 feet from the Bridge of Sighs there is a major Basilica in the giant square to honor him. One of the most significant images can be seen all along the edge of the roof of the Basilica of San Marco, overlooking one of the most unique and eclectic cities in the world. It is a marble salon, the city center for centuries. Next to both the Basilica and the Doge’s Palace, all the most important religious and civil ceremonies have always been held there displaying priceless art. Now the Piazza of San Marco is considered the city’s main symbol and tourist come by the thousand to admire the marble horses, which appear to be protecting the square and the Basilica. At the other end of the Piazza San Marcos stand the red marble lions as further protection for the Piazza.
“These people never designed or built anything more sacred than at the start of the revolution, because these were inspired people."
“This is a very inspired portrait you have painted, and one I look forward to witnessing for myself.” DeNeri said in an unconvincing tone.
“In the Piazza San Marco there are thousands of pigeons were the great Basilica faces the square, they come and walk among the tourist, just waiting for someone to drop a peanut or popcorn.”
“I suppose with all the movement it must appear the ground is moving?”
“Right you are DeNeri, if it’s