Fortuna

Fortuna favet fortibus

The first thing she heard in the morning was an unsettling siren wail. The South African wind carried its long howl across the islands. The siren was a warning. There was still time left. About two hours - before the catastrophe.

" I need to pack my things. But which ones ?” Thoughts broke in different directions, like seawater splashes beaten by strong wind. Gold patterns curled along the walls, covered with an old red cloth. Gilded frame adorned an amalgam stained with brown spots, like an old woman's face. Heavy mirror reflected a slender female figure, rushing from room to room.

"How am I supposed to flee an island surrounded by water?" She glanced at her belongings scattered around the room: albums of Giorgione and Veronese, a blue scarf by Fortuna**, prints in old frames, antique jewelry, lion statuettes she had borrowed but never returned, old leather-bound books with golden embossing.  What she chooses will survive, the rest is destined to perish.

" To die. To perish. To stop existing", an incomprehensible thought that had never occurred to her before. Her life was too bright, but her future was too inevitable. She looked out the window. Tall, arched windows stood mired in a heavy silence. It began to rain.

"No matter what happens, he will come for me." This thought calmed her down. "He will come for me" she said out loud. The phrase sounded convincing, at least to her. And it wasn't because she had given him her savings - he would come because he had promised. She dropped all the things she had scattered in haste with new-found ease and took out a cigarette. The phone rang.

"Ms. Serenissima?" asked a pleasant man's voice.

“Yes” she replied calmly.

“I have to inform you that the city is on alert”. The voice was silent for a second. Hesitantly, maître d'hôtel continued, “We recommend that you leave the hotel for your safety”.

“Thank you for the information”. She lit a cigarette. “But I'm staying. I'm waiting for a friend”

“But Signora! "the voice on the phone protested.

“No need to worry ”.

She slowly blew out the smoke, through maroon colored lips, and hung up.

"Second biggest flood in history...more than 80% of the historic part of the city is flooded" "... Venice is damaged by the worst flood in history. Can a massive barrier save Venice from flooding? ... Makes you wonder if the barrier will ever work... Moses, the only thing that can save Venice from... Falling victim to engineering problems... Stopping the primal element... Forecasters warn of worsening weather."

Signora put down the TV remote. The whole world was once again talking about her. "Serenissima," was her name, in the heyday of her prosperity, power, and wealth. "The most serene, the most radiant", she once again was. How old was she? Was she young or at the end of her life? It was hard to say. What was certain was that she was elegant. An English poet dedicated a cycle of poems to her, a Nobel laureate painted her portrait for 20 years, artists tried to capture the everchanging shade of her eyes. Women envied her, men wrapped her in adoration, like in expensive fur. But she could hardly be suspected of following fashion. Fashion is fleeting. She has always stayed beyond the changing whims of the era, observing with an ironic smile.  What was her profession? A poet? An aristocrat? A prostitute? A thief? No one knew. She was once rich but now had to wander around hotels. She has survived a terrible disease that killed a third of the city's inhabitants. But she survived. So why should she flee now, when the waves of the Adriatic Sea were crashing into the city?

The rain stream grew heavier. She closed heavy shutters. Somebody knocked on the door. She knew who it was.

“Mo…”

A short man was looking at her. His face was pale, his hair - streaked with noticeable gray, as he was wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief. Not able to convey his agitation, the manager informed her that all the guests had left the hotel, the main square and streets were flooded, transportation was stopped, there were dead, and panic had broken out in the city. He asked her to leave the hotel immediately.

“Signora! Please understand, that this is a catastrophe, the city is going under. We are abandoned to the mercy of the sea!”

To his surprise, he did not see fear in her eyes.

“Catastrophe”, I've heard that deafening cry before, she thought to herself as she approached the window, draped in a thick burgundy curtain. What is a catastrophe? Destroyed mosaics and frescoes, or betrayal of a loved one? 

Isn't it, just the opposite side of ...

In the semi-darkness of the room - light flickered. The only source of illumination, the mustard floor lamp, went out. She pulled back the heavy curtain. The room was instantly flooded with gray light. True art, like love - is generous. It only gives. She has been an inspiration and a comfort over the years. And now, a step away from death, there was only hope for him. The elements, like time, are merciless, they only take.

"And the waters parted.. And he made the sea dry land," is written in an ancient book. It is not too late, there is still hope. "The barrier can be raised in thirty minutes," echoed from the television screen. "By creating a temporary wall from the sea." All is not lost. The steel barrier could stop the maddening waves that grew stronger every minute and were approaching her, destroying everything in their path. The roar of water, the crash of stones, the crackle of destroyed buildings, the rumbling of rooftop tiles being torn off by the wind, huge sparks - warned of it from afar. In just thirty minutes, this could come to an end, she would be saved. He will come! He will definitely come.

Water was oozing out from under the door in a fast stream. It crawled through the cracks of the balcony, seeped through the sockets. Ran down the red walls. Flooded parquet and carpet, crawled under the bed. 

“The opposite side of catastrophe is fortune!” A sudden scream burst out from her chest, like a dove flying out of the abyss. "The opposite side of catastrophe is fortune!", she screamed out loud again.

The water was moving up her ankles.

Somebody knocked on the door. 

** “Fortuny” is the oldest Venetian fabric factory. 

*** Moses, an integrated system consisting of rows of mobile gates installed on the seabed that can be raised to temporarily seal off the Venetian Lagoon from the Adriatic Sea during floods.