The Baltic Notebooks of Anthony Blunt
Darius Mikšys. Behind the white curtain (Venice, June 2011)
The calli around San Francesco della Vigna wind themselves around one other, split apart, interlace, find each other, merge, separate again.
It is 17:42 and you are stepping into a bar. You have walked past it earlier, without paying attention – you are sure of it. A woman stands behind the counter, drying glasses with a cloth, placing them carefully side-by-side on a red, tin tray. Only those noises: wipe (squeak), tin, clink. Those and the ceiling-fan (not really the noise of it, rather the sound of air moving in circles). You realise you have definitely not been here before, yet you do remember a place just like this in Berchidda, last year, visited (no: suffered) during a cruelly hot summer day.
When she talks, cloth and glass in hand, she says: you’re already here.
Embarrassed, you walk out. After all, you should have known.