Federico was the son of a rich Venetian merchant in the early 1500’s. Proud and arrogant, with the sense of entitlement in a two year old who will shout “mine” with an authoritarian finger to everything he lays his eyes on. Growing bored of Venice, and wanting to explore the world while he was still in his 20’s, embarked in a sea buoyage in a merchant ship that was bound to make rounds around the Mediterranean. Through this, he would see many of the celebrated cities of antiquity, such as Athens in Greece and Alexandria in Egypt. He was wealthy enough to pay the captain for his stay, so he didn’t need to work the ship and could dedicate himself to his study and writings. He saw himself as another Xenophon, an educated man leaving his civilized city to explore the wider world filled with barbarians, and perhaps he would be able to write a great tale also, and be widely celebrated. I kept a journal he labored on daily, while reading his books at night.
But one day he realized that the book reading wasn’t a wise use of his time while on the ship, for what would he learn reading in a book while on the ship at sea that he wouldn’t learn while reading at home in Venice? He decided then, his time would be better spent mingling with the crew. He soon realized that the crew kept themselves rather busy during the day, but during the nights they would eat and drink and tell an array of stories from their personal lives, or stories they’ve heard themselves from some other sailor, or drinking companions at some port, or a whore. These stories where humorous, witty, or tragic. While they drank and played games during the night, Federico would spend his days writing down in his journal everything he could remember, filling one empty notebook after another.
One morning when writing in his journal he came to the notion that he wasn’t really one of the the crew. He was just some rich son of a merchant who was renting a room with them. A stranger, who some probably despised due to his station in life. Imagine the stories they would tell him if he actually was one of them, gained their trust and had them confine to him their lives stories, the type of stories you tell a friend, not a drinking companion. With that notion in mind, he told the captain (who he had paid to guide and protect him in the journey and awaited another reward once returning to Venice) that he wished to work in the ship just like any other sailor. At first the captain refused, thinking this would diminish the pay he was owed when returning Federico back to Venice. But when Federico agreed to put in writing that the labor he was offering would not lower the captains payment, nor was the captain obligated to him in any additional way, the captain sighed and agreed.
Federico was a charming fellow that would soon make the crew laugh, and gained their confidence. Think of the story of Julius Caesar when he was kidnapped by pirates. The pirates grew found to Caesar, the aristocrat with a self-important opinion of himself. When the pirates told Caesar what the price they were asking for him was, he got offended and told him he was worth much more and told them to more than double their initial request for his life. Caesar sent a letter to a friend, and told him to borrow the silver on credit. Caesar was released after payment came, and with a smile told the pirates he would kill them all one day for kidnapping him. The pirates laughed and said their farewells to Caesar, who they considered a friend. Back in Italy Caesar raised an army. Returning to the pirates hideout, the pirates came out to welcome Caesar, who they now loved. But Caesar ceased them, nailed them to a cross and erected it. While they hang, Caesar reminded them of the promised he had made. In a similar way the pirates where charmed by Caesar, the sailors were charmed by Federico. Such a man he was.
After weeks of hard labor on board, and a few ports visited, where Federico had bedded some of the local girls, an alarm was sounded while they were at sea. Some Turkish ships were seen in the distance. Federico went to his room and armed himself with leather. while he owned steel armor, he debated as to whether to wear it or not, and decided against it. He was a good swimmer, and the steel would sink him to the bottom of the ocean if he abandoned ship. He took his Spanish Toledo sword and steel helmet however. It was three ships against the Venetians. But the Turks always had inferior ships, they could not compete against the craftsmanship that a capitalist Western Venice produced, either be ship building, their guns, or the quality of command, training and the Western men aboard. Despite being outnumbered, they were not lost. After all, Western men had often triumphed against the more numerous East since ancient times.
The captain shouted that their ship was heavier, and would not outpace them, and battle was imminent. But they had in their side bigger guns and braver men. The Turkish ships would try to surround them. This would mean that their guns may be able to attack one, maybe two ships with the canyons, but not three, and the sea battle would turn into a land battle as swords and daggers clashed while one ship tried to board another.
As predicted, one of the ships was utterly destroyed by the Venetians, but two remained, and the more numerous Turks attempted to board the Venetians. Federico decided that it should be the Turks who were on the defense, and with a small group of men commanded them to charge with him. In the back of his mind he could imagine what an excellent scene this would be for his book. And so he did, killing many of the poorly armored and poorly trained Turks. Most likely those Turks composed of shepherds with no serious military training, lured by the profits of plunder piracy gave, and perhaps the hopes a sailing away with a beautiful woman or two back to the uncivilized shit-hole they called home. Federico couldn’t blame them, but he doubted that the illiterate peasants were motivated by high adventure as he was. That was the domain of the Western man, who grew up and were molded by their history and literature were individual glory and masculine virtue were the highest ideals of a man. The West was populated men who simply ventured out because they could, and smiled with triumph at the worthy deeds that proved the quality of their wits and strength.
While on board he moved magnificently with the sword. It was expected of European gentlemen to carry and know how to use a sword, and he was trained from an early age in the art of butchery. But a man can only do so much, and outnumbered besides. A Turk slashed Federico on the back. While his leather armor prevented the wound from being mortal, it did leave a wide open gash on his flesh. Immediately after the Turk kicked Federico on his wounded back and knocked him out of the ship into open water. He had lost his balance, and the strength to defend himself.
Federico was able to hold on to some wooden trash that had fallen overboard during the fight, one item unto each armpit, each too small to carry him alone, but together meaning life for him. The current dragged Federico away from the ships. He could see them become smaller, the noise diminishing. He wondered who would win. He cursed the Turks and their false God. He cursed the Turks and their barbaric lifestyle that lead them to piracy. Mediocre of commerce and industry, they relied on stealing the treasures produced by the West. He wondered if he would ever get his journals back, which he labored so hard to create. He wondered if he would live, and soon after how he would die. Would he bleed to death while floating in the ocean? Would a shark find him first? Would he simply grow too weak and lose grip the wood keeping him up? Would his find land just to die of thirst on some beach? He wondered, and laughed at his fate. “If only there was someone to write how I died” he pondered. But he didn’t know if his life had been interesting enough for anyone to read in any case.
How long he floated at sea he couldn’t tell. A day? Maybe two? Couldn’t it be more than that? Not by much. He did not remember landing on the beach, but he woke up when he was choking on the wine-skin that was pouring fresh water into his mouth. But before he could realize what was going on, his instinctively drank the fresh sweet water. Once satisfied, he could see who had given it to him. A young woman stared at him with big grey eyes, white tanned skin and thick brown shinny hair. Federico laughed hours later when he realized looking back that he had actually believed he had died and gone to heaven when he gazed at that face. That beautiful face. The face of her savior. The face that had meant life to him. The face he owed his life to. The face he could swear he fell in love with at first sight.
The woman put Federico into a sled she had brought with her, perhaps to carry back fruit, roots, or fish. In any case she was strong. Federico, still half dead, fell in a deep sleep after munching on some berries she had given him, so couldn’t tell how long it took to arrive to their destination. He awake with her trying to drag him by the arms into some kind of shelter built from rock and mud. As they entered he could hear sheep, or was it goats? Make their odd sounds. Federico had lived in the city, these weren’t sights, sounds or smells he was used to. Once inside he saw straw everywhere. He figured this must be some small storage room they had in the middle of their sheep fields. He wasn’t sure, he didn’t really care.
The woman began to speak to him, to which he couldn’t understand a single word. It took him a minute to realize she was speaking Greek. He knew a few words, mostly stuff he picked up from reading Greek literature and history in his native Italian, but it wasn’t anything he could have a conversation with. The woman laid him on his stomach, and washed his wound after she undressed him. When she finished she said something, and left, leaving him to sleep in that dark room. The next morning she returned, and brought food, milk, water and an ointment she placed on his back. Then she would say something and leave for most of the day, just to return sometime before dawn. For what seemed like a couple of hours, she would feed him, then lay his head on her legs, close to her knees, and sing to him as she played with his hair.
She was a beauty. A few years younger than him he wagered, but not by much. He could smell the fragrance of her skin as he laid on her legs. The gentle way she played with her hair gave him shivers. Her face was one worthy of the ancient Greek statues of antiquity honoring Aphrodite. Her eyes had a light and intelligence to her that were a rare thing. She would speak to him, and her voice had a sweetness and love he didn’t recall anyone else had giving him. As he laid in her legs, listening to her sing, staring at her eyes as she looked back, he would pray “Dear Lord, please don’t let me die here, not now. Let me live and make this woman my wife, and I will dedicate my life to honoring you, your religion, and fighting the blasphemous Turks.”
As the days passed, she became more comfortable with him, and would cuddle with him, laying her arms around him, or allowing him to do the same with her. He had tried to kiss her a few times, but she would giggle, place a finger on his mouth and say something that he understood as a playful “nooo.” But one day, it was she who kissed him. And never had a kiss been sweeter to Federico. A couple of days latter, after spending hours of kissing over the straw, she sat him up, pulled his pants off with a wicked smile, and put him inside her. Federico had lost time at how many times they had made love, but the period had lasted between five or six days. These were the happiest days Federico had ever experienced.
Federicos wounds were getting better, but he still was far from healed. His Aphrodite came in that day with a beautiful white dress, to which she modeled in front of him. He wondered if it was her best dress. Her large breasts were compressed by it. Her pink nipples slightly bulging out under it. She was the most beautiful creature Federico has ever seen. “Let me live O Lord, and have a happy life with her. I will keep all my promises, I will live a good life. I swear it. I will honor her and treat her well and make her my lady. Her happiness will be my happiness, O Lord please grant me this!”
It seemed to him that God was granting him his prayers. She didn’t leave that day, but instead they spent all day in that storage room. They made love, sang to each other and sometimes just laid down staring at each others eyes. He recited some poems to her in his Italian. While he knew she didn’t understand it, she was giggling, and seemed to enjoy it. “Dear God, please give me thousands of days like this with her” he prayed.
It had to be close to the end of the day, when she was laying on her back and he was in top of her, inside her, making the beast with two backs. He didn’t see or hear him walk in, but he heard the shout he gave when he found them in the act. Federico stood up, frightened by the anger in the man who had entered their sanctuary. The girl, who was completely naked, covered her breasts and the two were having an argument. The man was furious, and after a few seconds walked towards a large wooden box and took out a machete. Federicos eyed got wide, and he could see what was coming. Naked, he tried to plead with him. He shouted in Latin “In nomine dei eleison!” which translated as “In the name of God have mercy!” For a second the man stopped, and Federico wondered if he had understood him, but then continued walking towards him in the same rage. Federico then realized that these were simple people, unlikely to know Latin, the universal language of the aristocrats at the time, something he had forgotten in his panic.
The man got above Federico, shouted something in Greek that sounded like a curse, and with his whole body slammed that machete towards him. Federico instinctively closed his eyes, heard something being hit and kept them closed a couple of seconds later. Confused he opened them and tried to make sense of what had happened.
He saw his girl laying next to him, naked and twisting as blood gushed from the side of her neck while the man finished her off by chocking her. All that Federico could think was “He is killing her!” Anger rushed inside Federico, making all his fear banish. An animalistic rage that drove him to defend his woman. The man had dropped the machete Federico saw, and without thinking his hand stretched out to grip it, and with every ounce of strength in him Federico hit the man in the head, which broke and entered the back of his skull. He then pulled it out, and hit him again and again. A sharp pain came from his back that made him stop. He sat down, took a second to catch his breath and then gazed upon the scene.
The man had hit her in the neck he was. The blow had been aimed at him, not her. The girl must have jumped in front of Federico to protect him. It all had happened too fast, the man must have hit her by accident. The man had tears in his face. He must have been trying to stop the bleeding he realized, not strangling her as Federico had first thought. But the wound the man had inflicted in her was mortal and there was no saving her after it had happened. He took a moment to look into his face. He was older, and Federico could see some of the same features from the girl in him. This must have been her father Federico thought, he had come looking for her after wondering what she was doing all day out of the house, in her best dress.
Federico stood there, his mind making sense of everything, and began to weep. Then a long wail came, a shout of grief and anger that came with all his strength. “You should have been my father-in-law!” he shouted angrily at the corpse of the man, while he whispered in a soft voice “and you my wife…” Instinctively he crawled towards her, some unreasonable part of his mind driving him towards her in the hopes she was ok, in the hopes he could just shake her and she would wake up from her sleep. In the hopes he could heal her, as she had healed him. But when he got closer he saw her open dead eyes. The light and life were gone in her. He jumped back in horror as every part of him realized she was dead. Dead! dead! dead! dead! and he was to blame! He should have never left Venice he thought. He had been a curse to the woman he had loved. A curse! When he wanted to be a blessing to her and the whole of Christendom! He sat back and wept like a child.
And while he wept, a voice that came from a primitive part of his brain whispered to him “They will come looking for them too, if you remain here they’ll blame you, and kill you for it.” The voice was the manifestation of the instinct of self-preservation. “They’ll blame me for it” he thought acknowledging. He tried to get dressed, but the pain from his back was strong. He put on his pants and wrapped a his coat around himself and walked out barefoot, forgetting his boots and shirt. The wound of his back had opened again, and every step was painful. Federico couldn’t tell for how long he walked, but he found a road. A young boy driving a donkey in an old cart eventually found him, with the bloody mess in his back, and urged him to get in. They drove out for a while, and arrived to a single isolated small home in a valley. He was laid face down in a bed after they entered, and a middle aged woman attended him.
She boiled water and washed his open wound. Instructed the boy to pick up some herbs in the kitchen which she mixed into a paste similar to that used by the girl who saved him. She muttered something Federico couldn’t understand to him, put a wooden spoon in his mouth and began sewing his wound. It was painful, but he persisted as best he could, but passed out at some point, either due to the pain, loss of blood, or shock from the days events.
He eventually woke up, and was attended by the middle aged woman who fed him and looked to his wounds. When the woman didn’t attend to him, she spent most of her time praying to an image of the virgin Mary in front of him. The teenage boy who had saved him in the road seemed to have grown a liking to him, who showed him in pride a rock collection, and some wood figurines Federico assumed he had carved himself. They boy gifted Federico a wooden figure if a deer, which had two giant sharp horns sticking out of it and laid it next to his bed. They tried to communicated as best they could by pointing at objects, and making gestures. This was a loving home, Federico noticed. He felt comfortable here, but the memories of what had happened haunted him, and the grief weighed him down.
Three days later he heard a laud scream from the woman who soon after began to sob. The teenage boy brought in the body of the girl who had saved Federico in the beach, and died for him. It took Federico a moment to realize that this had been the girls home and this was her family. The woman held the corpse of her daughter whose white skin was now turning black and sobbed inconsolably. Federicos heart began to pound, and his eyes filled with tears. He wanted to tell them he was sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. That he had loved her. But even if he wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to understand his Italian.
A moment later the teenage boy dragged the body of his father in and laid it on the kitchen floor, which Federico had a direct view as he laid in bed in the other room. The mother made another shout of pain as she saw her dead husband, and only held the body of her daughter harder.
After this, the teenage boy went outside one last time, and walked in with the pair of Federicos boots, and his dress shirt. They were fine boots and a fine shirt, nothing these poor locals could afford. The woman let go of her daughters corpse and stopped crying for a moment and inspected them. She said something to the teenage boy, left the kitchen and came back with the coat and pants Federico had been found in. She pointed at his clothing, then the boots, and then finally at Federico. There was anger in her shouting. Federico was looking straight at them when he saw the facial expression of the teenage boy change as he was filled with understanding. Federico was a stranger that came wearing fine clothing. These are fine boots. These aren’t local clothing, but those of a foreigner. There aren’t many foreigners here, but Federico is one. And here he came to their home, barefoot, wearing expensive foreign pants and coat and these were the missing boots in his expensive foreign outfit. And now, his father and older sister had been murdered, and these expensive boots were left behind in the scene.
The teenage boy looked straight at Federico, and it was clear that murder was in his eyes. The boy reached for his knife took it out, and began marching towards Federico. Federico looked around to find something to defend himself with, and saw the wooden deer the boy had gifted him and the scissors the woman had used for sewing his wound. The scissors that had probably saved his life. He picked them up and jumped at the teenage boy when he was but a couple of steps away. They wrestled in the floor, but Federico was much stronger, and got the better of him. The spikes of the wooden deer fitted perfectly between the eyes of the boy, blinding him forever. Federico then staved the boy in the heart repeatedly with the scissors, blood gushing out. Once the deed was done Federico paused and look at what he had done. “no, no, no, no, no, no! I’m sorry! Why did you make me do this!?” he said as tears appeared in Federicos eyes. Then the woman screamed.
He lifted his head and saw her, and she saw him see her, and she run out the door. “She is going for help” a voice whispered in his head. “They will certainly hunt you down now and kill you, murderer!” And with this his tears stopped, and like a lion chasing after his prey he ran after her. She didn’t run far, and with the same scissors she had used to heal him, with the same scissors he had killed her son, he murdered the woman. The woman who had given birth to the girl he had loved. The woman who, had things been different, he would have also called “mother” and loved her as such. Now she was dead, and his evil cursed hands had done the deed.
He dragged the body inside the house, and once there he realized that he had forgotten about the young children. A boy of eight and a girl of maybe two stood in a corner staring at him silently. He paused to considered if he should kill them. They knew his face after all, and if he had gone this far already to defend his life… He grabbed the boy and twisted his neck. After feeling the “crack” he paused, and a voice whispered “What have you done Federico! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! You evil vile murderer this was only but an innocent child!” A sense of shame and guilt entered him. He had killed before, but these had been armed men in combat or duels, now he was nothing but a cold blooded murderer who has ended the life of women and children. He hated himself, and in that moment he decided he had to kill himself. But his hand was less eager to ending his own life than it had for murdering that child, and he hated himself for it.
He saw the little girl whimpering, he took a step towards her, and then stopped. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He left her there after he put on his pants, shirt, jacket and boots. He drove out with the only donkey that family owned, there wasn’t a horse on sight. After several hours of riding he found a small city that had Italian merchants. After explaining who he was, these merchants turned out to be doing business directly with his father. They treated him very well, Federico knew no doubt that they were probably attempting to get in the good side with his father. Federico was sent in a ship headed back to Venice a few hours latter.
In that ship he had a lot of time to meditate on what had happened. When he returned home he told his family he would enter banking and abandon writing. He never told them what had happened. His father knew that the ship Federico had first sailed in had been attacked by Turks, and the heathens had won. He told his family that the once extroverted and happy Federico had changed because of this sea battle. Soldiers often became gloomy after battle. It was a hard thing to see your friends die, or having to kill another man.
This explanation convinced his family, friends and social relationships that Federico was to be honored, and his new reserved and depressive personality along with the abandonment of his passion for writing fiction was caused by the severe trauma of battle. Many started treating him with the utmost kindness, acting as if he had been some war hero. Federico resented this.
A year later, while in the middle of his studies to become a banker he found the sudden urge to stand before a bridge with a sack of rocks tied to his neck with a rope. He couldn’t live on anymore knowing what he had done. The shame and guilt would never leave him. He jumped into the deep river. As he went down he remembered when he had been pushed out into the ocean in his battle against the Turks. How he had swallowed water as he struggled to get his head above the surface. “I should have died that day” he thought. The last thoughts in Federico mind as he died were of that time spent with that Greek girl. “I’m sorry my beloved Aphrodite” he said in a prayer as his life left him, not knowing if it would reach her.
As the water filled in his lungs, Federico had his life flash before his eyes. An epiphany came to him: Had he not washed ashore half dead when his Aphrodite found him? Had she not dragged him into some storage room as he laid there, injured and too weak to stand up? Why didn’t she bring him to her home? Her mother had been willing enough to help him. She was the one who initiated intercourse, which caused the rage of her father, not him. It was the girl that put on her best dress and spent all day with him, when he was supposed to be her secret, arousing the suspicion of her father. It had been the girls fault, Federico had been lead along, and defended himself…
Federico cursed the girl, and cursed the madness that drove him to jump that bridge. Perhaps there was still time. He struggled to get the rope off his neck, he struggled… and released himself. Desperate he swims up, he can see the surface closer, but the panic of drawing is hitting him harder. He can see the light of the sun rippling in the surface. His salvation. He’s swimming harder, but… strength leaves him, his limbs no longer moves, he slowly begins to float back down, down… “I almost made it…” was the last thoughts in his mind.
