The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [26]
But in her lonely bubble, her own hermetically sealed vessel of silence, she knew her work was improving. In the absence of company or conversation the glass became her friend. She began to understand its ways in a manner she would not have done if she had been distracted with banter and conversation. Her duties at this stage were no more than to melt the gather, clear any impurities, and blow the occasional parison. She had no shaping or moulding duties beyond the most rudimentary, but did some cooling and reheating.Yet she began to see this compound of silica and sand as something living and organic. She understood that it breathed - taking in oxygen as hungrily as any living thing. It had moods - from the hot red, to the honeyed gold, to the crystal white. It had textures, sometimes as flowing as sweet syrup, sometimes as hard as tempered steel. She could well believe that in Corradino's time they made knives of glass - deadly, silent, clean.
Corradino. She thought of him often. She felt as if the glass connected them, that it was drawn out between them until the connection were as thin and stretched as a cello string, yet it still resonated with a low, long note across the centuries.
He is my companion while the others talk around me. I talk to him.
By osmosis, Nora's Italian, already good, quickly became excellent. When her month's trial was complete she went to Adelino, who expressed pleasure at her progress and her wish to remain. But he was concerned that she had not yet obtained her work permit, and seemed particularly insistent that she get one, as if he himself was working to some undisclosed timetable.
So back to the Police Station Nora went. As she entered the lobby she determined not to leave without her permit. She waitied patiently in the designated area reading endless leaflets and posters about the dangers of drugs, guidelines for motorized boats and street crime. When she was finally shown through to an inner office Nora sighed as she noted that the smart young officer that came to attend her was unfamiliar to her, and she prepared to repeat her entire saga again.
This young man, however, despite his abrupt manner, seemed to have more of a clue than those that had gone before. He seemed fairly well acquainted with her case. She was so taken aback by this that it was fully half an hour before she realized that she had seen him before.
Years later she could remember exactly the moment when she realized this. He was looking through her documentation and seemed to spot a discrepancy. He looked from her birth certificate to her application for a work permit and frowned slightly.
`Signorina.' He shuffled the papers again. `Here on your application you have named yourself Nora Manin.' He stumbled a little over the foreign name. `But on your certificate of birth from the Ospedali. Civili Riuniti here in Venice you are named as Leonora Angelina Manin. Can you explain this to me?'
`It's an abbreviation. Because I was brought up in England my mother gave me the English version of my Italian name.'
The officer nodded, his eyes on the forms. `I see. But you understand, I will need you to fill in this form again with your given name.' He stood and pulled a fresh buff form efficiently from a nearby filing cabinet.
Nora attempted to keep her rage in check. `Can't I just correct this form?'
In answer the young officer located his pen, unscrewed the cap and laid it definitely in front of her.
Nora seethed as she filled in the form yet again, calculating that it must be the fourth time she had done so, each time because of a trifling error such as this. Even worse, this form had already been signed by Adelino, so now she must ask him to do it again, which meant at least one more trip back here. Nora silently cursed the form, cursed the city, cursed the officer with the clean fingernails who was such