Apr 21, 2007

GALLINA PICCOLA
MILAN – "Splish, splosh," the water sings. A lullaby. Rockabye baby.

I jam a hoop earring home. The day dragged: a motorboat, then train from Venice; elaborate lunch; frantic work in the hotel before dinner. Smeared thin, I want only to eat and sleep.

"Pitter pat, pit, swiiissssshhhhh."

Wait. Water in the room?

Sure enough, the ceiling is drooling: a cascade smack beside the unlocked, gaping safe with my laptop, passport and other worldly goods.

All zen, I float towards the phone and dial reception. "Ciao, sono Amanda nella camera X. C'e una problema qui."

Then I loose vocab control and blurt in Italian: "water falls from heaven."

Still, the point telegraphs.

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