What Casanova Told Me by Susan Swan

too, was the date of Casanova’s arrest, July 26 , 1755 . On the night of October 31 –November 1 , 1756 , Casanova escaped from the Piombi—or the Leads—as the prison was called under the lead roof of the Ducal Palace. He was thirty-one at the time and he would live in exile for eighteen years, according to Symons who said that most of Casanova’s 122 love affairs and experiences with historical personages could be verified.
    Luce admired Casanova for keeping to the facts. She relied on facts supported by historical research and distrusted theories. Master narratives usually disappointed those who espoused them, while facts, with their specific, limited nature, were built to last. Her mother’s profession of archaeology had consisted of interpreting worlds from small artifacts, but the nature of her own archival work was more dependable. For instance, the laundry bill of John Macdonald would always stay the laundry bill of Canada’s first prime minister, no matter what anyone said. But the fat Venuses of prehistoric times might be anything—symbols of an ancient deity who represented the great creative power of the universe, as Lee had reminded her that morning in the Venetian shop, or a pornographic icon. Once you moved as far back as prehistory, Luce thought, the past was just a story someone made up. Not that she tried now to understand her mother’s views. After her mother had met Lee in Crete, Luce had given up.
    Her thoughts still on Kitty, she started her iBook and opened her old e-mails, pausing at one whose address said, “[email protected].” How often had she placed her finger on delete, only to stop herself? It made her feel calmer to keep the e-mails in her system, as if she and hermother were still communicating. It was hard to believe that someone as vital as Kitty could just vanish. But it wasn’t only that: she hated to think of the valuable correspondence that people deleted every day when they sent their mails to the trash. The future will lack the historical records of past generations, she reflected. Nothing online remained. The Internet was like a beach churned up with footprints that waves washed away on a daily basis.
    Reluctantly, she bypassed her mother’s e-mail and opened a new message from Aunt Beatrice.
    Dear Luce,
    I am delighted that Lee agreed to stop in Venice so you can give the family papers to the Sansovinian Library. I told Mr. Smith (of Harvard University) that I was entrusting them to a young family member who works as an archivist and he was very relieved when I said you would be delivering them personally.
    I am sure you remember that your appointment is at noon with Mr. Goldoni on May 14 , so please forgive anxious old me for reminding you. Mr. Smith set the whole thing in motion and he says the Sansovinian is extremely grateful to us for allowing them to exhibit our documents in their celebration of Jacob Casanova.
    I know your time away will be memorable, especially since it’s your first trip to the Mediterranean. So let me give you a few words of advice. Hide your passport in a little cloth bag around your neck and be sure to take along a calculator so you won’t be cheated in a foreign currency. Thirdly, never invite theft by leaving a sign on the door—“Occupant out. Please clean.” And lastly, dear, avoid conversations with strange men. They won’t have yourbest interests at heart. But I realize there’s really no need to say this to someone as sensible as you.
    You won’t let us down, will you, Luce? Mr. Smith seems to think the old papers are worth a great deal of money. So they can rest in the Sansovinian for a while until we decide what to do with them. Venice is where they started out from, after all!
                Love,
Aunt Bea            
    P.S. I am so sorry I can’t join you for the tribute to Kitty, but the restaurant gets very busy this time of year and I just can’t manage it. And I hope you’ll understand