Che fine hanno fatto? Where’d they go?


The day after my laundry mishap, I watched another skiff arrive at the door where my lonely retrieval hung expectantly, imagining the driver’s reaction, and watching him depart without me being able to muster the courage to yell down, hey, buddy, could you grab that … those … white… there and toss them into the next porta for me?

I did finally manage to ask Giovanni — after waiting until after Spritz hour in the hopes of easing both my embarrassment, and his just in case he might have any — if he might not mind, at his convenience, to maneuver his sizable craft up to the palace next door and snag the ridiculous, cotton thingy suspended there. Non ho capito un ca**o di quello che stai dicendo, he said. I have NO idea what the hell you’re talking about.


Wait, let me show you. I took a deep breath as we entered the building and headed toward the canal entrance, explaining about the laundry, the sheet, the taxi driver, the wrong door. I opened the iron cancello ready to point them out, but…no more drawers. Giovanni leaned out behind me. E allora? “Well?”

Non ci sono. Boh. They’re not there. Huh.

Did the owner of the next building toss them? Did somebody stop by and grab them just for the heck of it? Did the skiff-guy keep them as a souvenire? Did a breeze blow them back into the canal? (Then what?) Dovrai andare a comprare delle altre, Giovanni tells me as we climb the stairs (it’s risi e bisi for dinner, I think). “You’ll have to get some new ones.”

Ah, Venetians are nothing if not practical. Thanks, Giò, that’s just what I’ll do.

3 thoughts on “Che fine hanno fatto? Where’d they go?

  1. Camille

    I’m trying to picture what my neighbor would do after discovering stray undies on her porch.

    So the mystery remains a mystery! You live such a life of intrigue!

  2. nan

    Then, just imagine if the neighbor was a he…I’m still trying to maintain a posture of someone who knows where her skivvies are at all times…


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