"The Disappearance of Mr. Dijon"
5 October 1999

We would have celebrated the birthday of Matthew Dijon last evening over the grand canal in style. Reservations were confirmed, rare vintage champagne was chilled, important people had R.S.V.P.’d. Though everything seemed headed toward one of those epic evenings where even the water has been imported, a strange, sad turn of events brought on by a heavy rain storm, a slippery walkway, a gondola, and a plate of carpaccio, ended it all.

The beginning of this tragic story took place at eight last night. A strange and rare storm began to sweep slowly over Venice. By nine we were questioning the wisdom of going out in such weather. Our logic, though, seemed sound: the streets of Venice were so narrow, rain simply could not reach us. Therefore we would be safe and dry.

Unfortunately we had not taken into account that during extreme weather situations such as this, Venice floods. So as we were strolling merrily on our way, Matthew took a wrong step down a flight of stairs, landing in three feet of water. I watched helplessly as the storm current swept him towards Piazza San Marco. I watched as he grabbed at a spinning Gondola which had torn free from its moorings. I even watched, absolutely glued to my place on the bridge and in utter disbelief, as he threw himself aboard, stood upright donning a gondolier’s hat, began shouting frantically for directions to the airport, and then, satisfied with the answer, paddled himself away.

That was the last I saw of him. I arrived at Ristorante da Carletto alone and in shock. Melk Gandhi Ellia, the proprietor, had a solution: a plate of his famous carpaccio topped with parmesan shavings, and drizzled in truffle oil. It took three plates to recover from my recent experience. By that time it was nearing eleven, the rain had not let up, and though I am a good swimmer, the street conditions were looking grim. Ellia’s solution: a new course: veal chops topped with a black truffle cream sauce and a bottle of Amorone. Such a sensible man; such brilliant solutions.

The two of us had just finished a tirumisu pie and a bottle of Croft ’68 port I had brought along for the occasion when the rain died down. It was nearly three as I stumbled into bed.

At sunset I received an E-Mail from Matthew informing me that he had reached home safely. So with bags packed I headed towards the station vowing to jump on the first train leaving. Little did I realize it would be going to Ljubljana.

the mad innkeeper
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