Free Death in a Serene City by Edward Sklepowich Page B

nephews down in Naples, enough about the silence of children to realize that it usually boded no good.
    And the boy wasn’t just quiet. He was as still as one of the sculpted figures of death looming behind him on the mausoleum of a prominent Cannaregio family.
    The reason soon became evident as she followed the direction of his wide-eyed stare. It was the body of Santa Teodora in her glass coffin.
    Wouldn’t it be best to mention the precious relic before he said anything irreverent that would reverberate through the church with its eerie acoustics?
    â€œAnd that,” she said with almost indecorous haste, not having yet mentioned the disputed Tiepolo ceiling and the Cima painting, “is the body of Santa Teodora.”
    The boy went up to the coffin, knelt on the catafalque among the wilted bouquets, and pressed his face against the glass.
    â€œBut I thought it was Biancaneve!”
    His mother and the three other guests started to laugh at his confusion of the saint’s body with Snow White but quickly restrained themselves. Laughter didn’t seem appropriate in these Gothic surroundings. But Sister Veronica saw no need for restraint. Her own laughter rang out clearly.
    â€œVery good, piccolino . She does look like Snow White in a way. When I saw Santa Teodora when I was a little girl, I thought the same thing.”
    The boy took his hands away from the case, leaving behind smudges that Don Marcantonio would be sure to notice later. He turned to Sister Veronica.
    â€œDoes she have a handsome prince to wake her up?”
    This time they all laughed heartily. The sound of their laughter echoed from the vault and came back strangely distorted. Sister Veronica thought she heard a mutter of disapproval from somewhere in the back of the church.
    She turned to the boy, put her hands together, and looked over his head at the glass coffin.
    â€œMany years ago,” she began in the same tone of voice she used when telling fairy tales to her nephews, “there lived a little girl named Teodora of Syracuse. She had many brothers and sisters and was a good girl, a very, very good girl,” she emphasized with a glance down at the boy. “She made a promise to God that she would never marry but instead would give all her time and devotion to Him and only to Him. But there was a young prince from far away”—at this the boy’s face lit up—“a young prince who wasn’t at all good, not one bit. He loved Teodora. Everyone loved Teodora, of course, but the prince loved her in a different way. He asked her to marry him and to go away with him to his kingdom. Teodora thanked him very sweetly but said she couldn’t marry him or anyone else because of her promise to the good Lord. So what did the prince do but go to the governor and tell him that Teodora refused to marry him because she was a servant of the Christian God and not of anyone else. You see, this was during the time when good Christian souls were severely punished for their faith. The powerful governor couldn’t accept such behavior and so his soldiers killed Teodora.” Sister Veronica paused and then added, “With a very big sword. She became a saint and now she’s with us here in Venice.”
    The boy didn’t say anything for several moments. He seemed to be thinking.
    â€œBut Syracuse is in Sicily and Sicily is a long way from here,” he eventually said. “How did she get all the way up here? We had to take a bus and a train and we came only from Perugia.”
    â€œShe was brought here by two Venetian merchants who thought she would be happier in Venice.”
    There was a puzzled frown on the boy’s face as he went over to the glass coffin again and looked in.
    â€œYou mean they just took her? And why would she be happier here? I don’t think anybody ever knew if she was happy or not because she was dead. And besides, she was wearing a mask. Did she always wear