On Friday, I was having my lunch as usual down the Strada Nova at Bepi’s. Normally, it’s an extraordinarily pleasant experience – I sit in a table in the shade, watching the world go by while I enjoy a spritz (with Aperol), a panino with proscuitto and cheese, and an espresso to round it off. During the past week, too, I’ve been reading Mann’s Death in Venice, having found it on the shelf here in the office. I’ve read it before, but I’m enjoying it more this time (maybe it’s a different translation?). I’m only six pages in, but I’m going to stick with it.

At some point, I became aware of four paramedics running down the street; they wear fluorescent orange pants, so as to stand out in a crowd. After all, in Venice, an emergency vehicle (i.e., their ambulance boat) can get only so far before they have to jump out and run, so to some degree, they become the ambulance. Venetian paramedics even have special stretchers on wheels that can go up and down bridges.

Putting down my book, I noticed that the paramedics stopped in the Campo Santa Sofia, almost directly across from where I was sitting. Then I noticed a pair of paramedics who had been there all along, I guess, administering CPR to an elderly man on a stretcher. A crowd was gathering and I couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but I saw them setting up an IV drip and continuing to give the man CPR. A few minutes later, I noticed two of the paramedics holding a white sheet and preparing to drape it over the man, and I feared for the worst, but it turned out they were just trying to keep him warm.

I returned to the office for the afternoon, telling Alberto what I’d seen. He went for his lunch, but called five minutes later to say the man had died with his wife by his side. I don’t know who he was, but Alberto said he was always around this part of Venice and was very old. It was terribly sad, though, to have witnessed him take some of last breaths.

Will he be buried in the cemetery on San Michele? I don’t know. Last Wednesday (June 17) was Igor Stravinsky’s birthday, and I considered going out to San Michele to visit his grave – a mere kilometer, as the crow flies, from the office – but didn’t. When I visited it in 2007, though, it was adorned with flowers and gifts from those paying their respects, and it was clear that Stravinsky was gone but certainly not forgotten. No matter what, in the close-knit community of Venice, I’m sure the deceased man will also be missed.

[Update: In another coincidence, that very same evening I went with Alberto and his family to go swimming on the Lido beach, very close to the Grand Hotel des Bains where Death in Venice is set.]