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Part III "The Spider Chronicles" - Living with Ed and Frances by Michael Eldridge Spiders have been astronauts in space missions. In 1973, the two
common cross spiders "aranous diadematus" Arabella and Anita
became famous for their stay in the Skylab space station. Both spiders
were successful in spinning webs in weightlessness. Unfortunately, these
two spiders did not return safely: Anita died in-flight before returning,
and Arabella was found dead after splash-down of the Skylab-3 (2nd manned
mission) Apollo CM. Natalia comes and sits next to me while I’m at work at the computer.
I’d tried to settle her next to the fire. It’s still cold although mid
April, not at all unusual in Tuscany. But she wants to sit next to me
and promises not to disturb me but soon does so and I let her once again
tell me about her tragedy. Had I ever heard anything like it? No I hadn’t, she is so lonely and
yes I know. She and Nico are, in his case were, what they call here
contadini, what the English dictionary translates as peasants
but this is misleading and rather I would say clever, cunning and knowledgeable
country folk. But Nico is now dead, burnt to death in mysterious circumstances. And it’s Easter week and it’s raining. Ed and Francis like this no end. They could well be water spiders and
my mind races with this possibility. This would account for the times
I’ve found Ed walking up the wall back to the hinge in a direct line
from shower plug. Natalia watches me type in English and pretends an interest but her
mind is away back in her past and her sorrow and she wants to take me
there too and I say what I think I should say and just the talking and
the company seems to sooth her. I give her an effervescent vitamin C
aspirin in a glass of water and she says it makes her feel better but
her once clear and distant eyes are now glazed and hollow and look only
inwards. To Nico’s death, the weeks of agony. The Mysterious Circumstances. Nico - and bear in mind, do, that I begged them not to leave their
cottage - Nico missed his open fireplace. The fireplace in their old
tiny cottage was immense and took up at least half their living room.
If ever you passed the house on a winter’s day, odds were that their
front door would be open a) because they’d
built up the fire too grandly and they were scorching beside it and
b) because anyway all Tuscan fires smoke
and they be darned near kipper freezer ready if some cool fresh air
wasn’t allowed in. This wide open door had the effect of allowing a
whole wedge of orange light to spill out onto what could have been (ideally
in terms of its size and proximity to kitchen and now actually is) a
tasteless imitation English garden with three ancient oaks struggling
for what little light they allow each other. So here they had lived for twenty-five
years in the typical Tuscan fashion of one huge smoky fireplace for
winter warmth; other rooms in relative stages of refrigeration depending
on distance from smoky fire. They were, I should add,
always in resplendent health and
to be seen out on the land in all weathers from the most unearthly early
hours, hoeing, cutting and planting except in August when they did nothing
all day except pick tomatoes and snooze. And now we find Nico in a brand new modern house quietly going nuts
because it’s nothing more than a characterless box and it hasn’t got
a fireplace. They are to be seen most days driving the distance from
town back here to work on the land. Obvious question. Why did they move
in the first place? Well, it was the thing to do next wasn’t it? A step up in the world
they thought. Quite the opposite was my thought. And what does Nico do in his new house? He stays downstairs almost
all the time in the garage and there constructs a fireplace to sit next
to because he can’t bear TV and nice new houses in general. The Tragedy No one will ever know exactly what happened. When we heard they’d helicoptered
him to Rome with third degree burns it was pretty clear to us it was
touch and go. Probably because the new wine was a bit heady this year;
probably because he wasn’t used to the draught of his new fire: probably
because like a lot of folk in Italy he’d have squirted the fire (and
my guess accidentally also himself), with neat alcohol (available by
the bottle from the Co-op) as a booster. Who knows? Fact is he’d burst
into flames and by the time his screams were answered he was a goner
and never fully regained consciousness. I’ve just related this story to my eldest daughter who is staying with
me along with my grandson. She answers that she has just cleaned the bathroom and I run with horror
to check on Ed and Frances. They are safe but damp behind the brown
hinge. I notice too that the Tourist book, their book, is still firmly
welded to the window sill. She tells me she had it in mind to prise
it off and hang it
on the line but experienced the counter instruction (almost like a voice
in her head she said) to damn well leave it alone. I act dumb and say the quietness
gets you like that here sometimes. I thank her for cleaning the bathroom and decide not to be too specific
about my ideas about Ed and Frances. Principally because she is a rational
being of scientific leaning very much like her mother and also because,
to be honest, I can’t believe quite yet what I am beginning to believe.
That Ed and Frances have got in mind some sort of deal. Some sort of
exchange deal that involves what? Hell I just can’t get even close
to knowing. Might try sharing this conundrum with my youngest daughter. She goes to California a lot and used to collect spiders as a kid. Part
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IV | Part V | Part
VI | Part VII | Part
VIII | Part IX
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