Marco Polo's father is back

By Joan Lennon

By the alley gutter, Marco leaned his back against the wall, trying to make himself part of the shadows, and he could feel the moisture soaking through his coat. He scolded himself. "Why are you so stupid?" He knew they might find him if he was still outside after dark.

Barefoot makes a low clapping sound on the stone slab. Someone asked, "Where did he go?" To avoid detection, Marco held his breath.

"I guess he went over there." Someone replied, and the footsteps faded away.

The boy who chased him prevailed. They drove him to a place he was unfamiliar with. During the day, he may still have a chance. But in the darkness, he was lost in the labyrinth of alleys, courtyards, where anyone who might help him was inside, their doors locked and the shutters tightly closed. It was where his uncle and aunt lived, and it was safe. That's where he should be.

Marco sighed. He's going to be in big trouble when he comes home.

His aunt and uncle were not mean. They took him in after his mother died, but they had their own extended family to take care of. He knew he was an extra burden. Even in the hustle and bustle of the busiest city in the world, he feels lonely. His father had been gone for so long that everyone thought he must have died too.

"He deserves it, even though he is our own family." "Anyone who wants something is in Venice. There is no need to go far. This is irresponsible. That's it. Marco didn't argue, but he still held out hope. As long as he could leave his uncle's decent building by the Grand Canal, he would go to places where less decent sailors and travelers lived. He listened to them tell stories - such stories!—— warrior elephants and dogs with human-like faces and monkey-faced men, unicorns and giant hippogriffs, salamanders that thrive in the center of fire, castles and courts ... Travelers have seen all of them, and even if they haven't, they'll meet someone they've met. Their story made Marco's heart beat faster.

He hovered on the edge of their crowd, listening, asking questions, dodging punches, kicks and random handcuffs, while hoping that the dock boys wouldn't find him trespassing on their territory. He had always hoped that, in the midst of all these fascinating stories, he would hear a rumor, a whisper, or a little clue about his father. He doesn't remember him, and that's okay. He still hopes...

"I see him!"

"Where?"

"He's gone!"

Marco crossed a bridge along another alley. He felt exposed. He continued to run, almost tripped over a screaming cat and flashed past the well in a small yard. He hesitated for a moment, gasping for air, thinking that he had to turn back. Then he saw - the black entrance of a narrower passage. He rushed in, turned a corner, and almost plunged headlong into a canal. Dead end! He walked into a dead end. There is no way out. He couldn't swim, and they saw him enter that yard. They will know that he will fall straight into the trap. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, ready to fight.

"He's there!"

The alley was so narrow that they could only come to him alone at a time. But it doesn't make much difference. In first place was taller, stronger, older than him...

His torturer sneered, and then suddenly feigned with his fist. Marco involuntarily jumped to the side, his head hitting the rough brick wall hard. His ears buzzed and strange sparks flashed in front of his eyes. There was a feeling of hot and wet blood in his hair.

"Look! We don't have to do anything. He knocked himself unconscious!" He faltered, desperately trying to keep his balance, waving his arms and hearing their mocking words...

I'm going to fall! I'm going to drown!

Then, a terrible smell surrounded him, and he fell backwards, hitting not the water of the canal, but the deck of a barge full of garbage. He was breathless, and just lay there, lying in the trash heap. The garbage worker cursed as his barge swayed, but in the dim light, he didn't really see what was going on. Marco's pursuers poked their heads out of the alley.

"He escaped!"

"He can't be!"

"Where is he?"

The garbage worker cursed them and threatened them with an oar.

"Hey, you scum, stay away from our ship. If I catch you, I'll beat you with my fists!"

The boys also scolded back loudly, then turned and walked away. Marco lay in the trash, trying not to breathe. Rags, kitchen scraps, rotting fruit, broken jars and other things pressed against him in a terrible, unrecognizable way - he really didn't want to know what he was lying in the middle. He really didn't want to think about what his aunt would say to him when he got home.

He could feel the barge moving in the water, pushing it by the strong, powerful arm of the muttering garbage handler. He waited for him to stop and take out the trash again, but he didn't. Paddling again and again, they got closer and closer to the end of the canal system, closer and closer to the open lagoon.

No! I have to get off the boat! Marco felt crazy. The garbage barge sails straight into the lagoon and dumps the garbage! If you don't get off the boat, you will be dumped in with garbage!

There was a traffic jam at the mouth of the canal, and gondolas and barges tried to detour. The boat carrying the garbage was knocked to the dock.

"This is rubbish for you," shouted the maid in a large house.

It's full," the garbage collector muttered. "Can't fit anymore".

"What about the boy's place?"

"What boy?"

But Marco had disappeared into an alley and headed home.

Everyone will be sleeping soundly, he thought as he ran. Maybe no one noticed my absence. If he is lucky, he will have time to rinse his smelly clothes.

When he turned the corner, he saw that the house was not dark and quiet, but brilliantly lit. A cacophony of talking and the clanging of knives and forks reached the street. What happened?

He slipped into the dining room through the front door and stood there staring at him unnoticed. The people in the family were there, completely awake, talking, eating, drinking. There is a stranger among them. He looked as if he had come from far away, and his clothes had gone through tough times almost as much as Marco's.

A traveler! Will he bring news of Marco's father? Is he dead? No, everyone looked too happy.

This news must be good news. He wanted to suffocate. He can't move. The man was eating and talking, which would have caused Marco's aunt to slap him.

"Of course," the man said as he shoveled food in, "not all the stories you hear are true." Marco felt his heart tighten.

"Isn't that what we've been saying to your son for years?" His aunt said self-righteously. "The stories of those travelers are nonsense!" What the? Marco's thoughts began to race in his head. His son? Whose son?

"They didn't even dare to say half of it," the man said. "They're afraid of not being believed. You can't blame them. The truth is, the world is much bigger, wilder, and stranger than you can imagine!" Mark must have made some noise, because all of a sudden, everyone in the room looked in his direction. His aunt opened her mouth wide in fright and pounced on him, ready to drag him away and throw him into the sink. But his father was the first to get there.

"Marco, my son."

He hugged Marco tightly. "But his smell!" Marco's aunt protested. "Who cares?" His father laughed. "I know the taste. It's a taste of adventure! Look at us, we are a couple, no doubt! You all need to scrub well, don't you?"

He clamped the dizzy Mark under his arm and picked up his goblet. "Let's toast to that! Change into clean clothes and take a hot shower when you get home!" As everyone laughed and raised their glasses, he leaned over Mark and whispered, "Cheers to home, my child... Also for the outside wide world, just wait! What do you say?" Marco said nothing. His smile says it all.