Frail Barrier by Edward Sklepowich

more established shop in San Marco. But he liked to encourage new businesses, especially ones devoted to the traditional Venetian arts and crafts, and his visit to Legatoria Foppa was overdue.
    A young saleswoman smiled at him from inside the large front window where she was rearranging items in the window – address and appointment books, notepads, notebooks, stationery, letter holders, lampshades, wrapping paper, picture frames, and pill boxes, most of them made with marbled paper in various designs. There were also pens and inkwells in Murano glass.
    A gentle bell tinkled as he opened the door. The shop had a clean smell. An area at the rear was set up as an artisan’s workshop. A woman stood at a long table. She was in her early thirties, with large brown eyes, black hair feathered around a small oval face, and a well-shaped mouth emphasized by bright red lipstick. She was demonstrating the marbling process to five customers.
    The woman, who wore a dark purple dress with restrained red embroidery around the neck, explained that the technique was more than a thousand years old and had originated in Japan.
    â€˜Arab culture brought it to Europe in the fifteenth century,’ she said in accented English. ‘After years of neglect Venice gave it a new birth when I was a child. We have many craftsmen who marble paper now – and craftswomen,’ she added with a smile.
    She nodded at the marbling tray on the table. Urbino drew a little closer. The entire liquid surface was spotted with yellow, red, and blue colors.
    â€˜Earlier I dropped the colors in with a brush, each color separately. Now I pull the colors into different lines with this.’ She indicated a pointed instrument that had the desired effect when she used it on the surface of the liquid. The spots became transformed into wavy lines from the top of the tray to the bottom. ‘Very carefully I bring this comb across the surface and – as you see – the marble appears.’
    The tourists gave appreciative murmurs as the lines became marbled.
    â€˜And I place a sheet of white paper on top of the liquid – like this – but I must be attentive not to let any air stay beneath.’
    The small woman had muscular arms, as if she were a sportswoman or worked out regularly. And yet she placed the sheet of paper on top of the liquid with delicacy and care. After doing this, she lifted the sheet slowly. One side was completely marbled. She hung the sheet from a cord near the back wall.
    After the demonstration the customers went around the well-stocked shop selecting various items. The young saleswoman was helping them. The cartaio , the owner of the paper shop – for this is whom Urbino assumed the woman in the purple dress was – started to clean and neaten her implements.
    Urbino examined a display of notebooks. Between each empty page of heavy gauge paper was an onion leaf. The covers were in various patterns of marbled paper with strong cotton corners and bindings. He selected a small notebook in the old Venetian red flame pattern. The fiammato had touches of gold. During the past few years the contessa had taken up the habit of jotting down thoughts and impressions from time to time. She had filled three books of a similar size. Urbino had noticed that she had only a few pages left in her newest notebook. Urbino, who was seldom without a notebook, selected one in peacock green for himself.
    The cartaio was at the cash register.
    â€˜It’s a very nice shop,’ he said in English.
    â€˜Thank you. It’s mine. I’m Clementina Foppa.’
    Urbino introduced himself and mentioned that he lived in Venice.
    â€˜I’ll tell my friends about your place,’ he added.
    â€˜Thank you. It isn’t on one of the main routes. I’d be grateful for any help of that kind. Word of mouth is the best advertisement.’
    The woman had a soft, melodious voice. It seemed touched with sadness.
    As