Samson (Chapter One, Part One)

        "In the lunette, or archway, to my left, your right, you'll see a dipiction of the theft of St. Mark's relics (his bones).  So the story goes, in the year 828, Venetian sailors smuggled the apostle's bones out of Alexandria, where he had been laid to rest in peace, by covering them with a layer of pork.  Muslims, of course, are not allowed by their religion to touch pork so this was a very ingenious method of thievery.  You can see one man even holding his nose!  It's not part of this tour, but entrance into the Bascilica is free.  It is truly a 'must-see'.  The line might seem long, but it does move quite quickly.  I can tell you, and this is not Venetian bias talking here, it is the most beautiful bascilica in the whole world."
        Even though Samson Kincaid had been coming to Venice, Italy, for their annual, Mardis Gras-esque festivities, aptly named "Carnival", eight years running, he made a point to follow this particular tour at least once during his stay.  The tour guide, Ginevra, made each tour unique rather than reciting dull, dry, memorized facts about Samson's favorite city in the world.  And, he had to keep coming back...after all, he still didn't even know her last name.  He felt certain she was playing hard to get, because she couldn't be serious when she told him she wasn't interested.  He believed himself to be a professional people-reader, with the ability to discern a person's character in a mere glance.  Even if some of the human objects of his observing eye might have disagreed with him, he remained quite arrogant regarding his self-professed skill.  Watching Gina, as he liked to call her, all these years, brought him to make several conclusions, even though some people might call them assumptions. 
        She never wore jewelry of any kind.  In Samson's mind this had to mean she wasn't married.  Clearly her long, shiny, dark hair, that always smelled of flowers, indicated she lived alone and didn't have any pets because she obviously never had to fight for bathroom time and didn't have some smelly dog to take care of. He overheard most of the information he had gathered over the years; she didn't openly reveal personal information, showing she valued discretion.  Once, a hilarious camera-clicker from Alabama bombarded her with questions about Venitian life, saying she wanted to move to the islands.  Gina let it slip that she lived in a smaller island away from the mainstream of tourist traffic.  It made him happy to know she enjoyed being away from all the hustle and bustle. He had decided this was proof of her intellect.  She very obviously practiced the art of yoga or pilates as evidenced by her easy grace, tall height and lean build, having excellent muscle tone in her ankles and forearms (she never wore anything more revealing, which showed her sense of propriety).  Perhaps she had been a balerina when she was younger.
        Although Samson arrived in Venice alone, he almost always found someone with whom to enjoy his vacation.  Yet, he could never quite figure out why Gina didn't take him up on his offers to escort her to dinner.  That didn't prevent him from continuing his efforts.
        A few years ago, as the tour group walked through the compact streets of the city, she told a rotund Floridian retiree, the very best pastries were found at Rizzardini.  Wanting to surprise her the next morning, he woke up before dawn to make the trek from his hotel on Cannaregio, across five different bridges to Calle Fiubera, only to discover Rizzardini is closed Tuesdays.  He repeated the journey Wednesday and showed up for her daybreak San Michelle Cemetry tour with a box of pastine di riso, their specialty, only to find out this particular pastry is eaten most often as a dessert, not an early-morning donut. No wonder the counter girl told him he should come back after dinner to get the fresh ones. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn Gina had laughed at attempts to impress her.