What was the matter with me? I wondered. Not a stomach flu, or I wouldn’t have felt well this morning and been able to eat breakfast. Was it some kind of food poisoning? Bad water? I had let down my guard a little and now cleaned my teeth with ordinary tap water. Yes, that must be it, I reasoned.

I stopped off at one of the small markets and bought a bottle of mineral water and some Melba toast. That seemed to calm my stomach again, and I went to afternoon classes, but that evening I felt sick after eating salad and a hard-boiled egg. I went back to my room. Something was wrong with me. Should I see a doctor or simply go back to England while I could? I pictured my mother taking care of me, tucking me in bed with a cup of Bovril and some dry toast—our usual remedy for anything stomach related. It did seem appealing.

However, the next morning again I felt fine. I finished my morning classes and wondered about where to go for lunch. I couldn’t risk another embarrassment. So I went to the sandwich place and bought two tramezzini, one with cheese and one with ham. Then I went to sit on a bench beside the Grand Canal, near the vaporetto stop. I had only eaten a couple of mouthfuls when I felt queasy again. I stopped eating immediately and sipped water, willing my stomach to quieten down. It was pleasant to sit in the sun, watching people go past. Venice was always so lively, always something interesting to watch. I decided to get out my sketchbook. If I wasn’t going to eat, at least I could be productive and work on my figure drawing.

I was engrossed in sketching the man at the newspaper kiosk when I heard a big shout of joy and saw two women greeting each other. They were rushing together, arms outstretched, delight on their faces.

“Bambino!” the older woman exclaimed. “Finalmente. Grazie a Dio!” And she put her hands on the extended belly of the young woman.

They went into animated conversation that I couldn’t catch, but Italians always talk with their hands, and I could see how thrilled and surprised they were with this event. I watched with the sort of second-hand pleasure one gets from seeing other people happy, until a strange thought crept unbidden into my head.