Looking for Marco Polo Read Online Free Page A

Mongol lances,each with a vicious hook just below the point. There were rows of shields made from woven reeds, the fronts covered with brass and beaten gold and decorated with black writing. In the cases there were dozens of battle helmets, each one with what looked like a vase on one side.
    On the way out his mother pointed to the displays of open books. “Marco’s book in French and Latin, the earliest printed ones,” she said. “The ones over there, the ones written out by hand, they came first.”
    “Mom,” Mark groaned, “I’ve got museum feet….”
    She looked at her watch. “Time for il pranzo,” she announced. “Can you make it back to the signora’s for some of that lasagna before we nap?”
    Remembering the bubbling pan of cheese and tomato, Mark brightened. “Sure!” he said.
    Just before the bridge to their
campo
his mother stopped them in front of a shop. The sign said IL PAPIRO. “Paper,” she explained. “You need some for your letters to Dad.”
    “Aw, Mom …”
    “One minute!”
    The shopkeeper’s face was a round of pink under a big black fur hat. She wore a neck-to-ankles cocoon of dark red wool. She nodded and smiled as Mark’smother stepped in, Mark lagging behind with a sour look.
    “So what you need?” the woman asked, holding up a sign in English:
    W E PROVIDE —
P APERS OF EVERY KIND
C ALLIGRAPHY SCRIPTS
H ANDWRITING ANALYSIS
P ALM READING
T OURIST ADVICE
T OILET —1 EURO
    “He needs paper for letters,” Mark’s mom said.
    “This is good, writing letters,” the woman exclaimed as she wormed past boxes and displays to a shelf, “but first you must gather ideas. You must write down what surprises—quick, before it is ordinary.
    “Here—this will fit your pocket,” she said, handing Mark a ballpoint and a small red leather booklet. “Try the pen on it. See? Good, the paper! Feel how it welcomes the pen! This is important: a writer’s paper should never fight the hand! So you write your first book! And—see?—you can tear out sheets for mail.”
    Dear Dad,
    Mom got the people at the agency to send out some people to look for you. I hope they find you soon. She showed me the Gobi on the map. It’s colored
tan, which means it’s really dry. Mom’s worried because of no letters, but the agency chief says he’s sure you’re OK because the last team met some other herders who didn’t say anything was wrong except the water had moved. There’s water everywhere here. The roads are water. Our hotel is old and smelly. Everything here is really old with a lot of fancy stuff hung on it. Nothing is new. The lady at the restaurant told us where Marco Polo’s house was, so we went there, but it burned down a long time ago. On the way Mom bought me a pillow like he used. It’s hard as a rock. I stood under the arch he went under when he came home. They named the airport for him but they lost his body. Mom read in the guidebook that most Venetians didn’t wear underwear. The museum didn’t have any. The woman where we bought this paper said we must be Americans because of our shoes. “For practical,” she said. It’s the boots Mom makes us wear. Nobody here wears things like you’re going moose hunting. She read my palm for free. She says I’m going exploring. I’m keeping the notebook she sold us in my pocket to write you notes for when I see you. It’s redleather. It cost a lot. People here don’t go fast, or push, and lots of them smile when they look at you. There are no joggers and no black people. From the looks of the water, don’t eat the fish, but the other stuff is OK. What do you eat? Mom says goat and a lot of cheese made from sheep and goat milk. She says we’re going to get some to try. Ropes and life preservers are hanging all over this place so a lot of people must fall in. The fire truck is a boat. Mom says you’re wearing a camel-hair hat. Are you? We saw a camel. Mom bought me a red one to wear—a hat, not a camel, but I bet you could