Continuing our story
Contents
Continuing our story
In case you’ve been wondering about the empty fountain at the base of the monument in Freedom Square, on the day after five men finished dismantling a huge wooden platform that encased the vast, three-tiered basin, a single man came to clean the fountain. He brought a handmade ladder for climbing down into the dry sink and then worked for several hours with a high-pressure hose and a wide broom until he—and another man who came in the afternoon to consult with him–appeared satisfied with the results.
Before dawn the following morning, as I scanned the sky and watched the early traffic loop around the monument in semi-darkness, I noticed a faint shimmer from the floor of the basin, reflecting the bright lights that illuminate the monument from dusk until 7:00 am. By late afternoon, the water in the lower basin was deep enough to cover the jets set at regular intervals around the moat, and last evening both upper levels of the fountain were full as well, reflecting the red neon sign on the Bank of Georgia building across the square. Despite the lateness of the season, fountains in parks all around Tbilisi are still flowing (in Washington DC, by now most fountains have been drained for the winter; we’re told that freezing weather here is rare even in January), and so I believe that one day soon the Freedom Square fountain will come back to life. I feel ridiculously happy, like a child anticipating some great diversion planned especially for my delight and amusement!
This is the only reason I have for wanting to prolong our stay at the Marriott Hotel: I so want to see the water leaping into the air and cascading back into the pool, arcing skyward and splashing down. Except for the magnificent sight of the golden statue of St George high above the square, I will not miss our temporary quarters and am anxious to get settled in our new home, a small house in Vake, just off the principal avenue of the shopping district.
Called the “artists’ house,” our place sits at the end of a row of perhaps eight small buildings set in a courtyard behind a wide gate, studios in the Soviet era for artists working under the patronage of the State. Beside our front door, a pomegranate tree droops under the weight of ripe fruits, some of them bursting their bright skins, showing ruby seeds clustered within. The first time I toured the house, the owner pressed two small pomegranates into my hands as I left. I ate half of one fruit as soon as I returned to my hotel room and, like Persephone, was fated to stay. And so I went back again the following day for a closer look.
On the first floor, the kitchen and a large bathroom open off either side of an entry hall, which leads to an enormous room with wide windows in the far wall and a curving, open stair on the left. I will use this for a dining room and hope to have dinner parties here with friends from all over the world. On the second level are a sitting room, an office lined on two long walls with books in glass cases, a bedroom, and a half-bath. Once more up the wide stairs of mellow wood and wrought iron, and the third level has two bedrooms and a bath with a shower. In the ceiling, a broad skylight keeps everything bright. I think we will be comfortable there, and we are hoping to move in before the end of the week.
(One last note about the fountain: at breakfast today–a brilliant, sunny Monday morning–the fountain is in full working order! Silvery curtains of water flow from two upper levels into the basin below, where short columns of water pump sedately, echoing the central pedestal. This is not the exuberant display of hydro-frolics that I imagined, but then, what was I thinking? This is a serious monument to Georgian autonomy and liberty, not the Bellagio!)