I often miss Mariano Maurović, the last Motovun historian. A bit prickly, and perhaps also pig-headed, he was not easy to talk to. And especially if he felt that someone was encroaching upon his own territory. But we still had a couple of wonderful talks about this town and its surroundings before his unexpected death in 2006. Always careful not to rile him up, which was rather easy to do, for years I hoped that a real friendship would in time open up between us. For I was sure that he would eventually recognize my deep appreciation of everything he actually knew, much of which was forever beyond my ken. But it was not to be.

I remember one day when we were sitting together in one of the town cafés, and when someone came to see him. I forget who this was, but he owned a house in town, which was now a ruin, and he wanted to know how that house used to look years ago. The longer ago, the better. This had to do with a building permit, I guess. Mariano frowned, got up, and shuffled in the direction of his office without a single word. Half an hour later he returned with a tattered book in his hands. It was from nearly a century ago, if my memory is not playing tricks on me. And it contained a marvelous black-and-white photograph of the house in question. It was precisely what was needed, too.

Mariano and I would disagree about the big picture from time to time, but I had never pressed him with my own understanding of history. As a matter of fact, this I avoided like the plague. Perhaps I understood such things a bit better than he did, for I had read a good deal about Venice, which had held Motovun for so many centuries, but the fact remained that he was far ahead of me when it came to the nitty-gritty. To names, places, and dates, that is. And this is why I often miss Mariano. There are so many questions that crowd my mind, but there is no-one that can answer them after his departure. And there never will be. As I said, Mariano was the very last Motovun historian.