The Eye Stone

by Roberto Tiraboschi

  He acted on impulse, obeying an ancient instinct, recreating an image he had often seen in manuscript miniatures.

  He kneeled before her, took her hand, and looked at her, bewildered. Kallis expressed surprise.

  “I’ll never find the right words to say exactly what my heart feels for you,” he said. “I wish I were a poet, but I am only a lowly scribe, so accept what my lips can humbly express. You are the greatest gift God could have given me. You are divine light manifested on earth. You are a balm for my eyes. You are the transparency of a pure soul.”

  Floods of tears began running down Kallis’s cheeks. Edgardo bowed his head and pressed his forehead against her hand.

  “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? You would make me the happiest of men.”

  Kallis quickly pulled her hand away.

  “I know full well that there are obstacles to our union,” he continued. “I’ll speak with Segrado. I’ll explain. I’ll try to buy your freedom. I’m sure he won’t refuse.”

  Kallis leapt to her feet. The boat rocked violently. She looked around as though searching for an escape route. Surrounding them were only reeds and algae. She rushed to the bow and began rowing with an energy full of anger, her face still streaked with tears.

  “Wait—perhaps I’ve offended you. If so, forgive me, I didn’t mean to.”

  “Quiet! Stop!” A desperate cry flew out of Kallis’s mouth. “I beg you. Do you want me to die of a broken heart?”

  “Why do you say this, tell me, please . . . ”

  Not a word. Only the swish of the oar.

  “Speak, Kallis, I beg you.”

  But Kallis carried on pushing the small boat through the rushes, her face rigid, like a mask of pain.

  XXVII.

  EYE DISCS

  He wished he could be inside those tears, throw himself at her feet, hug her knees, and beg her to say something, to open up her heart to him. Kallis was pushing the scaula across a ruby sea without a word, head erect, sniffing the wind. Edgardo would have given his life to penetrate the reason for this silent weeping.

  What secrets, what bonds and torments were agitating her soul? Did she perhaps not return his love? If so, why not say it openly and stifle any hope of his at birth? Or did her attachment to Segrado go far beyond what he imagined a relationship between a master and a slave to be? He remembered the noises he had heard that night at their home. What had really happened? Had it been a dream, a nightmare, or a truth he was refusing to admit? Kallis was Segrado’s slave, as well as his concubine: a woman he used as he pleased, a piece of property he would never relinquish. And that was something Kallis could never confess.

  If he were a man worthy of the name—a knight, like his brother—he would abduct her by force without asking Segrado’s permission, and take her with him without the least concern for rules or etiquette. However, he was Edgardo the Crooked, a blind scribe now useless to the world, with no clothes, nowhere to sleep, and no friend to confide in.

  The boat advanced slowly, impaired by the threads of algae wrapped around the keel.

  The algae that had reached the basins had colored the saltworks bloodred. Kallis tied the boat to a pole on the rio behind the mill. She walked slowly, as though bearing the weight of a cross she was tired of carrying. Edgardo stopped her on the threshold to the foundry.

  “I’ll talk with Segrado, and ask for your ransom,” he said decisively, waiting for her to react.

  The response he thought he saw in her eyes was a flash of hatred mixed with despair. As they walked in, he was deeply confused.

  They found Segrado in full swing, prey to feverish agitation. His torso bare, his skull glistening, his hands dancing in the air as he handled tools: pincers, rods, forks, shovels. He seemed pleased to see them.

  “Oh, good—you brought the scribe.” He took Edgardo by the arm and pulled him toward him. “I have a wonderful surprise for you.”

  Edgardo was not expecting this welcome. All his resolve suddenly melted away.

  “Thank God—He has granted you to be born again . . . ” Segrado spoke like a possessed man. “Can you feel that fire in your chest? The ray of divine light, enlightenment . . . Our Lord has chosen to bestow His grace upon you.”

  Edgardo still did not understand, carried along by the master’s frenzy. Kallis had approached the furnace in disbelief.

  “Come and look at the miracle . . . ”

  Segrado went up to the workbench. There was a strange contraption on top of the parchment. Two little planks of light-colored wood—perhaps soft cherrywood—shaped like a spoon, inside which Segrado had carved two large eyelets the size of shriveled lemons. In the widest section, he had set two circles of crystalline glass, clear and transparent, thick as the bottom of a bottle. On the edge of the handles, he had drilled two tiny holes, and linked together the two spoons with the lenses, almost like a fork you could lengthen or tighten.

  Segrado lifted the contraption with two fingers, as though he were handling the wings of a butterfly.

  “Here, it’s for you.”

  He handed it to Edgardo who, surprised and embarrassed, at first could not even bring himself to touch it.

  “It’s for your sick eyes . . . Go on, try it.”

  Kallis approached, staring.

  “Weren’t you looking for lapides at legendum?” the master said. “Well, these are much better—they’re eye discs.”

  Edgardo picked up the object, tried its weight, and studied it carefully, turning it in his hands.

  “Be careful, it’s still very delicate and not very precise. I worked with whatever materials I had at my disposal.”

  “How does it work?” Edgardo asked naively.

  Segrado burst into laughter. “Well, since it’s supposed to be for your eyes, it certainly doesn’t go on your behind.” Once again, he laughed heartily. “Bring the lenses close to your eyes by holding them by the two handles. You can adapt them to your face by widening or tightening them at will. But mind you don’t drop them—the glass is extremely precious.”

  Edgardo followed his instructions.

  “So, what do you think?”

  He opened his eyes, closed them, then opened them wide again, and the world around him melted. Objects, bodies, and faces dematerialized, colors blended into a drunken rainbow, the floor undulated, and the ceiling came crashing down on him.

  “Everything’s upside down,” Edgardo exclaimed, confused. “I can’t see anything,”

  “No, not like that, it’s not for seeing from a distance . . . it’s for up close. Take that piece of parchment.”

  Edgardo tentatively lifted the sheet, which he immediately recognized as the copy of the frontispiece of Book VIII of De Aspectibus, and brought it slowly closer to his eyes. At first, the writing was huge and illegible, then, as he gradually moved it closer to the glass discs, he noticed that the outlines grew clearer and sharper. He stopped, astounded. He brought the sheet even closer and the words lost their consistency.

  “You need to find the right distance for your eyes,” Segrado explained.

  Edgardo moved the sheet and the writing became perfectly clear, as though his eyes had suddenly been cured.

  “It’s amazing.”

  A wave of heat spread through his chest, and he felt his skin burning. He thought it was a miracle, that he could see once again. He turned to Kallis.

  “It’s incredible! I can read again!”

  She closed her eyes calmly, as though she had always known it.

  “The contraption needs perfecting,” Segrado said. “You shouldn’t have to move the sheet. I’ve noticed that the discs act differently depending on their thickness and curvature. Maybe it’s the crystals that need to be adapted to your eyes. We must try things out and adjust the glasses.”

  Edgardo still could not believe it. He brought the parch
ment closer again. He could recognize every letter, the inclinations and flourishes, even the lines traced on the sheet.

  Kallis burst out laughing. “You look funny with that thing in front of your eyes—you look like an owl.”

  “Better an owl than a mole,” Edgardo replied. Then he turned to Master Segrado. “I can never thank you enough. How did you do it?”

  “I’m working on a cruet and I noticed that the disc I’d blown to make the bottom had this miraculous property.”

  Edgardo caressed the contraption thoughtfully. “Sometimes, life is really strange,” he said. “I spent so much time chasing after glassmakers, crystal-makers, and Arabic manuscripts, hoping to discover the eye stone, and it was all for nothing . . . And then, by pure chance, while working on a cruet, you find what I was desperately seeking elsewhere.”

  Segrado’s face lit up with a candid, almost boyish expression. “You of all people talk of chance? You, a man of the cloth? Can’t you see the divine plan?” he said, raising his voice like a preacher. “God filled me with the light that guided my hand, so that I might create a pure, transparent glass in His image, to His praise and glory. An image of purity that every Christian should seek. If I hadn’t discovered crystalline glass, you wouldn’t have your discs, and you would be wandering blindly, aimlessly, without a purpose. In His immense generosity, God chose to give us new possibilities and show us the way.” He paused thoughtfully. “To you and to me. Now, with this contraption, you can go back to performing the task for which you were chosen: copying manuscripts.”

  “I envy your faith, Maestro. You manage to see a divine plan in every event, and in every object around us.”

  “But it’s so obvious,” Segrado added with an ineffable smile.

  Edgardo felt ashamed of his shortcomings and looked at Kallis, hoping for a sign of encouragement from her. He noticed, however, that a veil of deep melancholy had fallen over her face again.

  He plucked up his courage. “Maestro, I wish to ask you a favor—”

  “No, wait,” Segrado interrupted, “it’s I who have something to ask you.”

  “Tell me. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Now that you’ve regained your eyesight, and are able to use a quill again, I’d like you to write something down for me.”

  Kallis listened, alert.

  “But first you must swear on your honor that you will never disclose to anyone, or for any reason, what I’m about to reveal.”

  Oaths, honor, solemn undertakings . . . Edgardo remembered the words he always heard his father repeat before the knights lined up in the castle courtyard when he was a child. Although this was just a poor promise to a glassmaker, he felt that, for the first time, he was being asked to carry out a responsibility to the very end, even if it involved putting his own life at risk.

  “I swear,” he said resolutely.

  “Good, I thank you.” Segrado grew very stern. “I’d like you to transcribe the crystalline glass formula. Nobody knows the secret of the formula, and if I suddenly died, this discovery would be lost forever. And who knows if any other glassmakers would ever discover a way of creating such pure glass?” He paused, thoughtfully. “Do you think you could do this for me?”

  There was a sudden crash. A terra-cotta mold had fallen to the floor, and broken into a thousand pieces. Kallis was watching him, stunned. Segrado gave her a piercing, burning look.

  “The canker on you—be careful!”

  “Forgive me.” Kallis was pale, her lips drained of their color, her eyes full of fear. She stood there, motionless, by the furnace, staring blankly at the fragments of mold. Then she bent down to pick them up, casting terrified glances at Edgardo.

  “So, then,” Segrado said. “Are you willing, yes or no, to transcribe for me the formula for making perfect crystal?”

  “Of course, Maestro,” Edgardo replied.

  Kallis bowed her head.

  “In that case, I’ll expect you tomorrow in Metamauco, away from prying eyes and ears. I’ll find all that you’ll need to do the writing. Meanwhile, if you’ve nowhere to go, you can spend the night here in the foundry.”

  “I gladly accept. Thank you for your hospitality.” Edgardo tried to resume what he was saying. “As I was about to tell you, Maestro, I too have a favor to ask you.” He turned to Kallis, who was still bent over, collecting the last fragments.

  “Tomorrow,” Segrado replied hurriedly. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow. I must rush to the basilica now. He is waiting for me. I must keep a promise.”

  Having said that, he wrapped the cruet in various rags and put it into a knapsack.

  “Mind you,” Segrado insisted, pausing on the threshold, “don’t forget the eye discs.” He indicated the miraculous contraption Edgardo had placed on the workbench, and left.

  Kallis was still kneeling on the floor, cleaning up slowly, as though concentrating on a ghostly image only she could see.

  When he was sure Segrado had gone, Edgardo approached her and reached out a hand to help her up. It struck him that perhaps she was angry with him because of his lack of decisiveness.

  “I promise you, tomorrow—” He did not have a chance to finish his sentence. Kallis leapt to her feet and held him in a stifling embrace.

  “You mustn’t go, you mustn’t, please, I beg you . . . I beg you,” she kept repeating in a restrained voice. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hands shaking. “Don’t go to him, don’t do what he asks, don’t write down that formula.”

  How sweet it was to hold that thread of wool in his arms, to feel her body trembling and hear her voice imploring him in that heartfelt tone.

  “Calm down, calm down.” Edgardo kissed her velvet forehead, her hair, and the corners of her mouth, which tasted of salt. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll explain everything, I’ll tell him that I love you, and that I want to take you as my wife. I’ll ask him to set you free. He can’t deny me this favor. He needs me now.”

  “But, Edgardo, don’t you see? Once you’ve written down the formula, you’ll no longer be of any use to him . . . and he’ll kill you.”

  It was like a gash, an explosion. Edgardo pulled away from her as though he had been stabbed in the back with a sword. “What do you mean? Why would he kill me?”

  “Nobody must know the crystal secret besides him. You’d be a constant threat. You could talk, report it, even if you didn’t want to, under torture or drugs. No, he’d never allow that.”

  “But I’ve sworn.”

  “Do you know what your oath is worth to Segrado? It’s like dust you can blow away. You don’t know him. He’s a man capable of anything. He’s violent, implacable. He doesn’t allow anyone to interfere with his plans. For that he’s ready to kill—he’s already killed once . . . ”

  Edgardo could not believe it. Impossible to think that the master he knew and even imagined as a father could turn into a murderer.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. Trust me.” Kallis hugged him again and took his face in her hands. “Don’t come to Metamauco. It’s death that awaits you there.” She let go of him and picked up the contraption for the eyes. “Take the glasses, it’s what you came for, after all. Go back to your abbey. Now you can see again, return to your manuscripts and your quiet life. Flee Venetia. This city is sick. There are monsters lurking beneath the waters of the lagoon, and the people here are afflicted with a terrible disease that transforms and destroys their souls. The miasma, the fog, the winds—they all eat away at the mind, crush feelings, and wither the heart. Go away, Edgardo, forget everything. If you want to live, then I beg you, leave Venetia.”

  Edgardo felt as though he was being tossed by the currents, hurled against the rocks by a huge wave, his flesh torn, and a splinter of basalt stuck through his chest. Everything was breaking into pieces. His dream of a life with Kallis, freedom. It was as t
hough all he had lived through over the past few days had been nothing but an endless nightmare.

  “What about us, Kallis? I can’t leave you.”

  Kallis shook her head and walked away, turning her back. “Do you believe in a divine plan for everything?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll meet again.” She took a bead streaked with a thousand colors from her pocket and placed it in Edgardo’s hand. “My mother gave me this when I was a child. Hold onto it, and give it back to me when we meet again.”

  Edgardo held it tight in his fist. At that moment, they heard Segrado’s voice, calling Kallis from the boat.

  “Don’t come to Metamauco. He’ll kill you,” she whispered and ran away.

  And so, in the end, he had to confront his ghosts. It was pointless hiding, disguising himself as a copyist. The day of battle had come and he could no longer run away. He had to make a decision. To go to Metamauco and risk his life, or return to Bobbio and give up Kallis forever? To face his fear or, once again, flee?

  His heart was telling him to go forth, to meet Segrado and fight for the woman he loved, but his cowardly soul stopped him from acting. Fear is a subtle disease that worms its way into the depths of your soul, attacking your mind and limbs, forcing them to capitulate to its sneaky ways. It is easy for those who possess courage within, but when cowardice takes root inside you, it takes away all hope, willpower, and strength.

  Overwhelmed by uncontrollable torment, Edgardo left the foundry and started roaming aimlessly through the district, meditating on himself and his destiny.

  The city was immersed in a pale sunset that cast ghostly indigo shadows on the banks and houses. In just a few hours, the bloodred algae, swept by the tide, had all but disappeared and, although it was still February, the water temperature was unusually mild, as during the summer months. A scirocco wind was blowing from the sea, its heat draining humans of energy, and making animals by turns lethargic and anxious, as they sensed the approach of some extraordinary phenomenon. In the calli, the timber walls of the houses were unusually damp, and a smell like that of rotten eggs was coming from the lagoon.