“Leo? Are you still there? I don’t know if Samanta or anybody asked you yesterday, but would you like some mineral water for the night, in your room? Fizzy or plain?”
Leo said she didn’t have to bother, but she insisted. “Follow me to the kitchen, there should be some in the fridge.”
A few minutes later Leo found himself alone in his room, with a bottle of mineral water. The presence of the forbidden book had taken his mind off even Orsina. She couldn’t have known how untimely her thoughtfulness had been. But now he was in a bind. After what Emanuele had said, he could hardly read that book, yet that was the reason Orsina had invited him in the first place. He was tempted to go downstairs immediately and take a good long look at it. Emanuele would never know.
By the time he had put on his pajamas, the temptation was unbearable. He would go back to the library. But not sneakily: he would turn on the lights as he went, and leave them on too. If someone surprised him, he had a perfect excuse: he couldn’t sleep, so he was reading.
He made straight for the forbidden fruit. The green morocco binding was stiff, like a new book. Il mondo magico de gli heroi, he read on the title page, Stampato a Venezia a spese della famiglia nobile Della Riviera, MDCCLVII. Printed in Venice in 1757 for the noble Riviera family—very beautifully printed, too—and scarcely opened, it seemed, till today. In fact, he made another discovery: the folded sheets were still uncut. Who would have thought it? This way, the book would be unreadable until someone had separated them with a paper knife. Now that he had the rarity in his hands, he could not open it without making it known that he had read it, or at any rate that someone had read it. There was nothing else for it: he replaced it on the table exactly where it had been and went upstairs to his room, pacing along the corridors as he turned off the lights. As far as he could tell, no one had seen him.
FOUR
“What’s wrong, Uncle?” It was their first breakfast together in a long time, yet the Baron hardly spoke. Orsina donned her best smile, the one that rarely failed her. Her uncle still said nothing and looked the other way.
“Is it something I’ve done?” she insisted.
“Yes.” The Baron had finally broken the silence. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t realize it.”
“What is it? I still don’t know what I’ve—”
“Enough, don’t add insult to injury. But listen very carefully. You should never have mentioned the family edition of the book to anyone, least of all to that hapless American. And asking him to help you do the work you should be doing on your own, that is blasphemy. Just don’t show it to him.”
“But Uncle, I’m no expert in archaic Italian and Latin, and he is.”
“Nonsense: do your homework yourself, and you will reap the fruits. No one is to see our edition, absolutely no one. Is that clear? You’re warned now. That is enough. Learn from your mistake, and don’t make it again.” Anger and resentment seemed to fade instantly as he added, in a considerate tone: “Drink your tea, dear. It’s your favorite blend, grandmother’s.”
Lunch was a more communal affair, this time indoors, in the frescoed dining room Leo had admired in his walks through the villa. Angela was finally in attendance, her bubbly self as usual. Nigel and Orsina walked in, holding hands. She looked quite different from the lively young woman who had smitten Leo ever since that interview in Rome. She was still beautiful but seemed strained, worried.
“Hello, all,” said Nigel as they sat at the table. “Sorry to keep you waiting but it couldn’t be helped,” glancing over to Orsina. She turned a deep shade of red, and was thankful that his cell phone interrupted what she feared would be an embarrassing conversation about her. “I really must take this call,” he said, and moved to the adjoining room.
It was a cold lunch, so the Baron ordered Dumitru to start serving, and commented: “Nigel should not bring his phone to the table.”
“Oh, Uncle, you know how Nigel is about making billions, who can blame him?” Angela said before Orsina was able to apologize for him.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that, Angela; we’ve been brought up differently and know better than to discuss money at table.”
Nigel returned, pocketing his phone. “I am so sorry, Baron. Terribly rude of me.” He still addressed Emanuele by his title, which seemed to please him, since the Baron held up his hand in a gesture of forgiveness. He turned to Leo.
“Professor,” he said, “we’re yet to hear your voice. Are you all right?”
Leo blushed slightly, and replied, “I’m fine, thank you, and enjoying the company.”
The Baron insisted: “Don’t tell me you are still thinking about the terrorist attack?”
“I am, I just can’t get it off my mind.”
“I don’t blame you, but don’t give in to survivor’s guilt, that’d be criminal. This is an oasis, and none of that should concern you here.”
“Yes, it’s a privilege to be here, and I really appreciate your hospitality.”
“Don’t mention it. Dumitru, pour some more Custoza for the professor.”
Angela raised her glass. “Let’s toast to life.”
“To Life!” they all echoed.
After congratulating the Baron on his choice of the sparkling wine, Nigel announced his plans for the day. “That last phone call was from Maranello. It’s all set. Gianni, one of the mechanics, will pick me up in fifteen minutes.” They would drive down to Maranello, see the Ferrari Gallery, and then test-drive a few cars. “I’ve been courting a Ferrari from 1967, and might just add it to my collection.”
“May I come with you? Please?” asked Angela, with an irresistible smile.
“What do you think, Orsina? Would you mind?” asked Nigel.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Go and have fun. Just try to drive safely, promise me.”
Angela gave her sister a hug. “Thank you, Orsina. And you, Nigel. We will have fun.”
“Speaking of driving, Baron,” Nigel added, “I have a little something for you.” He handed over a small package. The Baron opened it and smiled at its content. “Driving gloves,” he said more warmly, “thank you, Nigel.”
“Glad you like them. Peccary driving gloves, the supplest. For a while, I had cornered the world market of peccary leatherfancy that. I think I still own a warehouse or two in Lima packed with it. Have you ever been to Lima? It looks as if the city’s been bombed, yet it hasn’t.”
As they were sipping coffee in the drawing room, a mousy-looking man turned up, apologized for intruding on them and approached the Baron. He whispered something in his ear. The Baron snapped: “Your lack of manners never ceases to amaze me, Giorgio. Whispering in one’s ear! You must forgive my secretary,” he continued, addressing his guests, “a loyal man, but still in need of some polishing. You may go now, Giorgio. I’ll join you shortly.” As the secretary left, the Baron commented: “His manners still don’t seem to stir from hibernation.”
“What could he possibly mean now?” wondered Leo in his mind, but simply asked, “Did you say ‘hibernation’?”
“Yes. His grandmother was the chambermaid of a Marquis from an ancient Veronese dynasty, good friends of ours. That he would get her pregnant was a minor scandal, if at all. What surprises me is that, two generations since, the one fourth of nobility in Giorgio’s blood has not yet revolted against the larger but weaker three fourths of plebeian blood in his veins. That’s what I mean by ‘hibernation.’ The noble blood is still asleep. But I don’t despair: sooner or later, it will awake.”
Leo did not know whether he should be blown away by what he had just heard, or whether the Baron was joking. It was impossible to tell because he seemed always to keep a straight face. The Baron resumed: “Anyway, Giorgio was just telling me that my … how shall I call them? … sympathizers? are already arriving.” The puzzled look on the guests’ faces prompted him to elaborate. “I’ve been doing this on and off for about a year now. I’ve accumulated so much knowledge down the years, it was time to share
some of it with young enthusiasts. Perhaps it’s just an old man’s excuse to feel important.”
“That would be in character,” thought Leo; he had never met such a self-important man.
“Why don’t you two join us?” Emanuele asked. “I’ve been working on a lecture you might find to your liking.”
Orsina and Leo felt obliged to attend.
About a hundred sympathizers were waiting for the Baron, all male and all more or less formally dressed. “So the ballroom still has a function,” thought Leo as he entered it, following Orsina. “But definitely not for dancing,” he added to himself, seeing that the walls were thickly hung with ancient weaponry: enough halberds, sabers, and crossbows for a small battalion. Chairs had been placed in front of a podium with a lectern in its middle. The two of them sat in the back row. Giorgio stepped up to the podium, checked the microphone, and said:
“Baron Emanuele Riviera della Motta needs no introduction to most of you. To those who are new, I say welcome. You will count this seventeenth of June as the first day of your new life. You have the good fortune to be admitted to the presence of one who, more than any other living man, embodies the perennial wisdom. To listen to him is to hear more than words: it is to experience an initiation.”
Giorgio stood aside and bowed to Emanuele, who with the most cursory acknowledgment took his stand. As the audience clapped, he put on his reading glasses. His theme, Orsina and Leo learned, was transcendence.
“There are three ways to attain transcendence,” said Emanuele, “and each is appropriate to a different caste, as Hindu tradition calls them: the Brahmins, who are priests and scholars, the Kshatriyas, who are princes and warriors, and the Vaishyas, who are merchants.
“The Brahmin is an intellectual. He achieves transcendent states without any external aids, through meditation alone. Do not confuse it with prayer. It is the hardest of the three ways, and those who follow it are convinced that it leads to the highest state of all.
“The warrior is a man of action, and he has two ways to achieve transcendence. One of them occurs in war. If he can rise beyond the point of caring whether he lives or dies, in the heat of conflict he may enter a transcendent state of sidereal coldness. At this point it really does not matter whether he kills or is killed.
“The warrior’s other way is through the use of woman. Women are not equal here, any more than they would be on a battlefield. The warrior—and we are talking of an elite here, not just of the average military rapist—uses sex for his own purposes.”
“Wouldn’t you know it?” thought Leo, amused; “the use of woman? Sex?” He had an inkling that this elaborate production was merely a pretext for the Baron to gab about his obsession before impressionable young minds—and bodies. The Baron had paused to drink some water. His timing was theatrical, though to Leo that made it look all the more farcical. Yet the young men listened with rapt admiration.
He resumed. “The woman the warrior is using may have no idea that he is doing so. The relationship can still be perfectly satisfactory from her viewpoint. For him, it is a matter of what he does with his mind during the sexual act. It is like meditation in some ways, but the atmosphere of sexual union provides an energy that can carry him faster and further than most meditators.
“The man of the third caste lives by buying and selling. He has no business on this path, but if he insists on it, he needs particularly powerful assistance. He doesn’t have the mind control of the other castes, so he takes drugs. They give him a glimpse of transcendence, but of an artificial kind, and his reward is often to get addicted.
“As for the fourth caste, the Shudras, they should be satisfied with their work and their family life, and loyal to their masters. But I am speaking of a traditional situation. The castes are all mixed up today, and have lost the sense of their own nature. It is foolish even to speak of these things to modern people: it’s casting pearls before swine.”
“Well, I’m so glad you’ve thrown me a few!” thought Leo, who was fed up. “How can these young men take him seriously? Look at them: they’re as alive as zombies! Ah, kids!” But irony and irritation vanished instantly as Orsina took his hand into hers. What was this, now? he wondered. He didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes on her uncle, still lecturing, though he was happy to notice that he no longer heard his words. Then they stood up and quietly left the ballroom.
FIVE
Orsina and Leo crossed the terrace and took the woodland path. She passed the statues of the gods without comment, and continued until the first break in the trees. It opened onto a wide meadow, rich with wild flowers. “Let’s sit here, on the grass,” she said.
Leo should have told her of his strange incident with The Magical World of the Heroes the night before. But he found that he had no intention of bringing the book up. It was so much better just to be there, beside her. She brought it up. “Uncle was very angry at me, this morning.”
“Was he?”
“Yes,” she answered, and explained why. Then she added, “It’s obvious that he doesn’t expect a woman to have a clue.”
“Really? How fitting. But forgive me if I ask: what business does he have in telling you how to lead your life, with permissions and prohibitions?”
Orsina looked him in the eye and said: “Before the accident, I suppose I wouldn’t have cared.”
“What accident?”
“My parents. They were killed in a car accident.”
“I’m so sorry, Orsina, I didn’t know, you—”
“I’m twenty-eight and married, I can cope with it. It’s Angela I’m concerned for. You must have noticed we’re quite unlike each other?”
“Yes and no; you’re both very beautiful.”
Orsina looked up at him, incredulous. “Now you tell me!” she finally said. Blushing, he added: “I’m just stating an obvious truth. But yes, your sister does seem a bit frivolous.”
“Frivolous? That’s an understatement. I don’t think I’d choose her as a friend, but as her elder sister I still worry very much about her, and try to care for her.
“After my parents died I offered to become her legal guardian. That would have been customary, but instead she chose Uncle over me. I tried to insist, but that only made matters uncomfortable. I don’t know if he’s really cut out for the role.”
Leo couldn’t agree more, but said nothing about it. He asked: “Isn’t she eighteen yet?”
“She will be in a few months. I can’t wait. She’s already been accepted by the University of Bristol. Of course Uncle hates the idea: you can imagine how he feels about anything non–Italian. But I think she needs to get away from here—as I did, but sooner. The sort of people she hangs around with are not a good influence. I’ll go to Bristol this summer and help her find a place to live.”
“How does that work? I thought Italian high school lasted five years.”
“She’s done the International Baccalaureate at the English School in Padua. But then again, perhaps I shouldn’t have worried: our parents have been dead for almost two years, and she seems fine. You’ve seen her yourself, she’s in perfect health and acts so cheerful.”
That was true, thought Leo.
“Anyway,” she resumed, “I try to be particularly obliging to Uncle while Angela is in his care.”
“Of course, that makes sense.”
“So, I won’t show you the book, after all.”
Leo said nothing. He was actually thankful.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“About having come all the way for nothing? That’s not how I see it at all. True, I won’t get to read that odd book, but I’m here in your company, and this alone is worth the trip.” Once more, he was inadvertently playing the gallant; it was not like him, and Orsina was now a married woman. He added: “Besides, the setting here is infinitely preferable to anything we knew in Georgetown.”
“Even the Chinese restaurant that you swore served dog meat?”
“Yes, and the movie theater
where the projector blew a fuse half way through Jules et Jim.”
At the memories, her face relaxed in a smile that allowed her, for the first time in Leo’s presence, to relinquish that strained expression. Soon, however, she was rummaging in her purse. “Still,” she said, her hand emerging from the search, “here are a few samples for you.”
“Are these excerpts from the book?”
“Yes, I’m sure Uncle won’t mind. Well, I’m not so sure, but he doesn’t need to know. Promise me you won’t tell him.”
“I promise.”
“I’ve been puzzling over these passages, and working on these codes. Perhaps you can shed some light? It may be all the help I need. I’ve been making some progress on my own, and I think the secret of the book may lie in them.”
“All right, let me take a look.”
All along Leo had been skeptical about any great secret being hidden in that book. Still, he was eager to help Orsina in any way he could. They moved to a stone table in the garden, and she put a sheaf of papers on it. Birds were atwitter in the dense foliage of the surrounding trees. It was an Arcadian moment, but he must not be distracted. Here was the matter at hand. Each sheet had a Latin phrase at the top, he noticed, and a series of letters derived from it which Orsina was trying to make into words. He read: “Lux naturae.”
“I’m sure that means the moon,” said Orsina.
“Why, and how?”
“Look: you take the first two letters of each word, like this: LUx NAturae, and they spell LUNA. The moon is the light of nature. Here’s a harder one: ‘Mensura structurae verae magiae.’”
“That means ‘the measure of the structure of true magic.’”
“Right, and I think the word is MENSTRUUM.”
“That’s right,” said Leo, who was catching on quickly, despite his reservations, “Of course: U and V are interchangeable in Latin. Could it be something about women’s mysteries?” he asked, trying to be delicate.
The Forbidden Book: A Novel Page 3