Roberto caught the waiter’s eye. “Cognac!” He also caught the admonition forming on Diura’s lips. He held up his hand. He pulled a red velvet ring box out of his pocket. From it, he took out a wide gold, diamond spanned wedding band. He looked into her eyes. “I swore you would wear this wedding band back to America. That has not changed.”
“No, nothing has changed.” She sat back, dropped her hands into her lap.
“D-D,” her initials, his most affectionate name for her, “I love you. I adore you.”
“Yes, I love and adore you, too.”
“Yes. We love and adore each other. Very much.” He remembered the moment they were standing with her mother and sister when he first met her. He proposed to her before they stopped shaking hands. “Remember?” She nodded rapidly, smiling. “Your mother knew I was serious, but you put me off then, and you held me at bay until I contracted my illness. Then, you wanted us to marry, but it came with a condition.”
“You make it sound so declaratory!” she said.
“You wanted me to be with you all the time, every day. That’s not an all-consuming demand?” he questioned.
“I wanted you to spend more time with me than you did working on the fourth nail!”
“You knew I couldn’t do that. Time was against me.”
“Time is against me first! I will know when you’re gone! The fourth nail won’t give a shit.” His face clouded. She shuffled the glasses and silverware. The waiter brought the cognac. “The accommodation should be to me. In fact, I demand it.”
“Therefore we are at a stalemate. I don’t like it when we do this. I would rather make love to you...” He reached for her hand.
She pulled it away. “That’s what I’m offering you, and you refuse.”
“D-D...”
“Go! Go play potchy-potchy with your true love, the fourth nail.” Anger showed.
“You’re being totally unfair. The resolution is we get married, I resolve the mystery and story of the fourth nail, and we live happily ever after!” He threw his hands out wide and smiled.
“No, the resolution could be a double jump: we get married, you may or may not resolve the fourth nail, and I become your widow. I don’t want that. I want to be your bride until the day we both die. I am insanely jealous of you. I want to share you with no one, especially this work you’ve undertaken and which you will not relinquish. Roberto, suppose you knew I was ill and that I could die any day. Would you want me to waste my time doing something that didn’t have anything to do with you? You would marry me, and we’d be on a perpetual honeymoon! Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course I agree,” he said.
“Well, then, we have no problem! Let’s find out how to get married in bella Italia!” She clapped her hands rapidly, joyfully.
XIII
During the days at the training field, Marius would take the same breaks as the soldiers would take, including the noontime meal. He was not allowed in the fort, but he could go to the shade at the far end of the court near a doorway. He would take his lunch—which was sumptuous compared to the food Horace served—and a cup of wine and retreat to the almost secluded spot.
After a particularly exhausting session, he went there to relax. A young girl’s voice spoke to him from the doorway. “Would you like more food? Or wine?”
Marius started to turn around and get up.
“No! Don’t turn around,” the voice said, “they may see us!”
Marius sat back down. “Yes, I’d like more to drink. Who are you? I haven’t talked to a woman in ages!”
She giggled and laughed. “I’ve watched you when you come here.”
“Go away!” Marius said. “Do you want to get me into trouble?” he said the sight and sound of Angelus’s punishment full-blown in his mind.
“I just want to talk with you. I’m very alone,” the girl said.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen, almost eighteen years,” she answered.
“I’ve got enough problems, let alone talking to a young maid,” Marius said, his mind echoing Angelus’s scream. He gathered his things and moved further up the wall.
The vision at the vineyards seemed formulated from the late morning mist. He never knew when she would appear. She was there. When he fell off Bucelotto, the Massive, the black charger, she just appeared. If she was not touching him in a sensitive place, he would find her behind him on the horse, posting in rhythm. She put a hand across his chest and pumped into him so he could feel her bump into him at the small of his back. At a lope, he could feel her arm press him tighter and tighter only to suddenly release and to spasm to a slow and gentle easing. He could feel her breath on his back and the heat from her little breasts. At times, side by side, they would walk back to the vineyard, the horse clopping behind them. They would stop at the path back to the stable. They would move under the shade of the vineyard to stand and talk. He spoke of his studies and his yearning to see what there was of the world. She could speak only of her destiny as the daughter of an Espaliere and the commitments made for her by another. No, that was not to be, Marius commanded. She was always to be there waiting for him. Yes, that is how it should be for them. Of all places, dreams and locations, only with her did he feel human and safe. In his worst moments, her vision would come to him, always with her arm and hand stretched out as he helped her across the brook. She would leap as smooth as a breeze, float past his outstretched arms, and wait for him to redirect his gaze into her eyes. This was their last moment. She put her back to the arbor post. He moved to her. The intensity bewitched them. The sun and moon was on either side of them. Serafina put her arms around his neck, locking one hand to the other. His arms banded her waist. The heat of the moment caused Bucelotto to whinny, and stamp the ground with a hoof. They drew together, bit by tiny bit until they could taste the sweetness from each other’s lips before they touched. The long, sweet, yellow grape passed from their lips and fell to their imprints in the earth. Her mother waved her to the pale and she was gone. It was dusk when the servant caught Marius as he slid off the horse unconscious, as if he were in a rapture. He never rode Bucelotto out to the vineyards again.
Marius stayed away from the doorway during rest periods and lunch breaks. Every now and then, his mind would wander back to Serafina. He wondered what it would be like to ride Bucelotto again, although he pretty much knew the horse was ancient by that time. Then, after a particularly bruising workout, he saw her hand put a cup of wine on the sill. He threw caution to the winds and went for it. “Thank you,” he said.
“Do I sound like a temptress?” she asked.
“You sound like trouble if I ever heard it. I’ll stay here just this one time. Who are you? What’s your name?” he asked.
“My name is Teresa, and why do you worry?” she said. “My mother and father go to their bedroom and fall asleep for their afternoon rest—or whatever—so we’re perfectly free to talk. That’s all I want to do is talk. I have no friends here.”
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a weaver, just to keep busy. Here, a present, I’m pushing it through the doorway for you” she said.
“What is it, Teresa?” he asked.
“I noticed your iron collar. Does that mean you’re an indentured prisoner? Anyway, I made you a neck cloth so the collar will not chafe. Wear it for luck for me, will you?” she asked.
Marius picked it up and pulled it through his hands. “It’s beautiful. It’s silk. I don’t deserve this.”
“Who better?” she asked.
“Let me see your face,” he said.
“No! Never!” Teresa said. “All you need know is my voice.”
At their third meeting after that, Teresa told Marius why she didn’t want him to see her face. She had a birthmark just behind her right ear that resembled a teardrop.
“I want to touch it,” he said.
“No!”
“I was being dishonest,” he said. “The trut
h is I ache to touch a woman, even to touch the birthmark of someone who is as sweet and caring to me as you have been. I don’t care about it, let me see you,” he said.
“Put your hand inside the doorway,” she said.
He expected to touch her face, but found he was cupping her breast. He pulled his hand out of the doorway as if it had been bitten, collected his things and went to the far end of the training field.
That night he dreamed of the sensation of the creamy smoothness of her skin, the roughness of the aureole, the hardness of the nipple. He awoke holding his erection. He moaned. The intense spurting continued for a bit, and gradually the contractions ebbed. He took them all in as in his thoughts he continued to possess Teresa. Even the vision of the castrating pliers could not close out the reverie.
He stayed away from the doorway despite his great thirst and the cups of wine pushed out, but the urgings from his groin were wild and demanding. Then, he swore to himself he would stay in control. Talking with the sweet young thing could cause no harm. He would not be tempted ever again for anything. Yet, he returned, her draw much too powerful for him.
“I’ll be eighteen years old next week.”
“I don’t have anything to give you for a birthday present.”
“Just be here, that will be my present.”
“Only if you let me see your face.”
“Only if you promise you won’t find me ugly! I don’t want you to stop being my friend. I don’t want not to have you for company,” she answered.
He saw first large, dark ochre eyes guarded with high, pronounced cheekbones. He followed her small, slender nose to large, inviting wide lips above a soft cleft in her chin. Her face was symmetrical, her hair a gentle fire-lit, curly auburn. “You mesmerize me,” he told her. Her eyes narrowed. She offered a bare smile of contentment at his words.
The following week, Marius put his hand through the doorway and she let him bring her to completion. Then, under his padding, she reached through the doorway and massaged him to completion. Then, when she told him she was Captain Morgana’s daughter, Marius nearly collapsed. “Teresa, you can only hasten my death! This is a lost cause! Listen to me! I will be dead before I am freed from the forge. Do not bond yourself to me. You will die of a broken heart even though I love you more than life itself. I have no recourse, no way to make you my wife, no way for us to share time on earth together. Do you understand?”
“I understand only that you should find a way to come through the doorway to make love to me!”
“What do you know of making love?”
“Oh! On walks in town. There are places where women can be seen entertaining men behind beaded curtains. They have coitus. I have watched. It excites me. It makes me feel like there is smoke in my veins.”
“And I have molten metal coursing inside me. Ah! Teresa, I feel too much for you! The gods will be jealous and make us pay!”
“I know. The same for me for you. I must have your child at any cost! Do you understand? I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me!” she pleaded with him.
“Our child in you will mean death for us both before the child is born, do you understand that?" He knew her plea would almost drive him to madness at night, laying on the straw, thinking of the ecstasy he would find in her charms. “You must be patient because in two more years I can ask to be free! Don’t you believe the gods will take pity on us?”
“Only if before those two years pass you arrange to meet with me.”
14
Roberto half-closed his eyes as he scanned the plaza. He turned back to Diura. “We’d be married under false pretenses if you didn’t remember that before I made my vow to you, I had made an irrevocable oath to my father. To my dying breath I must search out the fourth nail.” He put both hands on the edge of the table as if he were holding it down.
She stretched. Diura had heard it all before. It was a tired reprise. In her early college dating days, she learned very quickly which young men held promise of a fun evening and which did not. Those that reserved a table for three: her, himself, and his ego definitely were out. If the conversation wasn’t about him, he was bored; and when it was about him, she was bored. In Roberto’s case, the third seat was reserved for the fourth nail. It was useless to get into a contentious round on this account, but she would try.
“Tell me, Roberto. If your father were sitting here at the table with us, and was totally aware that the status of your search is exactly in the same place it has been for two-thousand years, don’t you think he would release you from your oath? You said it yourself; you were at a dead end. There is no exit. No exit! There is no place for you to go. Listen to me. Give me one month of hedonistic time with you. It’s not all that I’d like, but it’s as much as I can negotiate.”
“Conflict is when two people want to stand on the same spot. That is not the real problem. The real problem comes because neither one understands, nor wishes to understand, the reason that spot is important to the other person. For me, even if I had just one month left to live, I would have to forsake the happiness I would have with you and choose to continue the search.” He tossed his head, and moved both hands sharply into the air.
Diura put both arms on the table and leaned over them toward him. “Stranger things have happened. I have just this instant become pregnant.”
“How do you know such a thing?” he asked.
“One knows. It is just for your information,” she said. “There is nothing you need do.”
“I want to know how you can divine such a thing,” he said. “You’re on the pill!”
“Not that we’ve had need of it lately. It made no difference. If you must know...”
“Yes, I must know,” he answered.
“Because of my...you know...”
“...yes...” he acknowledged.
“...was...was so...voluptuous.”
“Yes! Yes! I know exactly what you are saying! Because we were apart for so long?” he asked. “For me it felt as if you had drawn me totally inside you.” Just expressing it made it all so vivid again for him. He started to get aroused. Diura was the perfect responsible lover. When they first started dating it was one long, continuous moment of ecstasy. Each had an uncontrollable addiction for the other. They woke each other in the middle of the night. They would leave in the middle of a movie and use the car. They would speak on the phone about nondescript matters and become excited. Then, when his illness denied them their pleasure, Roberto would mention their lost addiction but would not discuss it. As the months passed, he felt he was losing his resolve to continue his father’s work, and for a while, began to resent it.
“Because we’re true lovers. Because my love for you is so profound, and I hold you with such respect, I will not have you break your oath to me. I release you from it.” She picked up the ring and put it on her right hand. “...I will wear this ring back to America just as you said. Should you change your mind, I would want you to know where to reach me. When I get to the hotel, I will rent a car and go visit a cousin in Civitavecchia; and, from there, I will drive up to Lake Como to stay at the family villa with my aunt, uncle, and cousins for a few days. I will fly home out of Milan. I plan to spend a week perhaps with my mother and sister on Cape Cod. After that, even though my publishing company can do very well without me, I will go there to devote my energies making it bigger and better. I may go into young adult novels.”
“Diura, I ask you to have faith in me, as I have faith in what I must do. If only to have you try to understand, before we went to the Vatican, were we able to make love?”
“Well...” she hesitated. She wrinkled her brow. “...that’s true!”
“Then, mia cara, what do you think made it possible for us to share that moment?”
“I don’t know. I do not share your blind faith in this fourth nail! You will walk that path alone!”
“That’s the point, Diura; I do not walk this path alone.”
She stood up, took her
purse, and put a hand on Roberto’s shoulder. “No, don’t stand.” She bent over to kiss him on the lips. “Don’t forget to take your medicine. When you are through with the fourth nail, come see me to learn if you have a son or a daughter. Ciao! Caro.” Without looking back, her long-legged walk moved her away quickly to be lost in the crowd.
He stood up to catch another glimpse of her to no avail. He sat heavily, and remembered she had all his medicines. He reached for the cognac. “This will have to do,” he said to himself, then tossed it down.
He caught sight of the waiter standing to one side, and noticed the check with change on top of it. Roberto waved his hand for the waiter to take everything away. After he did, Roberto noticed the note. He unfolded it, and read: “Tomorrow morning, 6:00 a.m., St. Peter’s Square.”
“Waiter!” he called. “How did this note get here?”
The waiter came back to the table. He shrugged. “Non so. It was just there.”
XV
In the dark, moving with the stealth of an asp, he left the cover of the forge. A guard at the barracks seemed asleep though standing up. Slipping easily in the shadows, Marius moved until he was directly across from the door where he spoke with Teresa. There was a longer path in the shadows, but which took him almost to within touching distance of the guard on duty. Marius watched the clouds drift over the moon. He struck out, a blur across the courtyard. Totally out of breath, he collapsed in the dark by the door.
He felt her hand touch his. He knew then, he would take a sword through his heart if only he could be with her this once. He slipped through the door. He reached out, brushed her nude body, and trembled uncontrollably. She murmured and moaned at his touch. They found each other’s lips and were consumed in the firestorm of lightening bolts and searing bliss where he moved above her and at possession were unable to tell where one body started and the other began. They did not separate while the moon traversed a good portion of the sky.
The Fourth Nail: An Historical Novel Page 7