by Karen Brooks
'Hey!' Dante's voice interrupted my thoughts. 'I'll ask again. Do you want to take the oar?'
'Do I?' I squeaked, leaping to my feet and almost overturning the gondola.
'Steady there,' he laughed and slapped me affectionately on the back.
It took me about fifteen minutes and lots of splashing to become used to how a gondola was manoeuvred. Dante had made it look so easy, but, as he explained, he'd had years of practice playing around in the gondolas left for repair in his uncle's squero.
'That's it,' said Dante, standing behind me, wiping the splashes of water from his face. 'Push, don't pull – not yet. Bring it back carefully, that's it. It's like dancing with a beautiful woman. Lead her with a firm hand, but not too firm. Use your strength – the strength that's in here,' he touched his forehead and then his chest, 'to persuade her to follow you. Pretend you're irresistible. And for God's sake, concentrate and stop looking around.'
I focused for a moment on the image. To Dante, I would one day be the man who directed the dance. But what would it be like to be held as a woman, to be desired because I was irresistible?
'Focus!' snapped Dante, unaware of what had diverted my attention. Mind, it was hard not to be distracted by the walls of the marble casas coming into view. They climbed out of the water like blushing monoliths – they didn't look real, so pearly perfect were they with their carved facades and ornate windows.
'That's good,' said Dante finally. 'That's really good. I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd pick it up so quickly'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' I said gruffly. 'It's not that hard.'
'If that's the way you feel,' he said, 'then you can manage by yourself for a while.' Before I could say anything, he leapt off the platform and disappeared into the felze. Seconds later, his legs emerged. 'Sing me a song, gondolier!' he ordered.
I momentarily lost my rhythm. 'Er ...' I hesitated. No-one had ever asked me to sing before. It wasn't something I did. 'I don't know any,' I admitted.
Dante hit his head in his haste to look up at me. 'What? Are you serious? You don't know any songs.'
I shook my head.
'That's sad. No, that's worse than sad. That's pathetic!' He retired back into the felze to think. I didn't tell him that while I didn't know any songs, there was one piece of music – if it could be called that – that I'd heard intermittently throughout my life. I couldn't hum it, but I could recognise the sound whenever it came to me. It made my hair stand on end and my spine prickle.
'I know,' called Dante finally. 'I'll sing you one!'
He crawled out of the felze and sat in the bottom of the boat facing me. Without warning, he broke into song. I got such a fright that I lost my footing, almost dropping the oar. It slid down the forcola. I made a hasty grab to prevent it falling in the canal, but as I lunged forward, my spectacles came off. I watched in horror as they bounced on top of the cabin, slid off the wood and landed neatly in Dante's lap. He looked at them and then, with great deliberation, picked them up.
I rested the oar in the forcola and stretched out my hand. 'Can I have my glasses, please?' I kept my face lowered, my eyes downcast.
Without a word, Dante rose to his feet and, turning the glasses over in his hand so the arms faced me, went to place them on my nose. Just as he was about to slide them on, he paused. He was looking to see what I hid beneath my lashes.
I tried to screw up my face, but it was too late.
He gasped. 'Your eyes. They're like ... like the moonlight on the water.' I could feel his breath on my cheek. I couldn't help it; I raised my chin and, meeting his eyes, looked deep into his heart.
For a moment, time stood still. It was just me and Dante on the Circolo Canal beneath the stars. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and Dante's beating in my soul. Our faces were so close, our noses almost touched. 'What are you, Tallow?' he murmured. But I couldn't tell if the words had come from his mouth or his mind.
He continued to stare at me and I at him. Slowly, inexorably, I was falling towards him.
A nearby cry and splash made us break contact. I quickly snatched the spectacles out of his hands and pushed them onto my face. Turning away, I picked up the oar. I had almost ruined everything! Revealed what I'd spent all my life hiding.
'No,' Dante said firmly a second later. He brushed past me and wrapped his fingers around the oar. 'Let me take it. You get back in the felze. We're coming into a busy area.'
I handed it over without a word and retreated into the cabin. My thoughts were hazy and I was uncomfortably warm.
From being relatively empty, the canal had filled again. As we rounded the bend that brought the Barnabotti and Ridotto Sestieri as well as Nobiles' Rise into view, there were craft banked up as far as we could see.
Dante quickly turned the oar, using the pressure of the current to slow us down.
'What's wrong?' I asked, half-lifting out of my seat, craning my neck to see what had caused the backlog of boats.
'It's an acqua alta,' said Dante, referring to the high tide that sometimes struck Serenissima, making it impossible to pass under the bridges and flooding the low-lying calles and fondamentas. 'No-one can get under the first bridge, the Ponte della Pensieri. We won't progress any further tonight, I'm afraid. The Opera Quartiere and Nobiles' Rise will have to do without the pleasure of our company this evening. We'd better turn around.' His voice was cold and matter-of-fact. It wasn't like Dante to accept defeat so easily.
I tried not to let my disappointment show. Instead, I stood up, holding on to the top of the felze, and drank in what I could of the sights. Further along the canal was a wide stone bridge. People lined the sides, casting flowers and promises into the boats just below them. The water had risen so high, it was almost possible for the people in the gondolas and those on the bridge to reach each other. To my right, I could just make out the well-kept gardens of a nobile's casa. I wondered briefly to whom it belonged. My understanding of Serenissima's aristocrats was not great, but I did know that the lesser nobiles, those whose bloodline had not held the throne for many generations, lived further from the Doge's palazzo than those whose families had held office in recent times. Nonetheless, the façades of the casas looked pretty opulent to me, as did the relief work that was carved around the water-gates and the ornate sculptures which, even in silhouette, were clearly works of great art.
Before long, we were free of the water traffic and heading back towards the Dorsoduro Sestiere. Dante was unusually quiet as he guided the gondola back and I knew that I was the cause of his sudden change in mood.
'That was a great idea taking the gondola, Dante,' I said, opting to flatter him and restore his good humour. 'Thank you for such ingenuity.'
Dante just grunted.
'Oh,' I said, dragging something else from my arsenal. 'I forgot.' I reached into my pocket. 'I brought you some more tapers. If you burn these around your grandfather's bed, you'll find his sleep won't be so troubled.' I held them out.
Dante avoided looking at me, but he took them all the same. 'Grazie,' was all he said as he stuffed them in his coat.
I sighed. Something had happened, but I wasn't sure what. I didn't know what to do. Directness seemed to be the best option. Dante was always blunt.
'Dante, have I done something wrong?' I asked in a small voice.
He looked at me then. 'What do you think?' he said finally, coldly.
'I ... I don't know.'
'Don't you? You're old enough to know what you're doing, with those eyes of yours, those peculiar ways. At first I just thought you were different. Like what you did to Cane. But back there, when you looked at me, I felt ...' He struggled to find the right words.
I waited. He didn't finish.
I knew I shouldn't ask, but I had to. 'What did you feel?'
Still Dante did not reply. All I heard was the lapping of the water against the wood and the repetitive murmur of tiny waves as they broke against the fondamenta.
Part of me knew
what Dante was talking about, but I didn't know how to resolve it. If I told him the truth about me, any truth, I would be exposing not just myself, but my greatest friend, to terrible danger.
It was Dante that finally broke the uneasy silence. 'I don't think we should see each other any more.'
My heart contracted. I wanted to protest, to plead. I knew I could do neither of these things. I had to be calm. 'Dante –'
'Shush,' he ordered suddenly. I looked at him sadly. Had it come to this? I couldn't even talk to him?
'I think we're being followed,' he whispered, and, running his fingers through his hair while keeping his index finger straight in a familiar gesture we used, pointed discreetly towards the opposite bank. 'A black gondola. One oarsman. I wasn't sure before, but now I am. He's been tailing us since we left the first ponte at Nobiles' Rise.'
I peered into the darkness but couldn't see anything. Then I caught it: a silent black shape gliding across the water at a pace that matched ours. My blood froze. 'Can you lose him?'
'I don't know,' said Dante softly. Let me think for a moment.'
Dante silently rowed, neither increasing nor decreasing his rhythm. I sat back in the felze, peering out nervously. I could see the gondola quite clearly now. It was very dark, like the man who steered it. His head was turned towards us, but his voluminous cloak and tricorn hat made it impossible to see his face, let alone any distinguishing features. He appeared to drift above the water, a spirit or sprite – as if he were not of this world.
Much to my surprise, Dante started singing. His voice was quiet and lilting, the words muffled. How could he sing at a time like this? But this was no ordinary song: it was a set of instructions.
'We will sail until we reach the steps of Fondamenta Vergini, and then we will leave the gondola and run for our hearths and homes.' Dante's voice was low, but I could make out every word.
I began to hum along. Dante fell quiet and I knew he waited for me to indicate I understood. So I also sang, repeating his last words. 'And run for our hearths and homes ...'
We reached the Dorsoduro Sestiere minutes later and diverted into one of the narrow canals that divided the Chandlers and Candlemakers Quartieri. Dante turned to me. 'Listen,' he whispered. 'We're nearly there. As soon as I get the gondola near the steps, jump off and run. I'll follow.'
Emerging from the felze, I nodded. I squatted in the bow and watched the steps loom closer.
Because of the acqua alta, the bow bumped into one of the upper steps and the keel grated against the lower ones, causing the gondola to rock. Thrown around, I still managed to jump over the side and mount the steps two at a time. At the top, I paused and waited. Dante was still on board. Pushing the oar with all his might, he dislodged the gondola and propelled it back onto the canal. I wondered what he was doing. Was he going to leave me there? I began to panic.
Then he leapt onto the stairs. His arms spun and his legs kicked. At first I didn't think he was going to make it, but he hit the bottom steps with a splash, and fell onto his hands and knees. He quickly bounded to his feet and joined me.
'In here!' he hissed and dragged me into the doorway of a nearby shop.
Breathing heavily we waited in the shadows. The current caught our gondola and took it further up the canal.
I tried to see if we'd been followed, but before I could stick my head out, Dante yanked me back. 'You trying to show him where we are?' he chided and then cautiously peered around the corner. 'Here he comes,' he whispered and indicated the entrance to the canal.
I looked more carefully this time. Gliding silently around the corner was a long, dark shape.
My eyes widened and I held my breath as the cloaked man lifted the oar out of the water and slowly passed the steps. At that moment, a shaft of moonlight escaped the clouds and lit up the canal. I repressed a gasp. The man had the face of a jackal. I could feel his eyes searching the fondamenta. My heart hammered and I squeezed myself back into the corner, not daring to look again.
After what seemed ages, he drifted past. Only then did I dare to peep. Ahead, I could see the outline of our gondola in the moonlight. I hoped it would be a while before he drew level and discovered our deception.
Dante let out his breath. 'That was close! He must have recognised the gondola, that it was ... er ... borrowed. Thought he'd follow us and catch the thieves. What bad luck that he knew the real owner and that he was hanging around the Opera Quartiere. Still, I'll be more cautious next time.'
I glanced at Dante. Somehow I knew this had nothing to do with the gondola and everything to do with me. I'd gone too far this time, broken my promise to Pillar and Katina not to draw unwarranted attention to myself – over and beyond my candles, that was. I'd ventured into territory that I had no place being and I'd almost paid the price and so had my friend. Like Dante, I would more careful. There would be no next time.
The mellow light exposed Dante's wide eyes and the beads of sweat caught in the hair on his upper lip. This wasn't fair. I was dragging him into my world, my deception, and putting him in grave danger.
I knew then that I had to go, get away from Dante lest the jackal man return.
I slowly eased my way out of the doorway.
'Are you going?' said Dante. His tone was indifferent again.
I nodded. 'Yes, it's very late.' I waited for him to offer to see me home. He'd taken it as his responsibility to care for me, like an older brother would a younger. But the offer never came. Even though I was set to refuse him – for his own sake – his silence hurt me deeply.
'Well, I'll see you around?' I asked with false brightness.
'Maybe,' shrugged Dante. And, without another word, he turned and walked away.
IT TOOK ME OVER AN hour to get back home. I deliberately went a circuitous route in case I was followed. By the time I threw my leg over the rooftop ledge, the moon was well into its descent. I stood and watched it waning for a while, my heart heavy. It had been an eventful night. And what did I have to show for it? I'd escaped detection this time but, through no fault of my own, I'd lost a friend.
Or was it my fault? After all, I went along with the deception, pretended to be what I wasn't at so many levels. I ran my hands over my chest. Beneath my coat and shirt, I could feel the bandages that kept my budding breasts confined. Would I ever be able to free them, display them like the other women I saw tonight? Their décolletages had been impressive, to say the least. Was that something I would ever possess? A dress, let alone a cleavage? Or was I doomed to always impersonate a boy – that was, until I became a man. Then what would I do? What choices would I have?
I thought of Dante. His brown eyes, his musky smell – the way his very closeness made my heart pound and my breath become uneven.
The thought of being forever male was suddenly very depressing.
I drew in the night air, taking it deep into my lungs. I was concentrating so hard on what I was doing that it took me a moment to realise the salty taste in my mouth was from my own tears.
My desolation was all-consuming and I knew if I opened myself to it I would cry for hours. I needed something to distract me, to take my mind off what had happened out there on the water, never mind in my heart.
'Cane,' I called softly. There was no answering whine or padding feet.
'Cane?' I repeated, crouching low to whisper in the nooks and crannies of the rooftop. Standing, I noticed that the door to my room was open and remembered I'd left it that way. Perhaps Cane had braved the steep stairs without help after all. Fixed on the idea of losing myself in Cane's fur, I left the rooftop and climbed down into my bedroom.