Arcangela started to sing to herself while we waited, a melody I had heard my father hum before. I leaned in to hear her better. She had a sweet singing voice, as if God had given her this one gift to make up for her hunchback.
Ah, Robin, gentle Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does . . .
The song was in English. I did not recognize many words. But it had a melancholic refrain, so that I guessed it was about lost love. Eventually, one row of us, and then the next, grew silent, until her song filled the church. I imagined even the souls buried under the floor turned in their tombs to listen.
A gust of cold air rushed in and broke off the song. We all turned. Marina stood at the far door with her head high and chest thrust out, a look of unmistakably proud pleasure. I noticed something flash around her neck. A heavy gold chain.
She approached the choir. I could smell rose perfume floating out of the folds of her habit as she took a seat opposite me. She did not meet my eyes.
A large oval medallion hung off the gold chain, with a picture of the Annunciation painted on it. I gaped at her, speechless. Even from where I sat, I could recognize the fine, precise style of the miniaturist who had painted my ring—my gift from Giacomo. And his portrait? Was it hidden under the thick cover of this medallion, too?
“Venite exsultemus Domino . . .”
The priest had arrived and was chanting the opening psalm. Marina was singing, but I had turned to stone.
I needed no more spies. No more eavesdropping on the floor. With that piece of jewelry, she—they?—were sending a message to me. A message as bold as the black notes in a choir book.
I thought I would vomit on the floor. My legs shook uncontrollably beneath my skirt. Arcangela put a hand on my knee and huddled in closer to warm me. But I felt hot, burning with shame and rage. I broke away and ran out of the church. I felt God had left me anyway.
CHAPTER 68
I ran to the cloister and threw my ring into the rain-filled fountain. Let some pipe eat it. I did not care.
“Caterina!” Marina’s voice echoed from under the stone arcades. I kept running.
“Caterina! Stop!”
I turned. Oh, there were things I was bursting to say to that whore.
“Why did you run out?” she called, hand to her heart as she approached me. She was shivering from the cold, and looked surprisingly human, and vulnerable.
“You know why!” I spat.
“Are you jealous over Giacomo?” she asked, softly. “Because you shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?” I cried, sure she was lying. But still, I wanted to hear her answer.
“Love is only a game, Caterina.”
Where had I heard that before? Oh yes—my brother. The two of them were snakes in a pit.
“It’s not a game to me,” I wailed. “You knew—you knew I—”
“—considered yourself to be married to Giacomo? True. But at the same time, false. A man like that cannot be held captive by one woman. I did you a favor.”
“A—favor?!” I was dumbfounded.
“Certainly. He was going to be tempted away from you by somebody. Did you think he would wait panting at the convent doors for you for four years? Of course not. This way, you can be assured he will not marry me—or anybody else.”
“Oh—then I must thank you!” I had a wild urge to attack her. But I also yearned to get my ring back. I imagined it sitting in the cold water, alone and freezing. I vowed to rescue it as soon as she was gone.
“I feared you would take it this way,” she said with a sigh. “That is why I hid things from you. But now that you understand—”
I started to walk away.
“Caterina!” she called after me. “I can help you! I can help you see Giacomo again!”
I stopped dead. I made her speak to my back.
“He told me he cannot bear to think about his old love. He still loves you, you see,” she coaxed me. “I’m sure he wants to show you his feelings. I have an idea how this could happen.”
I turned to face her again. I noticed that her black silk slippers—Marina rarely wore ugly nun clogs—were wet with morning dew. Her face looked drained from the chill. Or was it from something else? A fear of losing the game? She desired me; she desired my Giacomo. Yes, love was all a game to her, and she required all the pieces in her hands.
“This Saturday is the Carnival ball,” she said, as if I needed reminding. The ball was the biggest event of the season. True, the nuns and boarders had to remain behind the window bars and only watch all the other dancers, but we had been waiting many weeks for this night.
“Giacomo plans to come in disguise and meet me at my casino afterward,” she explained. “But—what if we dress you as a nun and send you instead of me? Make a switch and surprise him? He will be delighted!”
“Why would you do this for me?” My head was spinning. It made no sense. Steal my lover, then give him back? Still, I could not resist the prize she offered.
“To please Giacomo,” she said. “To please you. I’ve told you before, men require novelty. We will please him, and at the same time, we will both get what we want.”
“Which is?”
“To enslave him.”
CHAPTER 69
For the Carnival ball I disguised myself as Colombine. She is the clever and cunning lover of Harlequin. Her costume is simple: a servant’s dress made of cotton, lace collar and apron, and curled ribbon and lace cap. The dress was easy to find at the convent, and Concetta brought me the other items I was missing from Venice. Colombine wears no mask. Instead, I powdered my face with flour.
“Here,” said Marina, who was helping me with the final touches of my costume in her room. “Let me glue this on.” She showed me a tiny circle of black silk balanced on her finger. I immediately remembered the one I had seen glued near her mouth when she was with Giacomo—Love’s assassin. Of course, I wanted one, too.
“Near the eye it means irresistibile,” she explained, pressing it high on my cheek. She pulled a ringlet of my hair aside and showed me my reflection in a mirror. I was surprised that my spine tingled with the brush of her fingers on my skin. I was hungry to be touched, and loved.
“What will you wear?” I asked her.
“My habit,” she said. “Giacomo must expect a nun tonight.” She laid a long-nailed finger on my forehead and gave me one of her devilish smiles.
We joined the other nuns and boarders behind the bars in the visiting parlor to wait for our guests to arrive. I could hardly wait to see Giacomo. In my mind, he came only for me. He was my precious gift for the night. And I would be a gift for him, as well. A surprise that I hoped fervently he would welcome with open arms.
I pressed my nose outside the bars to breathe in the sweet smell of frying dough. Candles flamed in every sconce along the walls and danced off the polished silver. A group of musicians tuned their strings in a corner, making awful sounds. I put my hands over my ears and giggled. Marina smiled at me, taking me in keenly. I had a strange feeling that I was an actor in some play, and she was my audience.
Boatloads of masked revelers began to arrive, and soon the room came alive with calls and laughter. I saw Harlequins in boldly colored jackets and trousers, Punchinellos with bulging stomachs and hunchbacks, Scaramouches in black Spanish dress. One costume in particular caught my eye: the Plague Doctor. He was dressed in a long black robe and wore a wax mask shaped like a bird’s head. The long beak was meant to keep out unhealthy vapors. I noticed everyone stepped away from this character wherever he went, as if just being near the costume of plague might sicken them.
I tried to spot Giacomo in the crowd, but could not find him. I began to grow impatient. Oh, it was cruel entertainment, watching everyone dance from inside our cages.
Marina touched my arm. I felt the hairs on my skin stand up—part pleasure, part fear of the unknown that lay ahead of me.
“There he is,” she said, signaling with her eyes.
I saw the crowd
part for the strangest disguise of all. A tall man wore an oversized white linen tunic with wide sleeves, and wide trousers that came down over his heels. A white cap covered his hair, ears, and neck, and a white mask covered his face. A piece of gauze hung in front of his eyes.
“Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He is Pierrot. A French character.” Giacomo glanced over to the windows where we sat, but did not let himself linger on us. Instead, he grabbed the hand of a pretty girl dressed in a checkered Harlequin costume and danced a minuet with her. He moved about in perfect character as the clownish fool, pretending to veer and fall, but then catching himself before he hit the floor. I stood up to see him better. I felt he was putting on a show for me. Or was it for Marina?
“Watch out!” I called to him. The pretty girl’s lover, also dressed as Harlequin, had approached from behind and started spanking Giacomo with a wooden sword. Giacomo quickly grabbed him by the leather belt and lifted him right off the floor. How strong he was! He slung Harlequin over his shoulders and ran around the room, the Harlequin’s checkered legs kicking wildly in the air. We screamed and squealed at the scene from behind our windows.
Mayhem broke out. A Punchinello dashed out in front and tripped Giacomo. He fell over, and Harlequin toppled off. All three men started to wrestle on the floor. Giacomo ripped open Punchinello’s coat, and when that happened, his false stomach and hunchback fell out. I was laughing so hard my belly hurt.
The abbess marched toward them with a scowl on her face. Giacomo stood, handed Punchinello back his stuffings, and offered the crowd a last, theatrical bow. Just as the abbess was about to reach him, he turned on his heel and ran out.
“Now,” said Marina, briskly.
“Now?” I was still in a childlike state of mind from all the laughter. I had to make a switch to become a woman, a lover.
“Follow me.”
CHAPTER 70
Marina led me from the visiting parlor back to her room. She lit a single candle near the bed and took a folded habit from a chest of drawers.
“Why can’t I stay dressed as Colombine?” I asked, retying my lace apron tighter around my waist. I did not want to face Giacomo in a shapeless black habit.
“I explained my plan to you already,” she said, smoothing out the rough wool with her hand. “Be sure to turn away from him when he first walks in. Otherwise, he will instantly know it is you. We want him to fall happily into our trap.”
“Are you sure he will be happy?” I asked, filled with last-minute doubt. I sat down on the bed.
Marina got behind me and began to unbutton my dress. “What man would not be happy to see a wife as adorable as you are?” She kissed my bare shoulder and I shivered with undeniable pleasure.
When she had finished helping pull the habit over my head and tied it loosely with a coarse leather belt, I took the candlestick and went to the mirror.
“You have never looked uglier!” I said to my reflection. Still, I was laughing at myself. I felt ready for my adventure.
“On the contrary—you are beautiful,” said Marina in the dark, her voice soft and admiring. “An angel in black. Come, the gondolier is waiting for us by the shed.” She blew out the candle and threw a heavy black cloak over me.
We slipped down the stairs and ran through the empty cloister. There were no stars that night. The sky was thick with clouds, and a cold wind blew my habit and cloak like sails. As we passed through the garden, the silvery leaves of the olive trees were shaking and whispering. A storm was coming.
I saw an empty gondola thrashing in the turbulent water. As soon as we reached the edge of the canal, the gondolier, dressed in red cap and sash, appeared from behind the shed. He jumped in the boat and reached around my waist to lift me in. I paused outside the door of the cabin to wait for Marina’s parting words for me.
“Be careful,” she said.
I looked at her, confused. Was I in danger?
“Signorina, inside,” the gondolier ordered, opening the cabin door for me.
I made my way onto the soft velvet seat and wrapped my cloak around me. The cold night had already seeped into my skin. I tried to warm myself with my excitement, a little fire inside.
“Al casino,” I heard Marina say.
The mooring rope made a thump as it was thrown back into the boat. I heard the oar slide into its lock. The boat turned and rocked violently. I was on my way.
CHAPTER 71
I arrived in minutes at what I guessed was the Villa da Mula. Icy rain pelted me as the gondolier lifted me from the boat. Before me I saw a high brick wall and, at its center, a stone entryway carved with strange animals and plants: curled serpents, tangled vines, monkey-like creatures with wings. I felt I was about to enter another world—maybe something like the exotic East, full of deception, and desire. I took out the key that Marina had given me, and unlocked the door.
The garden inside was a ruin. It looked as if someone long ago had planned it, loved it: There was an abandoned fountain now filling with rain, jagged brick paths, plants left to die over winter. I approached a small building, I presumed the casino. Its columns were made of thick coils like twisted snakes, all inset with gold glass and lapis lazuli. I could see lights burning upstairs, and hoped for a fire. My leather slippers and the hem of my habit were soaked.
I flew up the stairs, wondering if Giacomo was already waiting. He had left the ball before me. But when I opened the door to the upstairs room, it was empty. My heart sank. The fireplace was cold. I found a tinderbox and wood splints on the mantel, and after struggling a minute with my wet hands, I created a spark. To be warm again! Nothing must be as freezing as watery Venice in winter.
I kept my back to the door as Marina had told me to do, but it was hard to resist peeking around. The walls were covered with deep rose paper painted with knotted trees and flowering plants. The blossoms were bigger and softer than anything I knew, light pink and white. All kinds of exotic birds perched in the branches. The furniture was glossy and painted bright red, green, and gold. I presumed this was lacquer, made from what I had heard was a tree in China called a lacquer tree. In an alcove was the gilded bed, covered in luxurious red silk damask.
The wait for Giacomo was an eternity. I could feel prickles of sweat starting under my arms. To be reunited after four months apart! I pushed any thoughts of Marina out of my head. When he saw me again, Giacomo would be all mine.
After maybe half an hour, I heard the downstairs door open and slam shut with the wind. Eager footsteps climbed the stairs. I held on to the mantel to steady myself and turned to face the wall. My heart was beating light and fast.
“Forgive me.” I heard his voice as he approached me across the room. “Fortune was with me at cards tonight.” He reached for my waist to turn me around. “As it still is, my dear.”
I turned to face him, smiling at the surprise I was giving him. He jumped back.
“Giacomo?” Of course I knew exactly who he was, but he was still wearing his white Pierrot mask over his face.
He did not answer me, and I saw he was shaking.
“Giacomo?” I reached to take his hand, but he pulled it away. He dropped into a chair by the fireplace and seemed turned to stone.
“You—you must be startled to see me,” I stammered, mortified. I realized immediately I had been set up to fail. Marina had foreseen he would reject me, and her victory over me would be complete. “I—I am surprised, too. I had no idea who—that I would be meeting you here tonight.”
He continued to stare ahead in a cold gloom. It was agonizing. I took a seat across from him and bowed my head. A penitent nun.
Eventually, he untied the handkerchief that held on his mask. I felt I could breathe again, seeing his real face. I smiled, but his face expressed only disappointment. His skin beneath the mask had also been whitened by flour, so that he looked sickly, and his teeth yellow.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Forgive me, my angel. I am only very
astonished by the switch you have made.”
“If you are displeased,” I cried, “I am in despair!”
“I could never be displeased to see you. How could you think that? But—I have been tricked. How is it you were persuaded to put on this disguise?”
“My friend—Sister Morosini—told me that her happiness depended on my doing this for her.” Lies came pouring out. “How could I refuse her? She dressed me in her habit, and said nothing about what would happen here. It was just an innocent game—meant to please you, I’m sure!”
I sprang from my chair and fell at his feet. I laid my head on his knees, but I felt that every muscle in his body was taut, and unforgiving.
He lifted my chin to see my eyes.
“Did you tell her about me? Did you betray our secret? Because I have never told her about you.”
“No! No! Of course not. Maybe Concetta told her. I don’t know how she found out.”
He said nothing, caught in a labyrinth of lies.
“Do you love her?” I asked after a minute, searching his face. “Do you love—Marina?”
He looked down at me, stricken. I could feel his knees begin to tremble beneath my hands. “My innocent, when I found myself unable to live with you, I could not resist her charms.” The final guillotine came down. “I have fallen madly in love with her.”
I jerked my head away. I felt the room pressing and spinning all around. I heard his next words as if I were floating outside my own body.
“But Marina plays tricks and scorns me in return. If she loved me as I love her, she could never have done me the excruciating favor of sending you here in her place.”
“Oh my God, oh my God,” I cried, clutching my stomach. I closed my eyes, afraid I might vomit. I heard Giacomo get up and walk over to the fireplace. When I looked up, blood was streaming from his nose.
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