The Apothecary's Shop

by Roberto Tiraboschi

  The fingers parted the sparse hair and edged their way into the cavity.

  “As you may know, the unity of life is created by the marriage of four elements: fire, air, water, and earth. The human constitution can be hot, cold, dry, or humid. Women are mainly cold and humid. A body is healthy when there’s a balance between the four humors, blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. If one of the humors prevails, then there’s an imbalance and the organ gets sick.

  “Reproduction occurs when the male sperm, emitted by the two testicles through the vasa seminalia joins the female sperm. Is my exposition clear?” Abella’s voice was booming from under the dress.

  Magdalena agreed with a weary sigh.

  “Now,” the Magister continued, “as my teacher Trotula taught me: causa infecunditatis est aut sanguinis eruptio est rara; aut profusio est miserrima, aut multa copiosa. Aut.” At this point, Abella raised her voice to make sure she was heard, “si orificium est impeditum, idest nimis calidum aut nimis frigidum, aut nimis aridum. So let’s have a look . . . Qua de causa.”

  Having said that, she pushed deeper. Magdalena gave a start. Magister Abella brought her face close to the cavity and remained breathless: she had not expected this kind of sight, and yet many had been her journeys into the female organ!

  The entrance was wide and smooth, well-protected by soft, velvety folds that tempted one to explore further and discover all the wonders of this exotic place. She was immediately struck by the fresh, crisp scent she’d smelled from the outset. There was no suggestion of staleness, filth, or fish that had gone off, as she had often experienced in many other examinations. None of that. On the contrary, it was a gentle, clear breeze, an invitation for playing and enjoyment. The passage was wide, well put together, and so clean that it made one feel like setting the table there and then, and eating that manna from Heaven to your heart’s content. The soft walls were dripping with honey and cider, and bunches of grapes hung here and there, as though inviting one to suck their fullness. The dominant color was a nice, bright ruby, shiny and sanguine, with dazzling, pomegranate tones. Anyone afraid of sinking into grey, pale, dull depths could draw a sigh of relief. Inside here all was joy, vitality, and a cheerful disposition.

  Going further in, her fingers slipped down a slight slope coated in soft moss that led to an opening where one could easily lie down by a stream of transparent, gelatinous waters, and wander off to admire unusually-shaped, extraordinary swellings that emerged from the folds of the walls: one looked like the head of a unicorn, another like the trunk of an elephant, and yet another like the wings of a mallard.

  Every so often, the patter of fluid dripping from the walls all around was joined by the gurgling of liquids coming from the depths of the cavity.

  The climate was mild and healthy, perhaps a little humid. Nevertheless, it invited one to rest one’s weary limbs and restore the mind in an atmosphere of true enjoyment. It was hard to imagine a more welcoming, more heavenly place for finding peace and serenity, so much so that one began considering the possibility of establishing a permanent home there.

  The idyllic atmosphere was interrupted from above by a sudden, violent cascade of straw-colored liquid that flooded the cave, making the hapless visitor risk drowning in its billows.

  Abella immediately rushed for the exit.

  “I beg your pardon, I couldn’t hold it in,” Magdalena apologized, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, sometimes, the stimulus caused by a well-carried out, in-depth examination prevents the bladder from telling the difference,” Abella explained. “Alright, you can now get up from this uncomfortable position.”

  She gave Magdalena a hand and the latter grabbed hold of it. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “My dear lady, from the examination I’ve conducted, in keeping with the teachings of Trotula de Ruggiero, mulier sapiens, I can state with certainty that there is nothing in your female organ to prevent another pregnancy. There are in you none of the possible causes of barrenness,” Abella announced with authority.

  “Your answer fills me with confidence . . . But then how come no life is blossoming in my belly?”

  Magister Abella wrapped herself in the wide scarlet robe, as though to gather her thoughts. “Numerous reasons can act negatively on the balance of humors: first of all, the stars, since there’s a strong connection between the human body and the universe. Some give a lot of importance to magic and spells, but the School of Salerno has never given any credence to this tendency. There is, however, in your case, a factor we can’t neglect, if we want to investigate in depth the reasons for your sterility.” She approached Magdalena and dropped her voice. “If the cause isn’t in the uterus, then it’s possible that the fault lies in the male humor.”

  Magdalena seemed not to understand. “What do you mean?”

  “As I’ve explained, reproduction takes place when the male sperm joins with the female sperm deep inside the uterus. So if there’s nothing broken in the female organ . . . ”

  Magdalena swallowed her astonishment. Never would she have considered this possibility. “We’ve already had a child,” she replied.

  “Humors change and lose energy. Powerful grief or mourning can drain even the most resistant organs of their strength. In order to have an answer, I’d need to examine your husband’s sperm.”

  Magdalena jumped. “Merciful God, he’ll never agree to this kind of examination.”

  “There’s no need for his consent. All you need to do is bring me a fresh sample of his humor.”

  Never had Magdalena found herself in such an embarrassing situation. Abella gave her a reassuring smile. She was so frank and authoritative that she managed to give a tone of domestic simplicity to even the most thorny subjects. Magdalena raised her eyebrows so high that one of her eyes seemed to travel up to her forehead. “I’d need to find a subterfuge . . . I wouldn’t know how . . . ”

  “I’m sure your experience as a woman and your imagination will work out a suitable way.”

  Magdalena concealed a complicit smile with her hand.

  “Women are infinitely resourceful,” Abella continued. Think, just for example, of the various solutions Trotula suggested as a remedy for lost virginity: starting from alum-based astringent rinses with egg white dissolved in rain water; or introducing red grapes and animal blood into the vagina. Or else applying a leech to the vulva which, by causing a wound, will create a crust that breaks during intercourse and so bleeds. And then there’s the extreme measure: putting glass powder into the vagina, that will make the vulva bleed.”

  “I had no idea people went to such lengths,” Magdalena exclaimed, horrified.

  “Don’t be surprised, Signora, these are very common practices. When a woman wants to reach her goal, sooner or later she always finds a way to cheat her man . . . After all, they’re naive and simple, even though they pretend to be knowing and authoritative. I’m sure that you too will find a secret way to steal a few drops of your husband’s sperm.”

  Magdalena nodded. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll try.”

  “As soon as you have it, pour it into a flask and get it to me as soon as possible, while it’s still warm.”

  “I will.”

  “Only before I complete all my examinations, make sure you abstain from all drugs, be they mineral, animal, vegetable, or composites. No suppositories, no poultices or any other medicines, and make sure your husband doesn’t take any either. That would be useless and even damaging. Remedia antecedentia causae perniciosa sunt.”

  The pale light of day, stifled by night’s dark embrace, was slowly losing its strength. Magdalena interrupted her. “You must get back quickly. It’s Vespers soon, and it’s dangerous to walk around alone. You heard what happened to my sister. Venice has become dangerous. Come, let me see you out.”

  They went down into the c
ourtyard. Nena, who was drawing water from the well, stopped and rushed to open the front door. Abella was saying goodbye when she noticed a shadow appear behind her. She instinctively turned around and saw the tousled, crooked frame of the scribe, who was walking with his head down, muttering to himself.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” Edgardo said as soon as he noticed her.

  “Not at all. I don’t get frightened that easily,” Abella promptly replied.

  “Any news, Edgardo?” Magdalena anxiously asked.

  “Unfortunately not, Signora. But I’ve made a promise and I will keep it. The garzoni have searched the canal around the convent walls. There’s nothing, thank God.”

  Magdalena sighed. “I keep thinking about that garzone from Amuranium who disappeared a few days ago. There could be a link.”

  “Do you know where he disappeared?” Edgardo asked.

  Magdalena shook her head, then turned to Abella. “It’s awful. My sister seems to have vanished into thin air.”

  “Substantia non vanescit. In nature, every single thing—even when it appears to vanish—leaves a trace behind. And that’s what you must look for,” Abella said, like a sentence.

  “And this is exactly the direction we’ve taken.”

  Edgardo couldn’t bear the invasive manner of this large, peasant-looking woman who made herself out to be a scholar.

  “Tell me honestly, Edgardo,” Magdalena continued. “Do you think Alvise is somehow involved in Costanza’s disappearance?”

  Edgardo gave the stranger an assessing look.

  “You may speak freely. Magister Abella is my physician. She’s very discreet and I have no secrets from her.”

  You’ve misplaced your trust, Edgardo wanted to reply, but refrained from doing so. He swallowed his aversion. “Alvise is a simple soul, with no malice. I really don’t think he would have done anything improper.”

  “Not even if driven by a feeling of affection toward the girl?” Abella butted in.

  Nobody had asked for her opinion. Edgardo bit his tongue, then said, “Love, as Our Lord has taught us, leads only to honest, merciful actions.”

  Abella frowned. “This is a universal principle. But if you go into detail, you can clearly see from Avicenna’s teachings that love acts differently according to which humor is prevalent.”

  “Yes, I know the theory of the four tempers: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic,” Edgardo replied.

  “Then you’ll also know that in a melancholy temper like that of young Costanza, which is obvious from her congenital pallor, the feeling of love can lead to extreme actions.”

  This female quack was an annoying pedant. “I’m impressed with your sagacity,” Edgardo hissed. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve seen Costanza only once, and yet you’ve managed to see into her soul more than I have, although I’ve known her for years.”

  “That’s why I am the proud holder of the title of Magistra medicarum. Our Lord has seen fit to bless me with sharp senses.”

  “It’s true,” Magdalena intervened. “Magister Abella managed to diagnose my ailment at first sight.”

  “I’m pleased for you. Our Lord has been truly generous with you,” Edgardo added with a venomous smile.

  “I don’t wish to interfere in your search.”—This matron always had to have the final word—“May I humbly suggest you don’t waste time investigating too much outside, but concentrate inside, and search among the people who are closest to the girl, those you trust most?”

  Thoughtful, Magdalena turned to Edgardo. “Maybe Magister Abella’s right. So far, all our search outside has proved totally fruitless.”

  There it was, the pseudo-scholar had butted in once again. Edgardo bowed his head respectfully and was about to take his leave, but Magdalena stopped him. “Wait. May I ask you a favor, Edgardo? Would you be so kind as to escort Magister Abella as far as the shore of Santa Maria Nova, from where the sandoli for Torcellus depart? It’s getting dark and the city isn’t safe.”

  She replied even before Edgardo had had a chance to open his mouth. “Thank you kindly for the thought, Signora, but I have no need of an escort. I’m not afraid of attackers and in any case I can look after myself.” Then she stared intently at Edgardo’s hump.

  “I must insist. I’d be worried. Please.”

  Magdalena made an eloquent gesture. There was nothing to do but obey. Abella forced her lips into an empty smile, and walked away decisively, without waiting for Edgardo to precede her.

  The moon, shrouded by milky vapor, barely lit their way. The first impalpable shadows were floating in the air. With a quick and assured step, Abella slipped into narrow calli, crossed bridges, and walked around pools and ponds, careless of the fact that Edgardo struggled to keep up with her.

  “Mind the trunk.” “Let’s go through the campo, it’s less muddy.” “Watch out, this area isn’t very safe.” Abella gave strict orders, and Edgardo patiently kept quiet.

  “How are you going to get back without a light?”

  “I’m used to walking in the dark. My eyes have been sick for a long time. I follow my intuition and I’m usually not wrong.”

  “Don’t trust intuition too much. Better follow reason and logic.” Abella’s tone grew softer, less commanding. “It can’t be easy for you. A scribe with sick eyes . . . ”

  The conversation seemed to have taken a different turn. Edgardo decided to go along with it. “I’ve seen better days. When I was a copyist at Bobbio Abbey, my sight was excellent.”

  “How long were you a cleric at Bobbio?” Abella asked, slowing down.

  “For many years. I copied Greek and Latin texts that came to the library. I’ve also copied medical texts by Avicenna, and those translated by Constantine the African. You must know him. He attended the School of Salerno.”

  “I know Constantine the African very well. He’s a great scholar.”

  Her voice cracked and this didn’t go unnoticed by Edgardo.

  “Trotula, your teacher, must have certainly studied texts translated by him,” he insisted.

  “So how come you left Bobbio Abbey and moved to Venice?”

  The sudden change in topic aroused Edgardo’s suspicion, but he decided not to insist.

  He’d never told anyone about his trials and tribulations. Not even Tommaso Grimani knew exactly how events had brought him to live in the city born of the waters, and the time certainly hadn’t come to open his heart to a stranger. He didn’t reply, just as Abella hadn’t replied. They walked in silence, accompanied only by the thud of their footsteps in the mud.

  By the time they’d reached Santa Maria Nova, the night had already slithered into the maze of the city. There was a sandolo tied to an oak, knocking against the rustling reeds. The boatman was asleep. Abella woke him up and jumped into the boat, causing it to rock frighteningly. Edgardo couldn’t help remembering how light Kallis had been, that first time he’d seen her rowing Segrado’s scaula toward Metamauco.

  “It really wasn’t necessary, but thank you anyway for escorting me.”

  Edgardo thought he detected a subtle scorn in Abella’s words. Perhaps he was wrong, and had become embittered and suspicious. He bowed his head in farewell.

  The boat plunged amid the threads of fog over the waters.

  “On your way back, trust me, follow reason and not instinct,” Abella shouted before vanishing in the darkness.

  She always had to have the final word.

  IX.

  AMURIANUM

  Plotinus claimed that intuition represents a superior level of logical and rational knowledge, contrary to Abella’s argument that it belongs to an inferior class. And his intuition, stimulated perhaps by opium vapors, was telling him not to limit himself to searching among the people closest to Costanza. On the contrary, it was prompting him to push himself further, and widen the range of h
is investigation. Since his reconnaissance near the convent hadn’t yielded important results, except for the unexplained presence of threads of oakum, he had to look where others wouldn’t be able to see: through cross-references, connections, and similarities.

  Edgardo had been deeply struck by Tommaso’s news of the other disappearance, that of the young man from Amurianum, that had occurred a few days earlier and had similar characteristics to that of Costanza.

  Reluctantly, since the place brought back memories he would have preferred not to reawaken, he asked to be taken to the island of glassmakers, an increasing number of whom were moving their foundries there from Venice.

  He hadn’t been there since that time. The first time he’d set foot there, he was still wearing the habit. Over ten years had passed since then.

  In Amurianum, he found the same old chaos of cogs and other freight ships moored while waiting to be loaded with beads, vases, bottles, glasses, cups, and the traditional murrine: vases, dishes, and bowls coated with mosaic paste—all bound for the Rivoalto market.

  Porters and garzoni were running in and out of foundries, carrying merchandise among a crowd of negotiating merchants, while noble ladies and gentlemen walked in and out of shops, accompanied by their servants. Here and there among the crowd flashed the shiny silks of young women with ceruse on their faces, their lips dyed with walnut root. In comparison with his first trip here, he got the impression of excessive movement, a senseless frenzy, voices, a mishmash of shouts that made up an incomprehensible language. There were a larger number of foundries, and the glare of the fires painted the banks with a demonic glow. The celestial vault, crossed by low clouds, crushed that useless swarm, stifling any hope of a life dedicated to nurturing the soul.

  He made his way as far as the vintner’s shop in the campo of the Basilica of Maria Santissima, where the men of the island would usually gather.

  He asked the landlord if he knew where the missing young man’s family lived. The man gave a suspicious grunt and ducked under the counter. Edgardo then explained that he’d been sent by the Grimani family to investigate a similar case, the disappearance of a young woman.