Now, there is only the sound of the building settling, of the drapes whispering against the window sill, and the lapping, the ever-present gurgle, of water against stone. Your breathing, slowing back to normal. His breathing, also slowing. It is a quiet moment. A moment where he can love you. A moment where he can think, perhaps even fantasize, that you love him.
     Bodies are warm, soft, comfortable, flesh to flesh flush. And flushed yet from lovemaking. He held you on your side, he upon his, a spooning position that allowed his hands to join in. For all its intensity, there was a tenderness about it, care taken with your condition. Those breasts he loves were left alone, too sensitive for even the softness of his mouth.
     A position that allows him to hold you, rare the times you actually allow him to hold you. Usually, you are throwing his clothes at him by now. Telling him to get out. But not tonight. His skin is warm. It has been such a good day.
     Paolo shifts slightly, elbow on his pillow, hand propped up to look at you. Of course you are awake. You are also ... very beautiful. He looks at your face, the slope of your shoulder, the curve of your body that will soon be altered by the growth of the two children. "I would like to ...confide something to you," he whispers. "I know...you do not love me... but...you are my wife...there is ...something I need you to hear..."

     She has been tired, lately. You have seen it, in the way she stops in the middle of things with that small sigh. No regret, no; she does not regret pregnancy, does not regret the children. But she just must conserve her strength, and her normal vitality spends it all too quickly. There are small settling sounds from her, as if from the building, but you are aware of the difference. Familiar with the difference.
     She is indulging herself, though she tells herself that she is too tired to get up. Too tired to tell you, 'get out, Paolo, I must sleep and you have had what you came for'; too tired to move. It is almost true, but nonetheless, she is pretending...
     "Mmm." Cosimina's eyes open to slits. She is awake, of course, though she could be asleep so easily. "The moon is always listening, Paolo, whether or not she cares. If you have something to say..." Her voice is soft as well, not quite drowsy. Lowered, as if afraid of waking the children slowly growing in her belly. "...Then confess it. I will listen. I do not promise more..."

     "I... was very touched by what happened today. I have not seen Damiano so happy in a while. Things... at the other house...have not been good. I see it is sapping him... as much as it is sapping me. I am ... just very grateful that you are so accepting, that he has a sister that he gets along with. That he has a ... female presence," you, "...who is interested in him. He... and his mother," he never speaks her name to you, out of respect, "...have ...not bonded well. He is truly my son. Even as Rosa is her daughter."
     Paolo frees a troubled sigh, lowering back to the bed, turning onto his back. "I tell it to the moon then. She and I are... not intimate anymore. I am too tired when I get home, to see Dami, to make sure he is well, and fed, has done his studies, then gets to bed. After this... I have only an hour to myself, a few hours of rest. It cannot keep ...going like this. I hate being ...divided."
     I want to tell you how I feel. But I fear it. I fear it more than the drowning embrace of the sea...
     "I only stayed ... because of concern for Dami. But ... I wonder now if I have done him more harm by trying to protect him. You are such a good mother to Genevra. I was not meant to be both mother and father. Have I ... done the right thing in trying to keep mother and son together?"
     "How can you tell," he says, turning his head on the pillow to look at you on your side, "...when it is worse to stay than to leave? I stopped worrying about my own happiness long ago..."

     There is a shifting behind you, and Cosimina turns towards you, rising so that she is propped upon one hip, looking down as you speak. She remains silent as you speak, listening without judgment, without visible reaction - cool, aloof, remote. All of those things which the moon in the heavens is. Finally she speaks, voice quiet, devoid of emotion by some care.
     "The children are more important than my feelings or yours, Paolo. I have been worried about Genevra for some time now - she is a goodhearted child, unlike me, who has no heart to be hurt. There are whispers, of course. You know how many gossips Venice has, and children repeat things that they hear." The words are said neutrally; this is not an attack on you, father of my children. "I admit that it was in part selfishness that made me want her to meet Damiano now, the hope that they would be friends. As well, I feared for the future if they did not meet soon. But I should have warned you that I would do this; even if it was a pleasant surprise for you, you do deserve that respect as their father, Paolo."
     Judgment passed, not on you but on herself, in that cool voice, that emotionless signal. Then she blinks once, and continues. "He is a fine young man. He will always be welcome here, as long as he wishes to be here and as long as you wish for him to be here. I am sorry to hear that he and his mother are not close. Look, you, gondolier; Damiano and Genevra are close in age. Send him here after school with her; let him walk her home, and they can do their work together. When they are not at their jobs and training, they can help one another learn. It is an undivided future we hope for, is it not?"
     Cosimina leans forward, hovering over you, bare breasts and silent for a moment as she watches your face. "You ask me something that I cannot answer, Paolo. To stay or to leave - she is your wife. She is the mother of your children. If you worry for Damiano's happiness, then it is Damiano you must ask; I do not know. Already I answer you more than the moon would have. Do you wish me to look to the threads, to turn the cards? Not on your behalf but upon Damiano's, I willingly would do so. It has nothing to do with your happiness or my own."

     "Yes...I would like you to look to Damiano," he speaks it softly, in a hush. Your abilities, he has respect for them, like one should respect lightning. "He has my gift, he will follow me." The rest of his body turns until he faces you (and the breasts he loves, that shall nourish his children). "I think that is a good idea, you propose. I will see that it happens. He goes to the shipyards to do his homework. If he goes home right after school, he becomes the baby's keeper."
     You can tell he is not happy. That frown of anger, which you see so frequently aimed in your own direction, is now aimed at himself. At Rosalie. "I know I am a selfish man... when it comes to you. But everything else I do is for Venice, is for our children, my children. They are everything. And... yes... I hope for an undivided future," he murmurs. "I do not know how to make it happen. Maybe you can ... look at my threads too..." A smirk for that. "You can tell me how many split ends I have, as if you were my barber..."
     His hand lifts, it moves against your soft hair, brushing it back. "I was not angry. But I thank you for the sentiment. Sometimes... I wonder why we argue so much when we view so many things the same way." His hand moves away. "She is my wife. I married her... her money too...when I was young. I ignored a fate that was waiting for me. Of late... especially this past year... I have really wondered what might have been ...had I simply waited for Fate to show herself to me. Where would we be, cara mia..." Paolo sighs. "Living in one house, with our children. Maybe we would even be happy. Now, all I can do is... try to make my children happy. I am miserable but there is no reason he should have to suffer. I.. worry for him. And for Genevra. What you said today... it concerned me. And I feel...it is my fault," he frowns again, "...that she must endure such gossip in school. How am I to fix any of this?"

     "We argue because we must argue, Paolo. It is the way of things. Do not expect it to change." Cosimina's expression remains opaque, unsmiling and unfrowning enigma that turns to you, follows you with darkened eyes as you turn, as you shift, as you move.
     "It is not right that he is the baby's keeper. I will not say more, Paolo; you know that I will not speak of that woman. Send him to me; she will be angry, but she will always be angry where I am concerned, unless you foreswear me and your children by me." Her voice is steady. It is not the voice of your wife, but of the Fate Witch. This, this is something simple; she knows it, she knows that you know it too. "Any child of yours will always be welcome under my roof, Paolo. Whether I have birthed it or not is irrelevant. If I am to be your wife, regardless of love or its lack, then that is my duty."
     It is so very simple to her, isn't it? Threads and fates aside. "Why you married her is no longer relevant, Paolo." Cosimina speaks coolly, though she does not turn away, and there is no real judgment in her gaze; only that indifference. "It is what it is. What is past, what you believed, true or false - instead, look to the present. Decide what is true now, and learn to act upon it as a man must. You are a man, I have reason to believe. What may have been - is less important than the truth as it is now."
     One shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug, though she allows you to touch her hair. Her strength is returning, a little. "I am less concerned for Genevra now than I was. The other children will see her with her brother, they will see that he accepts her and that they care for each other, and they will lose interest. I am angry that adults who should know better would poison the children so, but I know of old that this is what happens; I knew it when we were agreed to this dual marriage. The children must always pay penance for the parents. I ... will not say more on that," that I suspect I know from where the poison flows, "and instead will ask : do you wish me to look to the cards now? We are both awake."

     "Only if you have the energy for it," he cautions, protective. "Otherwise... when you can get to it."
     Paolo sighs, rolling to rest upon his back again. "I know," he murmurs. "I hear you." To all you have said. "Thank you ... for the offer, for ...the truth. I know I can always count on you to be honest with me." You and you alone, perhaps. "And...for tonight," he smiles a little, trying not to despair for the past, or worry for the future. "I thank you, hmmm...." That sound, pleased, pleasured.
     It trails off in a sigh. "I do not want that our children should have to pay a high price. It will be good when we are in the larger home, hmm?" We! He says, we! He doesn't even correct himself. "I will take care of the move, even the packing. I hope you like the house..."

     "I think I can manage it. I will be tired after, but I will be tired later anyway." Cosimina shrugs, nonchalant. "And it is important, yes? For the children."
     She rises from the bed, moving to gather up a filmy peignoir - silk, as she always prefers silk, that pale silver that she seems to wear exclusively at night. It is translucent, shadowing but not hiding the curves of her body. Does it torture you with jealousy to wonder, what lover did buy it for her, and how much has he seen her in it, like this? But she does not seem to be torturing you intentionally right now; instead, she is turned to business.
     She moves to that curio cabinet, the one which is always closed and locked when you are here. Only she may open it, and only when she wishes; never is it left unguarded for you to rummage, whether you would or no. A drawer is opened, a silken scarf of purple extracted, and a deck of cards. "The new house - I will have to see it. I do not promise, Paolo. And you will most definitely not take care of the move - with what time? Besides, I do not need a man going through my items, packing them carelessly. I will tend to it, if it comes to that. The children can help - it will be good for them."
     She returns to the bed, seating herself on the edge and cuffing your shoulder with the back of her hand. "Move, you great ox. Give me room with which to work. You will need to tell me, what truths specifically do you wish me to seek? Future, present, past, I can untangle threads, but tell me your priorities."

     "I did not buy you that," he notes to the air. There is a frown for it, but is he not benefitting from it? He smirks at that thought. Tonight she is with me. None of you other men. Tonight, she has cried out because of me. I doubt the others, though monied, can claim such... passion. "But it looks good on you anyway..."
     You hit his shoulder and he sighs, sitting up and then tossing back the cover. He is... not like your other lovers. He does not have a soft office job. He is lean muscle and gifted. Ox ... indeed. "Always, it is me moving," it is a mock complaint, no bite behind it. Standing, he reaches for his boxers.
     "I am most concerned with his present. I want to know, if it is possible to know, whether he is suffering... his mother not seeming to care, his father always busy. And... what the future outlook is, if we were to ... move out of the current house."
     Move out. Move where?
     "It is like she does not care that she has a son. Always, it is what Rosa is doing. And I cannot get to the girl without her mother being there..."

     "No, you did not," Cosimina agrees calmly. "But thank you. I quite like it. It is a colour which suits me, I think." And that is why she wears so much of it, surely. She settles back on the bed, making herself comfortable and curling up - soon, she will not be able to do this, soon she will begin to swell too much.
     The purple silk is spread on the bed to reflect faint glittering threads by candlelight, and the Fate Witch - the Mistress of Fate in Venice - begins to shuffle the cards. Do the shadows seem darker, gondolier? The candles' flames flicker but do not go out, steadying but seeming to penetrate the darkness less. And one by one, the cards are placed down as she looks down, listening to you but not commenting.
     "Then, we wish to see Damiano's present. We will focus upon that, and upon the threads which with his are tangled. If need be, the cards will be cast again as the threads divide." Cosimina frowns down at the cards, taking a deep breath. "The Star, it begins with the Star - he is your inspiration, your hope. He is filled with such compassion, it is a heavy weight for one so young. It is crossed by the King of Swords, reversed... he is very unhappy. There is a great injustice - the cruel weight of perversity has been visited upon him. This is where it begins, gondolier. Hark you to my words."

     There is a frown, an exhale. "I would rather hear a bad truth than a pretty lie," he says. Paolo waves for you to continue as he takes a seat on an unused portion of the bed. The bed is fortunately big enough for the two of you, and a few cards.
     What bed could hope to contain the whole future...

     "The past - you were unaware of where things would lead when you took this path, Paolo. And in that, your choice was made. You had hopes of it - and here," The Fool, reversed and then the Five of Cups reversed are indicated, "this is where he has met me. Here I am," she taps the following card, the Queen of Pentacles. "It would seem that he likes me as well, though he would be wise to have his reservations. I am, after all," Cosimina turns her gaze from the cards to you, "heartless."
     A moment later and she's looking at the cards again. "He is trapped, Paolo," the Six of Swords reversed, "it is a stalemate. Visiting Genevra, it is a temporary respite, but it is not an escape. It will not change things enough for him. It will not provide him with lasting happiness, only temporary relief." Cosimina blinks once, then looks to the next card...
     "She will not be pleased," Cosimina observes as she examines the cards. "She does not wish to surrender him, even for these visits. Jealousy, quarrels - domestic disputes, this is the Eight of Wands reversed. So many reversals. The conflict continues, here," the Chariot reversed, "and I see something - that you will lose control of the situation in some way. An unethical victory against you; your victory slips through your fingers. Here."
     The next card is put into perspective, examined unflinchingly. "Malice, Paolo. Deceit. You have been lied to. Perhaps you are being lied to. I do not know, but it is malicious, there is bigotry and there is an artifice being worked against you, and against your son. The truth is in this last card. Shall I turn it?"

     With each word, his face began to steel. Then, to darken. He has to look away. He turns his gaze to the window. Outside, the waters lap with greater strength against the building.
     Paolo sighs again, hand lifting to his face, fingers grasping the bridge of his nose. "No, it is better that I know. Turn the card and tell me, Cosimina..."

     "Very well," Cosimina says simply. "Though you will hold it against me." This she believes. Whether it is true or no - how could it be otherwise? The messenger always bears the guilt; but she seems unafraid, unperturbed. The card is turned for you to see by a manicured hand.
     The Lovers, reversed...
     "Your bonds are misplaced," Cosimina murmurs, not looking at you. "Frustration, certainly. And fickleness, Paolo. You have made a wrong choice. That choice is being played against you most deceitfully. I say this without looking more closely at the threads. I do not think you will wish me to look more closely tonight, even had I the strength." She pulls her hands together, away from the cards, looking past you to her window.
     "You must decide on what this means, gondolier. Anything which I say at this point will seem to you now or later to be intended to guide you for my own dark purposes. Your conclusions must be your own. You have been played false..."

Posted by rowan at January 21, 2005 05:24 PM