Il Furioso...
     That is the name of your husband this night. As the excitement of the early morning fed into the furor of the afternoon and the frenzy of gossip, gossip of orgiastic proportion -- Caligula-like gossip, fitting for the event itself -- and now spills into the torrent, the whirlpools of the evening. Like the Scylla and Charybdis, he churns in epic proportions.
     Though his exterior is as quiet and disarming as a body of water at perfect, peaceful rest...
     The story has been told and re-told so many times today, it becomes more passionate with every retelling. Even the tourists have heard about it; some of them witnessed it. The naked man and woman on the fondamenta, yelling up at another man shouting from the windows, such language that the Venetians blushed, told them it was nothing and quickly suggested they find other ...sights...than these...
     He sits on the sofa, elbows on his thighs, hands holding a glass of wine. It is not his first. It will not be his last. His dark eyes are roiling like the waters of Dis, the Styx itself, giving rise to those old bits of gossip: that he is descended of the Original Ferryman to Hades.
     He is pale. Pale with absolute betrayal and fury. His hands have a slight quiver as they lift the glass. These are the only visible signs that those still waters belie treacherous seas...

     She is quiet, moving from one part of the kitchen to another without looking at you. There are smells of food being prepared, there is the sound of lids rattling, of items opened and closed. Such nothing sounds...
     But there is a limit to how long she may take to do this, how long she can pretend that you are not there, or that nothing is wrong. The children have been sent upstairs - not that she believes that you would hurt them, but what may be expressed is not for their ears. The children, always the children.
     Cosimina returns to you, moving to draw a chair near, then sits upon it, facing you with hands folded upon her knee. Her dark curls are pulled back from her face with a simple clasp, her eyes as dark and fathomless as her regard. But she does not speak immediately; she watches. The doors are closed, the windows also. Then, finally, she speaks.
     "I have put a bed in Genevra's room so that Damiano should be comfortable - there are extra blankets in case he takes cold. The house looks acceptable, so I have made arrangements for the tiles to be fixed. Later in the week perhaps I will take Damiano and Genevra over so that they may choose their rooms."
     Is it what you expected her to say? Cosimina regards you steadily, waiting to see how you will greet such commonplace words...

     He nods once, he takes a swallow of the dark red wine, and then he lifts those dark eyes to you. For a few moments he merely looks at you, then he nods again. "Grazie. I ... appreciate you taking us in. I know the house is small, and that you are tired. Yet... you are seeing to everything. And I thank you, bella." Beautiful. It is what he calls you.
     He takes a deep breath, and the second glass of wine is finished. It is the cheap, table wine served everywhere in this city, dark and rich like the history of the city, good, more stable than her pilings. He reaches over for the unmarked bottle and pours another. "I did not tell him much. I was not sure what to say. Just that we would not be going back. And that I was sorry I did not know and move before. That I did not protect him better." His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy when he speaks that, and his voice tugs tight. In fury at her. At himself. Her for wounding them. Him for not seeing it.
     Paolo sighs, looking away, shaking his head and cursing softly under his breath. "I am so stubborn. And I have hurt my son." He takes another deep swallow of wine and looks to his hands, the glass he delicately holds despite wanting to crush and drown. The sea can be a giving thing. It can also be devastating.
     Just as he can be...
     "I am glad you like the house," he says quietly. It will be a good place for us. A new place. We will make a new good life for the children. Damiano ... will have to adjust, but he likes you. He likes his sister. Perhaps ... it will help draw out the misery from that house, quiet misery like a slow poison..."
     Speaking of poison...
     "I'm not altogether sure we weren't poisoned. I think... the clothing and ... anything she might have touched..." He has to stop there. He fumes like Vesuvius.

     "Genevra and I will go through the clothing," Cosimina says simply. She remains seated there, back straight. "If need be, I will purchase more, but I think that I can do enough tonight that you will have something to wear." Something with which to clothe your nudity. Unlike that woman.
     Her hands tighten momentarily, and then she rises, moving around to behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Guardian, stop tormenting yourself. You were blind - but I did not see either, and if you wish to place blame, then I should have seen. You have been a father to your children. Genevra and Damiano, they adore their papa. Take hope in them. Take faith."
     Her hand drops away, and she turns away again, suddenly silent - as if she has said too much, and regrets saying it. "...If Rosalie has poisoned you," Cosimina says steadily, "then she will die, Paolo. As do all living things."

     "Grazie," he murmurs again. His hand lifting and brushing over yours just briefly before you pull it away. If you have spoken too much, he does not punish you for it. Paolo twists, looking to you as you turn away. "You are... everything she made me seem that she had been. When I am in trouble, where is my true wife? She is here with me, taking care of me, taking care of the children, offering comfort and strength. Even vengeance..."
     I must have been blind. I think an enchantment has been at work...
     "Perhaps I was forced to be blind. If that is the case, she should be punished. As it is, she will have to leave Venice. I could not abide her presence in this city. She is everything that is wrong. With her here, how can we hope to better things, to better Our Fate? I wanted to slap her," his voice darkens, "... I shook her and threw her out. Like the garbage she is," he scowls, glancing to the stairway, making certain his voice did not travel that far.
     "Let me know if you find anything... hmmm... she should not be given time to poison the air with her breath if that is so..." He drinks deeply. "The food smells good," he offers quietly.

     "I will tell you what I find. Beyond that, I promise nothing, Paolo - the future, it changes like the sea you fight against." Cosimina shrugs, back turned to you. "The past - put it behind you. She is not of Venice. She will not remain in Venice - how could she? There is no place for her now."
     Quick footsteps carry her back into the kitchen, there is the sound of the lids being moved this way and that. "I am sure that you will enjoy the food. Genevra helped, so be sure to praise her for it at the table." This is a more comfortable topic than that, isn't it? Even if the shadow of Rosalie cannot be swept out of you so quickly, so easily as this. "If you wish, I will call them down now and I will begin going through the clothing."
     It is a time of trouble. And in times of troubles, families draw together, is that not so? But there is much that she does not say - now, now is not the time to press you, to ride you mercilessly, to make you miserable. You are miserable enough without it. Best you expel it, rather than hold it in...
     Cosimina sighs, one hand going to the small of her back as she turns her face up to the ceiling.
     Fate, you are most unkind. I am left dangling by a thread. Without that third, I do not know how to push him - I do not know...
     "Do you need more wine." It is not a question, really. Undoubtedly you will go through much wine tonight, dark and red and strong. Lion's blood, tonight, when the Lion of Venice is in pain. "Blindness can be self-inflicted as well as externally, Paolo. I will see what I find. But she will not remain in Venice - noone will give her credit, and few will sell to her, now. When your money is bad, noone will take it, because who knows what ill luck will follow the gold? I must work tonight, though. You must take my bed, so that the children will find you."

     "That is very true. More often, blindness is self-induced, or self-inflicted. I am angry with her for being such a," whore, "...lying beast, not even human. Her boy upstairs here, a good boy with a good heart, and she does not care. But now I know why that baby of hers would not take me into her heart. She was not mine. I fed and clothed that baby, to the expense of my others... and it was not even mine..."
     Yes, he needs more wine. He lifts the bottle, he pours another glass, and he nods, "Si... si... this bottle is empty now. Grazie." He looks to you as you sigh, catching a glimpse of you arching your back. "Your back is sore already? These two," a little smile, "...they are putting you through your paces early. This will be an adventure, I think..." He is looking forward to it.
     Paolo nods, turning back to his wine. "I shall," he says of the bed. "I will be working tomorrow, a full day for me. I missed a lot of tips today. I do not like losing time. And not working tonight, as I would do. But one night, hopefully the alarm bells will not ring the high water..." With him not there to tend to the tides.
     He smiles suddenly. "I will be sure to praise her. I am ... looking forward to not having to divide my time now... among those I love." Love! He said it! He doesn't back peddle. He doesn't say: well, the children I mean. He says it, he puts it out there. Paolo glances to you as you move. "Is there something I can do?"

     "One night will hopefully not turn the tides," Cosimina allows, leaning forward to lift a lid, looking under it to sniff suspiciously at the contents. "The others will have to work the harder. I imagine that they will understand. If they do not, then they are as foolish as you so often are. My back is sore, but I think it my own fault, not these two," her hand strays to her belly contemplatively, "acting against me. I was busy today, that is all."
     Busy looking at the house, snipping threads, speaking with people and making arrangements...
     She moves to the counter, reaching behind some pots that are waiting to be used or put away, coming up with a bottle of wine. She brings it out, settling it next to you and then stepping away again. "Genevra will be glad to see the more of you, and I think she will be very happy to have Damiano here, also. Though she might become a little less pleased after a bit of sharing, but there will be the new house to take care of that. I have not yet told her; you may if you wish." It was you who found it, after all.
     Cosimina gives a little shake of her curls, moving to set the table. "Everything is in order already, gondolier. Do not get in my way, the kitchen is small as it is. Call the children when you like, I am going to bring the food to the table in a short while. And one other thing."
     She glances up, dark eyes severe upon you. "No matter that woman's poison, no matter the girl was not yours, you did what was right. Children are innocent of their parents' sins, Paolo. You did as a father should, and the onus is not on you, but it is also not on the child. If anything, more fool that woman for not letting the child love you."

     You are right. Of course you are right. He makes a wave. Yes, I am speaking craziness. Anger. Ferocity. "I am glad I asked you to read last night. Could you imagine? It could have gone on for more years. I am thankful that we ... came to that last night. And... it was an enjoyable night..." That sound. Desire. He will not be able to bother you tonight, but you know you shall be...troubled by him...soon...
     Paolo takes a deep drink and then rises with a great exhale. "Genevra... Damiano... get washed up for dinner," he says from the stairwell. "It is almost ready, eh? Dami, use soap...do not blow on your hands and tell me St. Michael has dried them..."
     To the laughter from above and a groan from Damiano: Papa! Paolo smiles grandly, ah the sun is rising! And he laughs. "Okay... five minutes... " He finishes his wine and he goes to fill another glass.
     It is better if he becomes a happy drunk rather than a ferocious drunk... no? At least he will sleep well...

     "Your mind only runs to one thing, doesn't it, gondolier." But there's a faint tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Cosimina has to turn away lest she let you think she enjoyed it too, that she, too, is glad. And then where will her heartless reputation be?
     Pasta is drained and rinsed, then dropped into a bowl, tiny shrimps mixed throughout with flat parsley and tomato, sea salt and flecked black pepper and crushed garlic. There is salad of sliced cucumbers and chopped citrus in red wine vinegar, there are rounds of toast topped with grated parmesan, all brought to the table.
     Cosimina, after all, has a growing boy to console...
     "There's no sweet for after, I'm afraid, as it wasn't Genevra's day for the bakery," the Fate Witch says calmly as she brings the finishing touch - cold water in a glass pitcher, sprigs of mint flavoring the water. "But perhaps tomorrow she will bring home something nice. Geni! Come down and pour for your brother and yourself and me."

     You do not have to tell him you enjoyed it. He was there. He remembers the chorus you sang. The slight tug -- he'll take that. It means much to him on a day such as this. As the kids come downstairs, in play clothes and not in school clothes, and Damiano is even smiling a little more. He had a rough day, too, as evidenced by his coming to hug his papa -- his papa having to halt his drinking while he does.
     Spilled wine is a waste he cannot afford...
     His free arm wraps around his son as he bends. He speaks softly to him. "It is going to be a good dinner, you can smell the sea in it. The garlic. Go on, Dami, have a seat." Okay, papa, the boy says after another squeeze on his papa and he heads into the kitchen. "You too," Paolo rumbles after Genevra, grinning, stealing a kiss from her before she has to go into the kitchen to pour.
     Paolo is the last to enter. He pauses in the doorway of the kitchen. The vision hits him, and it is not the wine. It is not even the day that has been and the night that has been that makes it so. There is Cosimina, beautiful, pregnant, cooking. And a little copy of her and him; the boy taking a seat after saying it all looks so good, the girl pouring the glasses of water.
     This is a family...
     He takes a swallow of wine. Vino Veritas, they say. In wine, the truth. And it is Truth he sees before him now. The Truth of the way that things should be.

Posted by rowan at January 22, 2005 07:28 PM