The moon rides low in the sky once more, tugging at the earth and her waters. The Adriatic responds by spilling into the Lagoon, which in turn sends fresh water into the canalways. This is largely imperceptible, at least at this time of year -- in the winter, such fluctuations come with the ringing bells tolling out flood warnings, and what kind ...for there are so many variants -- the rising water simply speeds the gondola along, marshaled by the pole of the Guardian of Venice.
It is not far from Albizzina's to the new palazzo apartments. In truth, this was no accident. Not because he wishes to be closer to Albizzina, in better hopes of servicing her at night -- for there is no truth to those rumors, you know from Albizzina herself -- but because it is where so many magicians congregate. Safety in numbers. The vampires take Castello and San Marco, the seats of wealth and power in old Venice. The magicians in Cannareggio, the Jewish Ghetto, San Polo and the Rialto.
He stands so majestic in these quiet moments, the dark pilot in dark night in his black boat and clothing. He, the heir of Pluto's own ferryman. Perhaps when he passes from this world, he shall pilot new souls to the Styx and to their next layers of Fate.
His dark curls shift in the breeze and with the turning of his head to glance back to you. He mostly travels in silence. Ahead, the white facade of your new, and joint, home. The lantern light is still lit upon the gate and gentle warmth exudes from the windows. By now, the children are well asleep, but their night-lights gleam in honeyed sweetness to the courtyard down below.
Paolo steers the gondola to a stop at the steps, securing it and offering his hand to you. "Your fool has brought you safely and swiftly home," he sighs it out, as if exasperated. But then he looks at you, his fingers curling. Take them my love. Take me. Those dark eyes, such bedroom eyes like a gypsy. Ah, with the moonlight behind him.
He swallows. He wants to speak his love. He wants to tell you he knows. But he only stares at you in that dark way of is.
She is quiet, tonight, as you guide the gondola through the waters; quiet, not picking at you, not harping on your many flaws, real or imaginary. She is tired - you can see that, by the angle at which her head is canted, by the way one hand moves slowly, broodingly, protectively over her belly. Cosimina is tired...
But it is lovely, and it is difficult on nights like these for even Cosimina to pretend not to notice; the dark eyes flicker every now and again, turning towards you, regarding you when she thinks you are not looking and then slipping back towards the water. She is aware of your presence, gondolier; can you tell? Have you noticed?
"You are not entirely an incompetent fool," Cosimina allows as you speak, a great concession indeed. You offer your hands, and she actually accepts. "I would not need your help if I were not already growing fat because of you," she mutters as she rises, noticing your stare but - of course - not acknowledging it for what it is. "Did you save food as you claimed, or is the larder bare of anything prepared, Paolo? I am not very hungry, but for their sake, I should eat."
She is unaware, yes - as unaware as you have been. In this moment, you have the advantage of the Fate Witch, the advantage which you have perhaps so long craved. You are inside her defenses, without her even knowing...
His hand, his arm is a strong support for you. "You barely require it now. But if I do not offer my assistance, Cosimina, I should think you would be less pleased." There is such energy between you tonight. Sparks from the collision of molecules between your silks and his cottons. Such energy that created the babies you now carry. Such energy that makes spells sing and waters rise.
After you are safely upon the stairs, Paolo moors the gondola. It is difficult not to speak of it, not to act differently. Are his motions pantomime? Can you tell? Paolo steps out of his vessel, joining you upon the stairs and then through them. He turns and locks the gate. "It is all my fault. I know," Paolo says, with a slight cant to his mouth. "Forgive me. And yes, your dinner is prepared. I will warm it for you."
His keys come out and he unlocks the red door that leads into your part of the palazzo. He unlocks it, but before he opens the door for you, he brings his hands to your face. Lightly stroking your skin, he stares at you in the moonlight. You will call him a fool. He knows it.
So Paolo hazards a kiss...
You will shove him, even though he now knows you desire it...
You will perhaps even slap him, even though he now knows you love him. Pain is the only way you've ever been able to show it. You inflict your affections.
Paolo parts from the kiss, staring at you a moment and then he opens the door.
"Hmf." She does not argue as much - you have kept food aside. You did not forget. It is harder to find something to pick at this way. Cosimina moves carefully, her attention on gathering her energy to finish the day, to continue to guard her truths from you, to deflect you and build your energy for the sake of all of Venice. It is how things are. It is her Fate.
Or so she believes...
"You are being too conciliatory tonight, Paolo. What have you done? Have you found a new woman whose skirts have enraptured you?" Cosimina rests a hand on her belly as you unlock the door, eyes widening into a stare and then a frown as you slant your gaze, as your hands come up to her face. What is this? What are you doing?
But you kiss her, and for your trouble, you receive an elbow aimed sharply. "Fool. Can you think of nothing but slaking your passions? Men, why do we put up with you when you are so very idiotic!"
She yanks her face away, even as you stare at her again, even as you open the door. Her scowl is angry, but it barely rests on you before it is turned away, and her voice drops again into that cool indifference. "Manhandling pregnant women, Paolo? I knew you were not wise, but get out of the way so that I can go and find myself a seat. My feet hurt, and no matter what kind of lover you think yourself, kisses will not distract me from that." Cosimina, she is heartless...
I suppose I have found a new woman. A you that I did not know...
But he doesn't have time to answer you. You've put an elbow in his ribs. "I do not understand you, wife." The door is swung wide, but not so much as to bang against the wall and wake the children. "I show you affection, you cause me pain. I act aloof, you accuse me of infidelity ... there, your food is on the table..."
He's covered the pasta parmesan with a napkin. He's put a couple of flowers on the table for you. There are two drawings made by the children there for you as well. And dim, sweet lighting from votives on the tile counters.
Paolo closes the door and he sighs. "I am sorry I kissed you," he replies as he enters the kitchen behind you. "Eat. I will make you tea and... then I will leave you alone. Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?" He exhales, taking the tea kettle and filling it with water. He's at least careful not to bang around in the modest kitchen.
Her expression softens when she sees the drawings - the emotion which she feels, which she so rarely shows, it is allowed out, permitted to be shown for the children's sake even if not yours. She eases down into a chair with a soft expiration of breath that even you can hear, face tightening for a moment; she is not overstating things when she complains about her back, her feet. "It smells good."
She lifts her fork, not looking at you as she begins to eat. "Of course you are sorry that you kissed me," Cosimina says in the same indifferent tone. "Is that not ever the way between us, gondolier? After all, why should you be glad, between two people who do not love one another? You knew my nature when you married me. Leave me alone or stay nearby - what difference could it make to me?" What difference...
"You think you know all that there is to know," he says, his back to you as he puts the tea kettle on the stove. "Because you know the cards, and you move the fates that entwine us all." Still with his back to you, he takes down two cups.
Apparently, he will be staying...
"But... you do not know everything. You do not know how I feel. You do not know what I think." It sounds like the start of an argument. Even though he knows you are tired. The kettle is on. Paolo, too, looks tired as he turns to face you. Maybe it is the low lighting. He leans against the sink, waiting on the first sign of water's bubbling boil. He folds his arms across his chest and exhales.
"Our way has always been strange, Cosimina. You have your lovers. I had another wife. Why should you ever care but to ...occasionally lie with me when you feel like it. I should never want for more. It is so easy for you not to care about me. But it is not easy for me, not caring about you."
He does not want to wake the children with the whistling of the kettle. As he hears the water begin to roil, he lifts it from the stovetop and pours two cups. Paolo sets your orange and chamomile tea in front of you, taking his cup of mint and orange peel tea with him to the other side of the table. He reaches forward and takes a piece of bread from the table's center basket.
"I do not think that I know everything, Paolo. Noone can know everything. And as much as I move the threads, there are limits to what I can and will do." Cosimina is stubborn on this point, even as she works systematically on eating - lifting the fork, putting it down, repeat. She chews her food thoroughly, though she is eating as if she has been half-starved. There are shadows on her skin where it is drawn taut over her cheekbones.
She nods a sort of thanks for the tea, taking it up and drinking it hot. It helps to wash down the food, swallows and bites matched. "I know that you do not want for more. I know that you care about the children, Paolo. Do not confuse your joy at having two more children on the way with actual feelings for me." There is pepper in her voice; this is, after all, what she believes, and she refuses to look at you. Glimmers of truth might be glimpsed in the spirals of her black curls...
"Why is it that you want to fight tonight? I am not interested in your accusations. Yes, there are other men - and for you, other women. Is it that you wish to renegotiate our bargain, warlock?" Cosimina glowers at her food, but then finishes it, abruptly shoving away the emptied plate and taking a piece of bread as well. "What is it that you want now? Are children no longer enough?"
He takes a drink of the tea. "I thought I was suffering alone, by the moon, out there, solitary," he whispers it. He shakes his head and he has to look away from you, too. "I don't want to fight with you, Cosimina. I know you are tired. We will... talk later...tomorrow. After we have both slept."
You talk of dissolution and his head nearly snaps off he looks at you so quickly. "No, no... no... I do not want that." You push and he has to respond. That is the tug and the pull of it, the relationship between the moon and the sea. "Damn it, Cosimina... you always push at me. Can't you see I just want to be in your arms? And it is not because you are carrying my babies. It is because I care for you. Why do you have to make it so difficult? All I am trying to say is that I love you..."
He stands, frustrated, and carries his cup to the sink. He stands there for a moment, muttering to himself: "Always with the pushing... you make me crazy... if I did not love you, do you think I would put up with it? Just because you are beautiful?" Paolo turns to you, his hand gesturing, creating physical punctuation to his words. "Other women are beautiful, Lady Fate, but I am not with them. I am here with you. Where I want to be. In our house, with our children present...and future..."
"What are you on about now?" Cosimina is at first impatient, pushing aside the bread again, staring at you. And then the colour drains from her face, bit by bit as you go on speaking. She sits there as if you have done something unforgivable, something so terrible that she cannot contemplate - her mind cannot absorb the idea of what you have said, what have you done. "...What we do, we do for Venice. Has that not always been the way of it, Paolo? Why..."
Her voice trembles for a moment, and she rises, slowly and carefully, one hand on the small of her back and the other over her belly. "Why do you ask for more? You do not need to tell me that you love me. You do not need me to love you, gondolier. If you wished other women for their beauty, I know that you would not be here. What we do, we have always done for Venice. What you need me for is magic - fate. Why..."
She sways slightly, then turns sharply, one hand lifting as if to say stop, enough. "I don't know what you're wanting, Paolo, but whatever it is, it obviously is not something which I can give you. I am tired. I am going upstairs. You may come or not as you wish, but I do not promise you anything - least of all a bed."
He sees you sway and then his thoughts of your secrets and all the time between you and he seemingly lost in Venice's labyrinth -- and in the great ...puzzles of your combined levels of stubbornness -- and he rises. "Let the fool help you," he says quietly.
Paolo gives you his hand. You will not take his heart, even though you want it. He should have been more subtle. But after reading them! How could he not try, in his own way, to answer those letters?
"I will sleep on the sofa tonight," he confirms as he goes with you from the kitchen. "I am sorry, Cosimina. I do not know what has gotten into my mind tonight. Maybe... it is just the hormones..."
"You will not sleep on the couch tonight." Your giving in means that she must be contrary. Cosimina scowls at you, taking your hand and then, briefly, moving into your arms and stepping on your foot. She cannot hug you without there being some pain to inflict. She does not know that you know...
"It will be a cold night," Cosimina explains, still seeming angry. "You will be in the bed, or I will not go to sleep, fool. Now come on." She releases you, moving to turn away, to move to the bedroom. "Stay or do not stay as you wish. But I am going to bed, and I will need your assistance with these silks. Mind you do not tear them. We cannot afford to replace things right now. We must save our pennies..."
She has eaten. She has had enough to quench her thirst - not wine, for the sake of the bebes - and with difficulty (and assistance) she has made it up the stairs to the bed. Soon she will have to make the chance to the palazzo instead, so that she can take a bedroom which is ... lower. But for now, she can still make it up the steps, choosing to ignore rather than acknowledge whatever assistance you give her.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Cosimina does not immediately speak, not even to order you out, gondolier. She just sits, eyes closed, as if extending her dark magics out from the pores of her skin, to entice you, trap you here, that you will love her as hopelessly and helplessly as ever you have believed yourself.
Then, with a sigh and sudden movements, she straightens and begins undressing - not entirely, but her outer garments first, reaching down to peel off one and then another expensive sandal, kicking them under the edge of the bed and standing with another sigh for bare feet against bare floor. "I do not like how fat I am getting. I will need to ask some of the others, how much weight is ordinary for twins, this early." Cosimina mutters it, even as she begins unbuttoning the silk blouse she wears. Silk and leather, silver and ivory - your wife, she has such expensive tastes. It is no secret that other men keep her in finery while you yourself are sent to pole the canals. She stands clad in scraps of silk and lace above as she moves to hang her blouse up, in the darker silk of her skirt below - she does not believe in trousers, especially not when with child. Barefoot, with breasts beginning to swell - she is maddening and deliberate, isn't she?
She crosses though from closet to dresser, lifting a bottle of oil and unstoppering it, three drops allowed to fall onto her hairbrush. It is lifted, and she begins to vigorously brush out the thick midnight curls, then slowing to deliberate, even strokes. There are other bottles there - expensive scents. An expensive mirror for her to regard her expensive self, and behind her, you...
"Did you remember to rinse out your flask? And did Genevra and Damiano do their homework? You did check, I hope."
"I do not know why you are so worried. Your beauty is part of the story of Venice, Cosimina," Paolo closes the door softly behind him. No need to wake the children, right? "The way you look right now, the way you will look in a few months, the way you looked four years ago. You are... bewitching. You know your power..."
Paolo removes his own shirt, tossing it into the basket of laundry to be done. He smells of sunlight and wine and dinner. Shirtless, he moves to where you are, to stand behind you and share in the double pleasure that is you and the reflected you. "I know your power," he murmurs. "Woman in the moonlight...you have never been more beautiful." Your warlock bends, his mouth finding your neck. The perfumed oil in your hair and on your skin -- he breathes it in and his exhale becomes an incantation.
Paolo straightens. "Yes, on the homework... Genevra is doing very well with her spelling. Damiano... he still struggles with spelling. He is several grades ahead in math...but...yes, my beautiful wife, everything was done. I am your husband, si? It is up to me to do more when you are able to do less. That is how it works." Paolo smiles to you in the mirror, "I think."
He turns then, heading to the bathroom. You can see him in two mirrors. He removes his pants, setting them on the corner. He washes his face. He brushes his teeth. He has a lean body, a strong body. His back and arms and shoulders especially. But also his legs, strength from continuous balancing. It is in the moments when he does not realize you are watching him, where he is most handsome, most natural. He has the fluid motion of water. A natural grace that carries him from place to place as easily as a stream.
Tempting, that strength; tempting, that grace as you lean to her back. If she were as unmoved, as disinterested as she always has seemed, then there would have been no letters - and in truth, no marriage, no children. Do you realize that now? Your lips touch to her neck, and it draws from her the faintest exhalation of breath behind those closed eyes, those briefly parted lips. "I do not need pretty words, Paolo. You are of Venice, and we both know what that means."
Inseparable, the man from the city...
Inseparable, the animal from the man...
She might mean either. Cosimina bites the inside of her lip until it draws blood as you move away, then returns to brushing her hair, eyes now narrowed to slits. "They are both intelligent and must do their best to learn now, while they are young and have time and energy. And there is much for them to learn." She watches you, yes, her reflection's eyes following your movements, following your motions as you prepare yourself. But for all that there is that edge to her, she has not yet ordered you from the room. "Perhaps they can help one another." As we cannot...
Yes. He knows your secret. You know he loves you. Or he says that he loves you, what does he know, right? He's a man. He wanted to bust open, to tell you, to even wave the letters in your face and reveal you as a fraud. He wants to burst with it now, to know that you love him. It makes him crazy.
But then, in the short journey upstairs, he realized that he should not tell you that he knows. It is enough that he knows. And you, in your condition, should not be upset by such matters. He will just...give himself to you. He will let his own love reveal itself.
Paolo may be seen again, "The bathroom is yours, bella luna," Beautiful Moon, he calls you. Beautiful Moon, you are. He comes up behind you again. His hand moves over your oiled tresses, brushing your combed out curls to the side, to reveal your neck to him again. He does not give you words now, but the action of a kiss.
Almond oil. Paolo's eyes roll to a close and his mouth parts, his sigh moving against your skin. "Bella luna," the warlock sings softly. That voice of his, how strongly and powerfully it moves over the canals -- how sweetly it moves when he sings just for you...
But when if ever will she realize? She shifts impatiently now; "You do not need your sweet words!" Cosimina retorts it sharply, moving away and to the bath. "Save it for your other women, the ones which you must tease and toy with and seduce, warlock. You already know that I will not break with our bargain and there is no need. Have a little respect."
She takes up a cloth, dabbing at her mouth and folding down her lip to pat where she's bitten it; the tissue is then discarded to one side, where she can more permanently dispose of it later. To leave her blood around would be foolishness...
She washes her face next, so that her expression is hidden from you; but in doing so, she is blinded by the water. It is fitting - she who loves you but cannot understand you, blinded by the ripples and currents and beading droplets which you can control but not always. When can you control her?
"I will be in to bed shortly." Cosimina's voice is again cool, distant, disinterested. "Turn the covers back if you will. Were the touristas throwing themselves and their money at you today?"
"Bah, what other women," he chuckles, straightening and letting you past him. "There has been no one else for a while. Not that I do not have offers," he teases. "But," another sigh follows, "... I have been too busy to dally around with other women. I have twins on the way, and my one and only wife keeps me working. And hard. Or is that hard-working."
He turns down the bed, he prepares your pillows with the expert precision of a man who knows how you like your pillows arranged. Paolo removes his boxers to sleep in the natural, as is his habit. He has no shame, he parades to the window, opening it to let the breezes in. But the drapes are drawn at least.
"I made good money today. A little over a thousand euros. It was very busy. I only flirt so that I may keep pace with all of your rich lovers. They clothe you in the silk I get to crumple with my own hands. I have to do my best to ... distinguish myself among them, do I not? When I am a poor man, I must be better than Casanova. When I make a profit, I have to set some of it aside so they can crumple the silks I buy you with their hands..."
He smirks a bit and turns down the lights. The lights that shine in from the neighboring lanterns is all that lights the room. "Your business... it went well today?"
"Hmph." Cosimina does not believe you when you say that there are no other women - not for a while. "I have never stopped you nor even tried to stop you from having other women, gondolier. After all, what difference would it make? I am sure that there are many who can drive you wild with passion. It is not as though our agreement has ever been exclusive."
And do her words not sound so different, in light of new information? The careless disdain, so arrogant - even the sway of her hips as she begins to move back towards you, are they ripe with differences? She removes her skirt, folding it over the back of a chair and then taking a filmy nightgown from a drawer. She reaches around behind herself to unlatch the brassiere, the filmy scraps added to the chair, the silk undergarments removed entirely as she regards herself placidly in the mirror before she dons her nightgown.
"Do you begrudge me my luxuries, then, Paolo?" The tone is a baiting one. "My lovers, and the things that they buy me? Do you think that they will buy me away from you?"
"If it were so, you would be gone," he notes. Ah, so he does realize something. He is not as dumb as he looks. "I begrudge you nothing. I only wish I could lavish you with as much. I seem only to lavish you with annoyance. If only annoyance could be diamonds. We would both be rich, eh?"
Paolo lies upon his back, his arms folded beneath his head. He watches you as you move here and there. As you remove the bra (there was a sigh for that -- how heavy they are becoming, Cosimina. It will not be long before two mouths are attached to them). As you slip on your nightgown. His arms unfold and he lifts the blankets for you to join him, a view given to you of his own excitement, thick against his bended thigh.
"I know, you have never asked. That was our arrangement. But I only have one wife now. And I have no desire to have more than that. You are too much wife for me most nights. When you are with your other lovers... I burn, Cosimina..." a soft admission. "Sometimes it makes me do very stupid things..."
The thick lashes lower for a moment - to your manhood, to your obvious excitement and ... proven virility ... and to your admissions. Cosimina settles on the edge of the bed, looking away from you as she gathers her hair back from her face with gentle motions. "What difference does it make, where I get what I get, so long as in the end I have what I want? Everyone is well aware that what I wish to have, I take."
So imperious. She leans back, turning by degrees with a soft sound for the difficulty of it. Her waist has thickened noticeably, though there will be much more before her pregnancy reaches its largest point. "Perhaps it is your duty to burn. Then you can beckon the waters away from the canals and use them instead to quench yourself."
How indifferent she sounds. But her hand trembles on her hair as she eases herself down to the pillow - a slight signal, if you are watching for it. Cosimina sighs as her head finally hits the pillow. "My business went reasonably well. I will continue to work for as long as I can. These two, they tax me greatly and it irks me. I do not like being at their mercy. I do not like being at anyone's mercy." Not even yours, when anger gives way to passion and she takes your weight again. "What stupid things have you done this time, Paolo? What mistakes will I have to fix?"
"There is nothing to fix tonight. Nothing even to fix tomorrow." You come to bed and you come to his arms. The bed is not enormous. It is close quarters. And as the breeze cools him, his skin warms you. "I am your hot water bottle, si?" Paolo smiles, wrapping arms around you.
"Do you have what you want, Cosimina?" he says as you lie back in his arms. It is easier, no, if you lie on your side? "What else do you want, bella luna?" He whispers, his mouth brushing along your neck. His hands move. Ah, the hands of the Italian male. They are not called the octopi of the Mediterranean for nothing. But instead of grasping, his hands move to your back, massaging, circling.
"I promise not to do anything stupid until after the twins are born," Paolo whispers against your neck. His mouth suckles at your ear. "You are so strong... carrying Venice... and a temperamental man... upon your shoulders. You do too much, bella luna."
"Do not make promises that you cannot keep, Paolo." Cosimina sighs as your hands find her back, easing herself against you. When she is pregnant, it is easier for her - she can allow herself these luxuries, and tell herself - and you - that it is not you but for the children, because she is tired, because her back aches, her feet ache, because anything but the truth. "You will do ten stupid things before lunchtime tomorrow and I will not be able to find and fix them all. Pretty words will not disguise that."
She does not pull away, though; and even the sharpness of her tone becomes something a little more languid. "I always want more than I have, acque scure. Why would it change? There is never enough time in the world to have it all, nor money. And is it not that which you do not have that spurs you on the most? More money; more wealth; more. In your case, more women."
One hand comes up to fleetingly grasp at one of yours, then it slips away like a dream, leaving you to perhaps wonder if the memory were at all real. She composes herself against the pillow, sinking into the softness of it, her voice floating up from its depths. "It is business, not love. You are Italian. You understand this. Do not forget what we are and are not, Paolo. Whatever you pretend for the sake of the children."
Posted by rowan at June 19, 2005 01:50 PM
