The doors and windows of the old Palazzo di Grimani, not the newer place (and by new, meaning the 16th Century) on the Canale Grande but the small palazzo, the original from the 13th Century, stand wide open to let in the smells, and most importantly the fresh afternoon air. Several new paint chips have fallen from the structure, making a pretty pastel covering for some of the plants below. Yes, more paint chips. It happens every summer when the moisture and the heat causes plaster to expand.
     The shoppe, as every other place in Venice this bustling time of year, has been busy. Books have been flying off the shelves! Well, only sometimes literally. It has been so busy, in fact, that her mistress's cat, has taken to sleeping upstairs in the darker (and cooler) reading room, where fortunes are sometimes told for a few euro (alright, 30 euro in the summer, but the girl is good).
     So busy, and so warm, Deus the heat! That Albizzina has had to forgo her usual pumps and take to wearing flats. But they are not ordinary flats, no. They are satin, turning up at the toe like the shoes of Aladdin's genie, and of a powdery blue all covered in sequins and swirls.
     In the midst of all of this turbulence, she sat calmly, giving directions when asked with simple hand gestures, handing free toys to babies before they even asked for them, all the while her pages in the book she reads turning, like they were blown by the errant wind from the courtyard...
     It is such a good book, she could not just put it down...
     But now it is the great siesta... the time after lunch where everyone can nap and digest. The tourists have left for the moment (they will return just after nightfall), and she is alone in her little shoppe, sitting at the back with her Aladdin shoes and her black pencil skirt and her black cotton pullover with the cap sleeves. Her black hair is swept up in swirls and a configuration any Byzantine queen could appreciate, and sitting on her delicate face is an enormous pair of sunglasses, very Sophia Loren.
     Her reading material? Antique Jewelry and Vintage Shoes: Their Place in Fashion and Use in Magic.

     Alone, but not for long. The bells ringaling, and the door opens. Cosimina steps in, the swell of her belly preceding her by more than a few inches. She has had to forego her usual simplicity for maternity clothes - silks giving way to more practical (and less staining) cottons and the like. Her dark hair is in its usual ringlets, caught back in a simple kerchief (blue).
     "Albizzina." Ah, that is the voice. The voice of a woman cross with heat, cross with backache, cross with men. Cross, perhaps, with allowing herself to have a man in her house so unalloyedly. "Have you any peppermint oil? Or a remedy for a rash of manhood. Wolfsbane, perhaps. Foxglove. Something. Anything."
     She puts both hands to the small of her back, closing her eyes with a faint wince that tightens the corners of her mouth. Then, resolutely, she waddles for the counter. "You should come to dinner," Cosimina says without preamble. "Tell me when you will. Tomorrow? Tonight? You know that the children would love to see you. And I would like a rational being over the age of ten in the house for just one night."

     "She is good," Cesare's voice booms, descending from on high. His feet are heavy on the stairs, as if a great lumbering weight comes forth. The steps sound loudly beneath his feet, and a pair of shiny loafers - expensive, those - followed by tailored slacks and an appointed linen shirt come into view.
     "Where did you find her?" his voice seems to half-demand, as if expecting someone to attend to his question. His hand touches the ceiling above the stairs, then lowers when he reaches the bottom step. "I was almost tempted," he begins, then waves his hand at the world as if to say 'nevermind.'
     Cesare stops when he sees Cosimina working her way to the counter.

     "She is from Naples. She will tell you Pompeii, but that is past life recall," Albizzina remarks off-handedly. "Did she tell you that you would soon be rich, amice? I tell her to tell you this, to throw you off the scent." Of the Doge's perfumed gold, one might imagine.
     Her smile is coquette, half-curling like a feline mostly in repose, as she lifts her head, glancing to the stairs and to Cesare...
     But suddenly Fate is upon them!
     "Ah, Cosimina, amica..." Albizzina rises, pushing out her high-backed chair from behind the counter to give the Madonna With Child(ren) a seat. "I fear that there is no cure for the malady called Men," she glances to Cesare, "... but have my chair, it will be the next best thing..."
     "But...I do have oils. And teas... I have remedies such as you will not care what Paolo does or says... is he being polite to you again?"
     The only thing worse than a miscreant Paolo is a Paolo on his Best Behavior...
     "Cesare... would you like some tea? Cosimina? And I will get your tinctures..."

     Cesare bobs his head at Cosimina, but then half-lids his eyes and shakes his head negatively at tea. He is certainly surprised to see the Guardian's wife, even as he tries to momentarily bury himself in Albizinna's reading. A glance at the book, and Cesare moves to the end of the counter, against the wall.

     "Ouf. Grazie." Cosimina settles upon the offered stool, completely ignoring Cesare - as if he simply were not present. She is single-minded in her determination - the chair will be hers, and woe unto any who defies her in that desire! "Men - bah."
     There is a pause, and then the dark eyes turn upwards to the descending Cesare. She casts her gaze heavenwards. "You have a man present," she comments dryly. "You are right. I have contracted a positive rash of them. Bongiorni, then. No luck yet, with the gold? Or are you seeking a different goldenness now?" Her mouth slashes into a catlike cant of a smile, then she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Has the little Englishwoman found her way back to you yet, Albizzina?"
     A pause, then she wrinkles her nose. "Polite. Polite. Yes, he is being polite. And cheerful. Ridiculously so. Disgustingly so. I am almost ready to throw him out of the house tonight because his smile is maddening. What oils can you recommend?"

     "Bongiorni, Cosimina." Cesare makes up in his lateness, giving a small smile. He leans in the angles made by counter and wall. There's no comment on the goldenness, just a glance back as he was watching Albizzina's fishing about in the meantime. Apparently this man should keep his peace.

     Poor Paolo. When he is morose, we all laugh at how a man can be so black of mood. When he is smiling, we find him annoying. Well, we find him annoying either way, si? Albizzina smirks to herself as she holds out her hand. No tea for her. Espresso, yes.
     "I have garlic oil, surely that will make him leave you alone. Hmm, but maybe it will just make him hungry." Albizzina waves a little, her many rings sparkling in the light. "I will find something, carita. And as for dinner, tomorrow night would work best. I would be pleased to join you. I have not seen your Genevra in some time. And Damiano... he used to have a crush on me." She sighs.
     All the men I have ever loved have left me...
     A pointed look is given to Cesare. "Cesare, you are too quiet. Make something move, say something pithy." She lifts the little cup of espresso to her painted lips as she moves back to her book. "Cosimina is frustrated by her man, how is yours?"

     Tea. She is getting so heartily sick of tea. But for the bebes... Cosimina lifts her hand to her lips, watching Cesare and then Albizzina. Measuring, as she must. "Tomorrow night? Si. Very well. Damiano still has a crush on you; he will be speechless with delight to see you."
     At that, she permits herself a small smile. They are cute when they are young, yes. "I will let it be your surprise for him, your coming to dinner. He will be your escort; Genevra does not need escort, she is too young. She will begin to have one soon enough as it is."
     She arches an eyebrow in a slant at Cesare. "Yes, how is yours, Cesare? You are being so quiet. Was it something that I have said? And me, I have barely spoken."

     He really doesn't know how this stuff about him gets around. However, he does know it has nothing to do with magic.
     Cesare frowns slightly, arms folding at his chest. He shrugs, saying only, "Maybe I'll have tea," moving a bit back in the conversation. "No, no, nothing said," Cesare dismisses, coining a duplicate cup after a stare at Albizinna's. His appears to his right, on the small table behind the bar. There is no rush to it, perhaps it has to steep.

     A delicately plucked eyebrow lifts as she tilts her head toward her male friend. "No words to say about your lover? Is there something the matter, amice?" She takes a seat upon the stool that always rests behind the counter. It is not as comfortable as the chair, of course, but it will do.
     Folding one slender leg across her other, she sips at her coffee. "I must live vicariously through you both, so... please... do not withhold the details. How else will I find love or give birth to children if not through my friends?"
     For she, it is well rumored and known, is terminally single...

     "There's nothing the matter," Cesare insists, now reaching for his cup of tea. "I am reading," as usual. "There is not much to say. I have not had so many rats this year," he offers, nodding at the thought.

     There is a mirrored smile on Cosimina's face, reflecting back without giving away anything. "So quiet," she murmurs. "And Albizzina, if you are not wary with your words, the other women will seek to find someone for you." She arches an eyebrow then in the lone testosterone-laden in the room. "Rats?"

     "Rats." Cesare nods. "My flat has not had so many. I am keeping them away successfully, it seems. So. I have..." Cesare thinks a moment, "fewer rats."

     A slender hand lifts and makes a gentle wave, a page of the book lifting and turning on its own as Albizzina continues to sip at her coffee. "I do not think any of them are that brave as to make the attempt again."
     "Oh, then there will hopefully be no outbreak of the Black Death. It is important that we all do our part," she remarks dryly. "I must find a pair of 17th Century lace and glass slippers. They are particularly handy in prosperity spells. And they would look lovely. Do you see these?" She sticks up a leg, showing off her footwear. "These belonged to a Sultana in Persia, circa 1276. It is supposed to make me irresistible. So far, they have done nothing for irresistibility but they have gotten me many compliments from the children in the shoppe..."
     No one wants to talk about love? Hmm... well... I know why...
     "Shall we talk about the hippopotamus in the room, or shall we continue to ignore it and make with more small talk?"

     "What?" Cesare wonders, not sure what's being discussed. He looks down at the boots, nodding, "Those are nice," he observes. "You have to wear them outside for them to be irresistible," Cesare notes, managing a slight grin at himself.

     "Tsk... really, Cesare..." Albizzina smirks at his humor. "You know I have an aversion to moving... besides. I would get them dirty..."

     Rats. Cosimina just lifts an eyebrow again. Why rats? Well, why not? "You should have Paolo make certain that it is not a sign that your flat is sinking, Cesare. You know how rats feel about water." She could be joking. Perhaps. There is nothing to suggest one way or another.
     "They are lovely," Cosimina agrees, leaning cautiously forward and then hastily back. "I would wear them if it were not for," well, you know. The residents of the lower floor. "Do you wish a matchmaking done? I thought you had found contentment in a cat and a book and a cup of tea. How very English of you, Albizzina."
     She raises an eyebrow, looking from one to the other again. "Which hippo would this one be? We have grown so many locally, we have no need for African imports."

     Cesare wonders too, looking to Albizzina for guidance - though the question on matchmaking would be keen to hear about as well.

     "Ah, if only it were possible, my friend. But you know my Fate prohibits it. Still, I thank you. Perhaps, instead, I shall get another cat." Yes, yes, this is a better solution.
     As for the hippo...
     "Rosalie..."
     Though it is no comment on her waist. God knows the woman keeps fit. But with entertaining two men, she would have to be. "It is a point upon which there is some tension, si? It should be done...this matter of her punishment. It is not good to leave it hanging like a loose thread."
     For that is what it is until it is tied off, as every Fate Witch knows...
     Eyebrows lift upward in an opening arch as Albizzina looks to each of you. Yes? No? Is it just me?

     Immediately, Cosimina's expression goes sour. Her. "I have nothing to say about that one," she says aloofly, lifting her cup to her lips. "She remains in custody, awaiting trial. I have been very careful to have my hands entirely off the strings of this one. I know that there are some," her eyes flash towards Cesare, "who no doubt think this a plot on my part to rid myself of that poisonous snake."
     She sips her tea, then sets the cup down firmly upon its saucer. "However, I have made a recommendation, certainly, as to penalty." Cosimina shrugs, slightly. "Whether others listen or no is dependent upon whether they believe the evidence, no?"

     Cesare feels eyes upon him, and he looks up from his cup. He swallows and exhales after it, then tips his cup towards himself, looking at the contents within. A patient gesture before he says, "I'm not in the guild," he notes for the record. And so it is true. Cesare extend his neck slightly, stretching left and right before he finishes off his cup of tea in a fell swoop. "I am sure that those who make such decisions will do so," Cesare smiles to Albizzina. "Things happen in their time."

     So, there is nothing between we three on it. Well that's good at least. Albizzina shrugs lightly, finishing her espresso. The cup floats away, to the back room, where the cappuccino machine begins to whir and steam.
     "Her Fate is what she makes of it," she idly remarks. "So long as neither of you are troubled by this matter, it makes no matter to me. Things will be as they will be." She rolls a shoulder and holds out the palm of her hand. A frothy cup of cappuccino lands there.
     "I have no life, you cannot expect me to hold up the conversation," Albizzina smoothly intones, her smile curling at the rip of the cup as she sips. "Ah... yes... the oils... I recommend peppermint for your feet... lavender for your stress..." I will get them from the back. Nothing too exotic but they are tried and true..."

     "What of the tourists this year," Cesare wonders. "You have not described how they have been and how many you have seen. I heard there were many Britons this year."

     "I would not say that I am untroubled. She has hurt those whom I hold dear." Surely she cannot be referring to Paolo? Not Cosimina, the heartless, Cosimina, the proud, Cosimina, the terrible. No, she must clarify with all due haste. "I mean, of course, the children. It is a terrible thing that she has done - it will be years before Damiano is fully out from the shadow of it, and Genevra was harmed by her wicked words long before this."
     To the littlest one, she makes no real remark. Nothing she can say will seem other than hypocritical, to her critics. "I do not require exotic. I prefer that which I can comprehend." This, to oils. And then she casts a pitying glance at Cesare.
     "Always, there are tourists. But si - we have had one little lost Briton already..."

     "One of the Little Island in particular... a girl who was sent here, it seems. On a fool's errand, if you ask me. But, what do I know... I do not read the cards," Albizzina remarks, sipping at her cafe. "I do not know what makes English girls so gullible. A man tells her to go, and she goes? I would have gone to the authorities."
     "The other tourists, they come and they go like the Adriatic tides, never when you expect them, and never to a manageable degree." Her mouth tilts as she waves another of the pages to turn. "I am sure Damiano and Genevra will thrive. Children are flexible, resistant, able to heal far faster than we adults who know so much, si?" Dark eyes lift to Cosimina. "I do not mean to sound dismissive. Only that I am not involved apart from being a magical citizen. I wonder upon the larger picture," she remarks suddenly, head tilting to the side as if she were trying to hear it take shape. "Mysterious girls with lockets, other girls behaving badly..."
     Maybe it's all unconnected...
     With a shrug, Albizzina sets her cup aside and rises. "I will get those oils for you now. Cesare... anything for you, my friend? Any... oils to inspire love?"

     "I do not know the details," Cosimina remarks. "Only that in some way was she drawn here - bound here. We shall see, si?" She smiles, a firm sort of smile, sharp at the edges.
     "Inspiring love, pah." Cosimina scoffs suddenly. "If it needs inspiring, why bother? It must be of its own or it counts for nothing. I," she states it grandly, "neither love nor am loved. Save, of course, by my children..."

     Cesare's fingers circle the brim of his empty teacup. He grins at the china as Cosimina talks, then lifts his expression as he's asked a question. "No, thank you," the formality in it. Cesare returns to his cup, keeping his counsel to himself and his lips as quiet as usual. A pensive student as always, he reaches out for Albizzina's book again, pulling it towards himself. Other elbow props him up at the counter, and while oils are found, Cesare flips through the pictures of shoes and magics. He misses the pitying look, and only adds, "There is little more important than the love of one's children..."

Posted by rowan at September 12, 2005 12:40 PM