1 - Interrupted Aria (10 page)

She took a sudden gulp and put her head on arms, weeping profusely. Stunned, I moved to her side and stroked her hair. “Adelina, you can’t leave. You are a marvelous performer. You can’t let some overly ambitious youngster force you out.”

Adelina fought back tears. “It’s not Caterina. It’s me. Listen to my shaky high notes, my weak vibrato. Listen with your trained ears, not with your heart, and you will see what I mean. I’ve been hiding my imperfections with tricks for months, but it’s getting harder all the time. I want to stop singing while I’m still admired, before the public realizes that my voice is going.”

I shook my head, unsure of how to comfort her. She put a soft hand on my cheek. “Don’t worry for me. This is just part of life. A singer’s voice doesn’t last forever, especially a woman’s voice. I have been planning for the day when I would have to leave the stage for a long time.” Her eyes grew misty again. “That day is not far off, but first, I have plans I must see through.”

I searched my coat pockets for a handkerchief. “Adelina, I had no idea you were feeling this way. Just this morning, you seemed so happy.”

She dabbed at her eyes with the square of linen I had found. “I’ve learned to make a mask of my face. You may look at me and see a smile, but it is no less a disguise than you see on the carnival maskers.”

“Why, Adelina?”

“We all have our reasons, Tito, but don’t do as I have done. Let your mask down before it freezes on your face and you find you can’t ever take it off.”

I must have looked puzzled. “Yes, you wear a mask,” she replied. “I’ve seen how you cringe when you are introduced as a
castrato
. You wear the mask of a normal man. You cover your disgrace and pretend, even to yourself, that you are whole. But I’ve watched you drop the mask when you sing. Then your face is exalted by the beautiful sounds coming from your throat. Drop your mask for good, Tito. Embrace what you are. Fate has made a very special place for you. Revel in being a
castrato
and ignore those who would have you do otherwise.”

I sat dumbfounded at her words. Before I could gather my wits to reply, a deep voice, now familiar to both of us, echoed down the stairs. “Adelina, where are you?”

I sprang up. “This is too much. I’ll tell him you are unwell.”

She restrained me. “No, Tito, I must go to him. This is part of my plan.” Then she smiled, and her eyes glittered with the hardness of diamonds. “This very day, things will begin to be set right.”

I watched Adelina hurry out, her back once again straight and proud, and listened as her heels tapped up the steps and Viviani’s voice boomed out to greet her. I was left alone in that sunny, little room with the dirty walls to finish my wine and reflect on the ultimate frailty of our voices and the mysterious caves behind the masks that cover the faces of our friends.

Chapter 10

Later that evening, as Felice and I headed home, my friend was quiet and his face was as long as the fiddle he had played that day. He didn’t cheer up until we found Grisella waiting for us at the entrance to our square. She had thrown a soft cloak of dark green wool over her shoulders; stray wisps of her lustrous, golden red hair were escaping from the hood. Her face held a look of simmering excitement.

“Father and I got home early today. He said I could come out and wait for you,” she said as she ran to greet us.

The girl slid between us and locked elbows with Felice on one side and me on the other. “What happened at the theater today, Tito?”

“Just more rehearsal, Grisella. There’s so much to do with only six more days until
Juno
opens. Our Felice is going to be part of the show. Torani gave him a job playing violin in the orchestra.”

My friend inclined his head toward my sister. “I put on my own show today, you should have seen it.”

Grisella took a few skipping steps between us. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“My big, clumsy feet got the better of me.” He rolled his eyes in a self-mocking way. “I tripped and managed to take practically everything in the orchestra pit down with me. It’s a wonder the harpsichord is still standing.”

“He’s exaggerating as usual. It wasn’t really that bad,” I put in.

Felice smiled dolefully. “I’m just glad Viviani arrived in the afternoon instead of the morning. If he had been there to see my stupendous fall, he probably would have had Torani fire me on the spot.”

“Signor Viviani? What was he doing there?” Grisella asked quickly.

“He owns the theater, little one,” I replied. “He can do anything he wants there.”

Felice snorted. “Do anything he wants in Adelina’s dressing room, you mean.”

I shook my head and gave Felice a warning glance over Grisella’s head. My little sister didn’t need to be hearing theater gossip that was far beyond her years.

We had almost reached the door when Grisella dropped our arms and ran the few remaining steps. She gave the bell a hearty pull. Lupo must have been waiting for us in the hall; the door opened immediately. Grisella’s hood slipped down, freeing a tumult of red-gold locks as she jumped up and down before our genial, stoop-backed servant.

“I didn’t tell them, Lupo. You said I couldn’t keep a secret, but I did, I did.”

Lupo raised his bushy eyebrows in mock surprise. “Very good, Signorina. I will remember to tell Berta how clever you are.”

She threw her cloak toward him and ran into the sitting room. “Do we have a surprise in store?” I asked, piling my cloak on his outstretched arms.

Lupo wiggled his eyebrows. “Step in the sitting room and find out, Signor Tito.”

I went straight in with Felice at my heels. Annetta was in the corner, warming herself by the stove. Seated at the round table littered with remnants of coffee and cakes, my father was in deep conversation with a man dressed in traveling clothes. The newcomer’s coat of heavy, corded fabric was well-made but rumpled and stained. His long, sturdy legs stretching out to catch some warmth from the stove ended in worn boots of expensive Spanish leather. He laughed and looked up at Grisella as she began to shower the back of his head with kisses. I suddenly recognized the face of my brother Alessandro hiding behind a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.

“Tito,” he began, looking me carefully up and down, “so you’ve returned. It’s been a long time. If I had seen you on the piazza, I would hardly have recognized you.”

“Yes, time has worked on both of us,” I said, remembering my brother as the fearless, athletic boy I’d tried so hard to emulate in the old days. “I’ve been home several weeks. I’m singing at the opera, now.”

He lowered his eyes. “So Father has been telling me.”

An awkward silence fell. For a brief span, each of us addressed private thoughts as the coal in the grate hissed and popped. Annetta’s voice broke the quiet with a trace of shrillness.

“Alessandro, you should have heard Tito sing at the Palazzo Viviani the other night. He was wonderful. Everyone says he will be a great success.”

My brother looked up sharply, his dark eyes lined with fatigue but still penetrating. “Viviani? You sang for Domenico Viviani?”

“He is my employer,” I answered. “The Viviani family owns the theater. His agents hired me away from the
conservatorio
in Naples. Why? Do you know him?”

His shoulders moved in an exasperated shrug. “I have encountered some of his men. It seems the Viviani clan has interests almost everywhere. They are tough competitors, to say the least, but surely they treat their singers more gently than their business rivals,” he ended with a smile.

Alessandro drew his legs in and slowly unfolded from his chair. He approached me uncertainly, as if he could hardly believe that the beardless eunuch in front of him was really his little brother. Finally, he embraced me and kissed both my cheeks. I smiled tentatively. I knew my brother’s practical merchant soul was revolted by the idea of sacrificing a body’s manhood for the sake of a beautiful voice. Whatever sum was paid to acquire my golden throat, Alessandro would have considered it a very bad bargain indeed.

My father clapped his hands to summon Berta and Lupo.

The last traces of daylight were fading and shadows had crept over the room. Lupo lit the lamps with a long taper while Berta cleared the small table of cups and crumbs. Grisella was hanging on Alessandro’s arm while he made small talk with Felice. Annetta conferred with Berta about supper and started to follow her to the kitchen, but Alessandro intervened.

“Don’t go, Annetta, I want to give you your present.”

He untangled himself from Grisella’s adoring grasp and knelt to unpack a canvas bag. First Alessandro brought out a small bundle wrapped in white cloth and handed it to our father with the king’s share of respectful deference that Isidore Amato always demanded from his children. The cloth fell away to reveal a handsome snuffbox of gold filigree. The gift must have pleased Father immensely as he thanked Alessandro with uncharacteristic warmth and complimented him on his taste in choosing the gift. Father slipped the box directly into his waistcoat pocket, exclaiming about the envy it would arouse in Conti and his other Mendicanti colleagues.

Annetta’s gift came next. Alessandro began pulling what looked like a rope of bright azure blue from the depths of the bag. He held the rope over his head with hands spread wide apart and gave the length of blue a good shake. A gauzy, delicately woven shawl unfurled before our eyes. He arranged the fabric over Annetta’s head and let the ends fall over her shoulders.

“Thank you, Alessandro.” She stroked the soft fabric, eyes shining. “It’s so light. I can hardly feel it on my head.”

Alessandro fingered one end of the shawl. “It came from India, brought by overland caravan. They say the silk is so finely woven that you could pass the entire shawl through a wedding ring.” He cocked his head to admire the bright fabric against our sister’s chestnut hair and creamy skin. “Wear this over your hair at church and you may find yourself with a wedding ring.”

Annetta laughed and gave Alessandro a playful push. “Stop trying to marry me off. You are older than I am and I don’t see a wife at your side.” My father grimaced. I knew he didn’t like to contemplate losing his unpaid housekeeper or seeing Alessandro’s resources flow away from our household to support a wife and children.

Grisella could contain herself no longer. “What about my present?” she asked, jumping up and down.

Alessandro knelt by the bag again and carefully unwrapped a box of thin, light wood. He set the box on the table and put his hand on the latch. “This came all the way from China, little one. It followed the same route as our famous countryman Marco Polo did hundreds of years ago.”

He opened the box to reveal writing paper of a delicate, exotic manufacture. Each sheet of crisp white had decoratively torn edges and was hand inked at the top with a sinuous, oriental motif of fighting dragons.

“How lovely,” Annetta exclaimed. Grisella remained silent and unsmiling.

Alessandro took a sheet from the box and held it before a lamp. “Look Grisella, you can almost see through it. It’s made of rice and decorated by Chinese artists. Every box contains paper of a different design. No other girl in Venice has anything like this.”

Grisella’s face settled into a cross expression. “I don’t want paper,” she said fretfully. “I want the shawl. It’s the best present.” She made a move to grab the azure fabric off Annetta’s head and for once my older sister lost her composure. She struck Grisella’s arm away roughly and clasped the shawl firmly as the younger girl struggled to pull it away.

Father jumped up, but before he could reach the girls, Grisella had gone rigid and was shouting horrible curses at Annetta. In an instant, the girl was in the throes of the worst convulsion we had yet witnessed. Her curses turned to grunts. She shook and twisted, striking her fists out at random. Father fought to grab her flailing arms as Annetta yelled for Berta. This time it took all three of them to get some elixir down her throat and carry her upstairs to her room.

Alessandro turned to me in alarm. “This sickness, these spells. They’re getting worse all the time. Something must be done.”

“I agree,” I answered. “Her physician has made the elixir as strong as he dares, but she seems to need more and more of it to calm her. The other measures he recommends don’t seem to be helping at all.”

“What does he think is causing her fits?”

“I get the impression he hardly knows what to think.”

“Could she be play-acting?” My brother stroked his beard. “Grisella was always one to want everyone’s attention focused on her.”

Felice spoke up hesitantly. “I don’t mean to meddle in family business, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with Grisella while Tito is at the theater and Annetta is busy with her chores. The girl is terribly embarrassed by her spells. And frightened. She’s terrified that she will end up as a madwoman chained to the wall of a lunatic asylum. I’m convinced that the spells are genuine, not under her control at all.”

Alessandro nodded thoughtfully, then amazed us by offering another theory. “What if she is possessed?”

I stifled an astonished laugh and traded uneasy glances with Felice. “Surely you are not serious, Alessandro?”

“You cannot imagine the things I have seen in the East, Tito.” My brother regarded me with a serious expression. “I have watched infidels possessed by demons spin around for hours until they either lose their wits or die. Indian fakirs who climb ropes suspended in thin air. Holy men from Persia who put themselves in a trance and allow spirits of the dead to talk through their mouths. So many strange things exist in this world.”

“But this is Venice. We are civilized men, not savages. And this is the eighteenth century, not the Dark Ages.”

“Besides, poor Grisella is just an innocent young girl,” Felice added. “How could she have fallen into the grip of demonic symptoms?”

My brother shook his head. “I don’t have the answers, but this illness strikes me as most strange and unnatural. Maybe we should talk to Father about getting a priest instead of a doctor.”

Alessandro broached that subject at supper. Grisella had finally quieted down and was sleeping peacefully upstairs. The rest of us were at the table plying Alessandro with questions about his travels. After complaining about the Turkish unrest and the resulting decline in profits, he brought up his theories about demons and evil spirits. Father reacted as skeptically as I thought he would. Our father was full of cautionary tales about the perils and temptations of this world, but he had never had any use for superstition. A ghost would have to cause quite a commotion to get a rise out of Isidore Amato.

Annetta was also doubtful. She believed that Grisella’s fits sprang from emotional turmoil and pointed out that they occurred more frequently when our sister was upset. This observation only inspired Father to grumble about Grisella’s fickle moods and to blame Berta’s coddling and overindulgence. We debated until bedtime, finally agreeing that we should all do our utmost to promote tranquility in the household and particularly try to avoid provoking Grisella’s temper. She should also get as much rest as possible. Over Father’s objections, it was decided to limit her activities at the Mendicanti. He, of course, considered her musical instruction of paramount importance, but the rest of us persuaded him that Grisella’s health should come first. Consulting a priest was left as the option of last resort.

One more incident, painful but necessary to mention, occurred that night. Felice and I had gone up to bed and were in my room discussing the events of the day. I was still in my shirt and breeches, sitting cross-legged on my bed, polishing a shoebuckle with a dab of spit and the corner of my bed sheet. Felice had already changed into his nightshirt; his dark hair was loose and flowing onto his shoulders. He was reclining on his cot, propped up on one elbow.

Like so many nights at the
conservatorio
, we had shared our opinions on matters great and small and had fallen into a companionable silence. Then Felice abandoned his cot and crossed the floor to climb onto my bed. He reached out and gave my chest a tentative caress.

I stopped my polishing but didn’t look up right away. Finally I said, “I thought we had settled that back in Naples.”

“Loving you will never be settled for me.” He slid his fingers inside my shirt.

“I only agreed for you to come home with me because you promised that my friendship would be enough.” I caught his wrist and gently forced his questing fingers away. “Felice, you know how I feel. You may have been born for the pleasures of your own sex, but I wasn’t.”

“But Tito,” he said, his face full of longing. “Everything in my life is falling apart. My love for you is all I have left. Please, let me show you. Please, just for tonight.”

I sprang from the bed and paced the floor. “I can’t. I won’t pretend something I don’t feel.”

Felice frowned and his eyes hardened. “It’s that woman, isn’t it.”