1 - Interrupted Aria (18 page)

Father frowned severely as he shook water droplets off his tricorne. The bell tower on the piazza could not have seemed so solid or unbending as the figure at the threshold of the dining room. Surprised by his noiseless entrance and daunted by his inhospitable attitude, the five of us around the table stared at him in frozen silence.

“Well, will no one greet me? My children may have invited half the cast of the San Stefano to my home at an unseemly hour, but I am still the master of this house.”

“We apologize for any intrusion, Signor Amato.” Crivelli rose and gave my father a painstakingly correct bow while Annetta sprang to take his hat and coat. “Your hospitality is much appreciated on such a wet night.”

Slightly mollified, my father took a pinch of snuff and offered one to Crivelli. “Go ahead,” he said, handing the singer a pewter snuffbox. “My sons do not indulge, but I find the weed most invigorating. You’ll need a bit of a pickup. The rain is almost over but it has turned quite cold. Am I right in assuming that is your gondola at the bottom of the
calle?”

“It is, Signore.”

“Then you had better hurry. Your gondolier is growing restless. If you delay, he may decide the warmth of his bed and his good wife is more desirable than another fare.”

Annetta ushered our visitors to the door, leaving Alessandro and me in the dining room with Father. The rainstorm outside may have abated, but we were in for a hail of words inside. Father puffed himself up like an operatic Jupiter about to hurl a mighty thunderbolt, but Alessandro deflated him with a few soft words. “Father, where is your gold snuffbox?”

Our father was suddenly perplexed. He patted his waistcoat and looked at the corners of the room as if the snuffbox might materialize out of the walls.

“The gold snuffbox I brought you from my last trip, where is it?” Alessandro repeated.

“Oh, yes. I had to leave it with the jeweler. The clasp broke off. Really Alessandro, you should learn to examine merchandise more carefully before you buy it.” With that indignant pronouncement, Father left us for the shelter, if not the warmth, of his bed.

Chapter 19

I couldn’t guess when Father had awakened and left the house. When Annetta came to my bedroom with a steaming pitcher of water to fill the wash basin, he was nowhere to be seen or heard. “What time is it?” I asked groggily.

“Almost nine. You looked so tired last night I decided to let you get a good sleep.”

I threw the covers off and shuddered when my feet hit the cold floor. “You shouldn’t have let me lie here like a lazy Calabrian. We have so much to do and there’s so little time.” I tore around the room, gathering clothes and shoes. Annetta started toward the window to open the curtains, but I grabbed her around the waist and pointed her toward the door. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be down in ten minutes and we’ll go to Adelina’s.”

My sister tarried with her hand on the doorknob. “You’ve become very modest. I used to dress you when you were little.”

“Well, I’ve grown up and would like some privacy please. Is Alessandro up?”

She smiled affectionately on her way out. “He’s already been out to get a gazette, and he’s eaten every crust in the house. You’re out of luck for breakfast unless you want to wait for Berta’s next batch of bread.”

“No time,” I answered, splashing my face with water.

I was hurrying down the stairs, buttoning my waistcoat, when the bell in the hallway below gave three slow rings. I opened the door. At our threshold stood a tall monk in a white woolen robe with a heavy stole thrown around his shoulders. A black hood that designated the Dominican order covered his head and threw his face into deep shadow. Despite the cold, his hands were bare. The fingers that clasped the handle of his leather satchel were red and raw. He asked for Alessandro.

My brother was pushing in behind me. “Brother Mark, you’re here. Tito, move aside. Let Brother Mark come in and get warm.”

The monk stepped over our threshold and shook the hood back from his face. From his close-cropped black hair to his long feet encased in worn work boots, Brother Mark exuded a supple power that suggested the body of a greyhound or racehorse straining under his white robe. His thin face showed an intelligent, honest appearance, but it was his eyes that attracted the most serious examination. A deep slate gray and protected by hooded lids, they seemed to look straight through the reality of our humble hallway filled with the smell of baking bread into a mysterious, unseen realm.

While he and Alessandro discussed the exorcism, I asked myself if this austere man could possibly be the instrument of Grisella’s deliverance. Brother Mark’s chief concern was whether our sister had been told about the exorcism and had been prepared for the ordeal. In whispers, I asked Annetta if Father had been prepared.

“No,” she whispered back with foreboding. “We thought it would be better to risk his wrath and beg forgiveness later than to reveal the plan and have him forbid Brother Mark to come to the house.”

I was left alone with the Dominican while Alessandro and Annetta went up to Grisella’s room to present their scheme for her approval. According to Brother Mark, the exorcism would be more effective if Grisella truly wanted his help.

“What’s involved in this ritual?” I asked as my brother and sister disappeared up the stairs. “How do you do it?”

He turned his solemn gaze on me. “The mazes of the mind are twisted and perplexing. God can fill them with love and light, or the Ancient Serpent can pollute them with filth. If some dark power holds sway over your sister and torments her soul, she and I must fight it together.”

“I don’t understand. Why—and how—could a demon jerk her body and make her yell obscenities? She is hardly more than a child, who has never caused trouble for anyone.” I thought back. “Well, she has had her childish tantrums, but I’m sure her heart is pure and holds no malice.”

“Young girls on the brink of womanhood are Satan’s preferred prey. In their innocence, they are easily deceived and dominated,” he intoned gravely. “Only last month I was called to Verona to fight a demon who had possessed a girl of barely eleven years. Her mother asserted that before the troubles began she couldn’t have wished for a more pious or helpful child.”

“The troubles?”

“When the girl entered a room, objects would fly through the air. In the kitchen it was pots and pans. In the sitting room, a portrait in a heavy frame detached itself from the wall and smashed itself in the fireplace.”

“Did the girl have fits like my sister’s?”

“No. The Dark Angel inflicted a different trial on that child. During the manifestations, her hair would stand on end and her skirts would crackle. Her very skin seemed to radiate a strange energy I had never encountered before.”

“What happened to the girl?”

A beatific smile spread over Brother Mark’s face, and I realized he was younger than I had first thought. His air of gravity added years to his face, but with that smile accompanied by a twinkle in his gray eyes, I saw he was actually little older than Alessandro. “The light of our precious Lord prevailed,” he told me. “The girl is well and her household is peaceful.”

My brother called from the top of the stairs. “Grisella is ready, Brother Mark. She is willing to accept your help.”

I wished the monk good luck in his sacred undertaking and reached for my cloak. I called up to Alessandro. “Send Annetta down, we have to be getting along to Adelina’s.”

Alessandro clattered down the stairs. “No, Tito, you can’t go now. We need you. Grisella won’t submit to the exorcism unless we’re all there.”

“But I have to help Caterina sort through Adelina’s possessions. We need to discover what Adelina knew that could threaten Viviani.”

My brother leaned over the banister. His expression was intense. “I know, but you have all day to do that. Please Tito, Grisella needs you now.”

Annetta appeared at the top of the stairs. She spread her hands helplessly. I turned to Brother Mark, frustration rising in my gorge. He laid his hand on my arm. “If your presence calms the girl and serves to make her more receptive, then your help could be very important.”

“And if the devil is powerful, it may take our combined strengths to hold her down and keep her from harming herself,” my brother added. “Isn’t that right, Brother Mark?”

“Perhaps.” He nodded, the weight of years settling on his face once again.

I hesitated, my loyalty to my family struggling with the thought of Felice moving one step closer to the State Inquisitors’ chamber. The monk’s hand was still on my arm; I could feel its warmth through my sleeve. His voice was compelling. “It will only take a short time to discern what sort of menace we are facing.”

Still torn, I hung my cloak back on its peg and reluctantly followed the others up to Grisella’s room. We found the girl in bed, propped up on pillows, attended by a fearful, fidgeting Berta. Brother Mark stopped at the doorway and sniffed the air of the room. He directed the women to gather up Grisella’s combs and brushes and all the small items on her dressing table. He explained that any loose object could become a dangerous projectile during the struggle ahead. For the same reason, he instructed Alessandro and me to clear the room of light furniture, leaving only a small table by the bed on which he began to arrange his sacramental armamentarium. Out of the satchel came a prayer book, a large crucifix on a stand, a purple stole, a container of lustral water, and assorted reliquaries and medals.

Grisella watched his preparations with mounting anxiety. She whimpered and called for Berta, but Brother Mark barred the old nurse’s way and took a seat on the edge of Grisella’s bed. Her face was white and her eyes wide with fear as he began to stroke her hands and talk to her in a comforting voice. The four of us, Berta clutching her apron and burying her face in Annetta’s shoulder, watched from the foot of the bed.

“Do you love the Lord, your God, with all your mind and heart?” Brother Mark asked, his hooded eyes studying Grisella’s pale face.

“Yes,” she answered in a hesitant whisper.

“And Jesus Christ, your savior?”

“Yes,” she replied in a stronger voice, her huge eyes locked on his.

As Brother Mark inquired about Grisella’s devotion to a litany of saints and martyrs, he pressed the back of her hand against his cheek as if to gauge its warmth and again used his sense of smell on her hand and the air surrounding her bed. With a sudden movement he dipped an aspergillum in the holy water and sprinkled the length of my sister’s covered form, ending with the cascade of red-gold curls covering her pillows. Grisella blinked in surprise but smiled up at him sweetly.

“You’re a nice man,” she said. “At first I was afraid, but I’m not anymore.”

The monk did not return Grisella’s smile but continued to search her face intently. Did he expect the evil presence to manifest itself on her countenance? His hand flashed again, quick as an eel, and pressed a silver object on her forehead. Grisella gasped but lay still as he held a small crucifix against her skin. I hadn’t seen him reach toward the table; he must have had the crucifix hidden up his sleeve. Grisella giggled nervously as the exorcist removed the cross and inspected her pale, unblemished forehead. My stomach rumbled to remind me I’d neglected breakfast. I was more than ready to set out for Adelina’s and was growing weary of this ritual which seemed to consist of nothing more than magic tricks.

Brother Mark stroked Grisella’s cheeks thoughtfully. A snake rising from the basket of an Eastern fakir could not have been more entranced than my sister was by the monk’s intense gaze. After a moment he wound the purple stole around his neck and placed a reliquary in Grisella’s hand. He bent over her, saying, “One more test, little one. Don’t be afraid.”

With majestic presence, he stretched to his full height and held his arms above the bed. “By the judge of the living and the dead, by your creator and the creator of the universe, I compel you to speak your name.”

“But you know my name. It’s Grisella.”

Brother Mark thundered, “No, foul spirit, that is the name of the afflicted child, the human creature you defile with your poison of eternal damnation. By the power of Christ, I command you to speak your unholy name.”

“My name is Grisella Geneviva Amato,” our poor sister wailed, close to tears.

The white-robed monk threw his head back and implored the heavens in a roaring moan. He clutched his chest with one hand and shook his other fist at an unseen evil. “Do not despise my command because you know me for a sinner. Ignore my impurities and obey the one who is blameless. By the might of God, the Most High, reveal your name.” The air in the room seemed to vibrate under the power of his words, but no spirit heeded his will. Grisella had drawn the covers up under her chin and was weeping miserably. Next to me, Berta sniffled softly and Annetta shook her head disapprovingly. I opened my mouth to stop this infernal performance, but a wave of dizziness overcame me and made the floor lurch under my feet.

The weeping girl on the bed and the figure towering above her receded into the distance, and a strange vision flashed before me. I was staring at Brother Mark’s face surrounded by his black hood that stretched to fill the periphery of my sight. The skin over his nose and cheekbones was translucent and pale. His mouth was set in a gentle, questioning smile. An infinitely vast wave of loneliness spread out from that smile and engulfed me in deep sorrow. The hooded gray eyes that seemed to see so much more than mine had turned to crystal—shiny, reflective facets lit from behind by an energy that begged and beckoned. I felt myself falling forward, but Annetta squeezed my arm and the floor became solid once more.

Brother Mark was kneeling by the bedside reassuring Grisella. She had stopped crying and was clinging to one of his wide sleeves with a plaintive grasp. He turned and addressed the foot of the bed in a dignified voice very different from the booming roar he had used only a moment ago. “Leave us now. Grisella and I must talk in private.”

Alessandro put his hands on his hips in an exasperated gesture. “Is that all? Did the exorcism work? Did you drive a spirit out of her?”

“Please go downstairs.” The monk’s tone left no room for argument. “I’ll come to you after we’re finished here.”

We filed down the stairs in silence. Berta would have lingered at the door of Grisella’s room, but Annetta pulled her along sharply and sent her back to her duties in the kitchen. The sitting room was dark and cold. Alessandro began stoking the corner stove with coal from a tin bucket while Annetta straightened the china figurines on the shelves and fluffed pillows that had been perfect as they were.

“We must go, Annetta,” I finally said.

“At least eat something first.” She cast a wary eye toward Alessandro, who was staring moodily at the flames in the stove. “The bread should be ready by now.”

I was still feeling lightheaded and couldn’t shake the feeling of aching loneliness that had pervaded me during my lapse. “I’ll eat a bite, but then I must get over to Adelina’s. With you or without you.”

Our brother paced the room, threw the window draperies back, and kicked a footstool out of his way. “We’ve been duped,” he said. “The monk is a fraud and the exorcism was a waste of time. He did nothing to rid Grisella of her spells.”

“Maybe possession is not what troubles her,” Annetta said from the doorway. She was taking a tray laden with bread and coffee from Berta.

“Maybe, but I’m sure he will expect an ample fee no less.” Alessandro tore a hunk off the fragrant loaf and chewed morosely.

“My order survives on alms alone. I ask nothing for myself but a few
soldi
to cover my passage back to the monastery.”

Brother Mark had entered the sitting room so softly that we all jumped. He surveyed us with a look of grave concern and refused Annetta’s offer of food. “I’m fasting,” he said. “Just let me sit by the stove and warm myself a while. The wind on the lagoon almost froze me this morning and the return trip will be little better.” He seated himself on a low stool before the fire in a graceful, flexible arc.

Alessandro shifted restlessly from foot to foot but finished chewing the thick bread crust before aiming questions at the Dominican. “What did you find? Are Grisella’s fits the work of a demon or just childish tricks?”