Sisters of Glass (6 page)

He catches me staring

at his gleaming scalp

bordered by tufts of hair

like sad patches of wiry weeds.

Signore Borosini runs frantic strokes

over and over the top of his head

as if he were polishing it.

I smile at him with a wink

so I can swallow my laughter.

Mother’s toe taps mine.

The rain rages against our palazzo,

and I realize I have not heard

one bit of this conversation.

Mother says, “Maria is quite

an accomplished sketch artist.”

I open my mouth,

anticipating the question

what do I sketch or

will I show him something.

“Oh.” Signore Borosini clears his throat.

“Well, in the shipbuilding business

these days one must be weary

of all suppliers as I am sure

your son, Marino, must have eyes

on his trading partners as well.

Venice is collapsing. After the fall

of Constantinople—doom, doom,

I tell you …” And the negative stream

of words about my beloved Murano

and her mother, Venice, never ceases.

I want to scream,

“I will never marry you!”

But I cannot.

I smile politely and say,

“I feel poorly. Please excuse me.”

I curtsy and offer my hand to Signore Borosini.

I look him in the eyes,

not at his head.

“Pleasure to meet you.
Buon giorno, signore
.”

Mother could melt glass,

she is so fire-mad at me.

I have never before

left ahead of the suitor.

Mother’s eyes flare

their deepest green,

but I surmise

that her anger fuels partially

because she does not want to be

alone with Borosini,

and I have abandoned her.

FOUND GLASS

Giovanna kneels beside my bed,

her head curled over in prayer.

Faceup on my pillow

nestles the hand mirror

Father gave to her

with the larks engraved

on the handle.

“Maria.” She startles like doves

being roused. “I did not hear you come in.”

Still kneeling, she grasps my hand.

“I have been ugly as an asp.

Please forgive me.

I want to make it up to you.”

She offers me her mirror.

“But Father gave this to you,” I say.

“Indeed.” Vanna nods.

“And I thought it was because

he thought my gifts were limited.

And that is why I have been

so selfish and mean, because

I felt like the only thing I could offer

this family was to marry a nobleman,

whereas you …”

“But that is foolish, Vanna,” I say.

“Is it? I am not an artist.

But today, I found this mirror,

and instead of it reflecting an image

of myself, it showed our room,

the beauty of our room.

I held the mirror outside,

and how the fornica glimmered.

I want to make things and people

feel beautiful, that is my gift.

I want to help you, Maria.

If you will let me help you,

I know that I can. With your talent

and my assistance, no nobleman

will be able to resist Maria Barovier.”

I have never seen my sister’s eyes

flutter so rapidly.

It is as though

her lashes are wings.

Her tongue flies from word

to idea like when she sings.

I nod.

“If this will make you happy.”

She claps her hands.

“Together we can do this!

I will take great delight in helping

you make a good match.

Mother will be so happy.”

Vanna bounds from the room to tell her.

LADY LESSONS

“Hold your shoulders more erect,

chin up, eyes not on the floor

like you are surveying everyone’s boots.

It demands then that people

look up to you.”

Giovanna’s voice is pitched sweeter,

but her words sound

just like Mother’s.

Vanna glides across the room,

dancing in her walk.

I try to mimic her steps.

But as if I wear

shoes too large,

I stumble and nearly trip

upon my skirts.

“You looked down, Maria.

That is why you nearly fell.”

“But if I don’t watch

where I step,

I will certainly break my leg.”

“Use your hips and arms

to balance, and hold

your center tight.”

“Oh, I give up.

Please, Vanna, I need a rest.

Let me take off this dress and shoes.

Could I not sneak

down to the furnace

and see if I might discover

something of Luca?”

Vanna aids me out of my finery.

“Why would you care to do that?”

I should tell her, but instead I say,

“I don’t know. Just …”

My voice breaks.

“I must go.”

And I whip down the stairs

faster than any noblewoman

should dare to go.

I AM HERE

I don’t even want to speak

to him today.

All he needs to do

is turn back

from the radiance

of the furnace

all silhouetted bronze

and ember glow

and acknowledge

that I am here.

Luca notes my presence

and tosses me an apron.

“What, have you come

to just look and stare, princess?

Or might you not lend a hand?”

FAILING

Mother wraps prayer beads

round her wrists.

She has just come from cathedral

and calls me into her chambers.

I kneel before her.

She finally speaks to me.

“I have been praying

over what to do with you, Maria.

You left a meeting with a suitor

without my consent.”

“I am sorry. I don’t know what—”

She raises her hand

like a shield and silences my words.

Tears trickle down her cheeks.

“You take none of this seriously.

I am failing you as a mother,

but worse I am failing your father.”

She dries her eyes.

“If you cannot make a match

with Signore Bembo,

I may have to send you to the convent.”

MY SISTER, MY CAPTAIN

Giovanna hums softly a tune

that sounds smooth and pleasant

as golden brocade.

I wish for it never to end.

“I know a little of Signore Bembo;

he is related to the Doge.

An older man who should have

married long ago and is a bit

of an embarrassment to his family,

and that is why we have a chance

to make this alliance,”

she says after morning meal.

“I have met his sister.

She is odd, wears her hair

plaited three ways and very tightly.

And she speaks

out of the side of her mouth,

but her brother adores her.”

Vanna cannot even drink her coffee

she is so eager to prepare

for our suitor.

She says nothing about

my running off

to see Luca.

She flings open my bureau

with such force I fear

the door will unhinge.

Vanna paces before

the open closet, contemplating

what I should wear as though

this were of vital import.

It is as though she prepares

me for battle. Finally selecting

the green silken frock, she says,

“This is the gown that will snare

Signore Bembo.” Her eyes ignite.

“Vanna, you take this so seriously,”

I say.

“Maria, this man will acquire

great wealth from our family.

You do not realize your worth,” she says.

“Of course, the Bembos

are a very political family

in Venice and well aligned for us.

That is why it is a good match.”

“I had no idea you knew

so much of this,” I say.

“When you spent time learning recipes

with Father, what do you suppose

Mother and I did, solely pull

thread through tapestry?

No, I learned the history

of certain families of which

I might become a part.”

“Why did Mother not tell me

these things to help me understand?”

I ask her.

Vanna shrugs. “Perhaps

there wasn’t time

or she assumed that I would help you.

I have failed you to this point,

but no more.”

My sister stands up taller

than I have ever seen her.

“Andrea Bembo,

if I recall correctly, likes figs.

His sister, Leona, likes gardens.

You should draw a picture

of a garden for her.”

Vanna lists items like a captain.

I rush about the room,

a mad puppy trailing

her skirt tails,

trying to take notes

and complete tasks.

But I fear we have not

enough time

and that my heart—

I certainly haven’t time

to consider that.

DOWRY

I hold the will

but must misread what it says.

Vanna’s words were truth.

My dowry alone

could restore both fornicas.

“What are you doing rifling

through your father’s papers?”

Mother grabs the will

from my hands.

“I don’t need all of these ducats

for my dowry.

Why don’t you use them

for the business?”

“Maria, I cannot just reallocate

funds from a will as I see fit.

Only you can give money back

to this family from your dowry,

and only upon your death.

And I wish that to happen no time soon.”

Mother shakes her head.

“This was never to be your concern.”

“But why not?

Perhaps if you had told me

all that was at stake,

I might have been more helpful.”

Mother puts her arms around me.

“Oh, my dear, a mother knows

her children, and I am not sure

that you can be any more

than you are. I wish you

had never found this.”

“But now I know

I cannot disappoint you,” I say.

Mother just shakes her head.

THE QUESTION I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO ASK

We are tucked in our beds.

The night’s faintest stars

glitter through the window

like crystal lace.

“Vanna?” I whisper her name,

uncertain whether I wish her

asleep or awake.

“Yes?”

“I know this sounds selfish,

but what about love and happiness?

Am I even to consider that?”

“I knew you would ask this, Maria.”

Her voice smiles at me even

through the dark. “Mother

said that comes later.”

“But how?” I ask. “I mean what if—”

“I don’t know everything, Maria,”

Vanna says, a twang of annoyance

in her tone. “Andrea Bembo

is said to have many charms.

You will have to discover yourself

what delights you about him.”

But that was not what I meant

at all.

SIGNORE BEMBO

When I see him my legs fall limp

and I almost timber under my skirt.

Giovanna described the man

as distinguished and charming,

but he seems to be another bald man

with sad squinty eyes.

I straighten my posture

and paint on a smile.

And remember this is not about me.

Mother asks, “How was your travel

to Murano?”

“Very well,” he says. Andrea Bembo’s

face opens and closes like a clamshell

but does not change shape when he speaks.

He is the color of putty.

My sons will look like mud.

“Maria has prepared a sketch

for your sister, Leona.”

Mother urges me to present

it to him.

Andrea smiles at my drawing

of our backyard garden in bloom.

My favorite part is the sand martin

trapped behind the glass window.

He accepts the sketch graciously.

“Leona will like this.

We both appreciate fine art.
Grazie
.”

I nod and smile

at his kind words,

though I wish to run.

I feel like something

is being decided upon

here and now

that is beyond anyone’s choice.

FLORAL DELIVERY

Ranunculus arrive

by the basketful

in vibrant reds and yellows

and fuchsias,

all telling me that

Andrea Bembo finds me

“radiant with charms.”

Mother’s face turns

to summer sun.

Giovanna clasps her hands.

“Well done, Maria!

He must have liked

the sketch and the dress

and you.”

I feed off of their excitement

like a nursing child.

I am so happy to please them.

The flowers smell fresh

and successful.

DAY AND NIGHT

The preparation

to be ready for

the ceremonies of preparation

I am not prepared for.

For now, we are to keep

the news of our plans

to be betrothed secret,

but we prepare nonetheless.

Noble girls begin learning these rituals

of dance and dress and dining and etiquette

when they begin breathing.