Zo

by Leanne Owens

  ‘Do you have any theories about why you came back in this life but Zo didn’t?’ asked Lynette, remembering the conversation she had with Nick.

  ‘I’m not convinced that it was a simple case of me coming back in this time,’ Ally pressed her lips together tightly, her brows knitting in concentration. She had spent decades contemplating this point, her mind bouncing between possible explanations, from mental illness to reincarnation. It was difficult to express in words when she knew that her audience must doubt her sanity. The explanation of a mind that suffered a break from reality trumped any other possibility she considered.

  ‘I’ve read a lot about reincarnation,’ she continued, ‘and though, on the one hand, I do feel as though I am Elli’s soul - as though I am Elli, living again in this time - it doesn’t explain how my mind felt like it was leaving this time frame to go back there. If this was a second incarnation, I might have memories of Elli’s life, but I wouldn’t relive them as Elli, and relive them mostly in chronological order. You’d think that the memories of significant moments would occur in any order, and all would be known at once, but this plays out as though I am living her life at the same time as I am living this one.’

  ‘What do you mean when you say mostly in chronological order?’ As usual, it was the sharp mind of Marcus that found the loose stitch and picked at it.

  ‘She wrote a letter not that long ago, but I seem to have known about its contents ever since I was young. It is an anomaly and I don’t know why. I can’t think of anything else that I knew about before it played out in her life.’

  ‘Interesting,’ nodded Marcus, who had no idea what it meant, but he was always curious about anomalous incidents.

  ‘Everything else happens as both she and I aged at the same rate.’ Ally rubbed a hand over her eyes, knowing she wasn’t explaining herself well. ‘As me in this time, I don’t have any of Elli’s knowledge beyond the last experience of being Elli. I searched in history books for what was going to happen to Zo or Leo, but there was no mention of Elli. I never had all her memories, just those up to the point when I’d last been her – except for that letter. If I returned to her a day or a month later, I suddenly had all those memories for the time to that point, but nothing past that.’

  ‘So, is Elli still alive?’ Sandy asked. ‘I mean, obviously she’s not, but do you still go back to her time and find her nearly sixty years old?’

  Ally nodded. ‘I was trying to tell her story in chronological order as much as possible, but I can jump ahead for a moment. Yes, if I were to close my eyes and be in Florence tonight, Elli is a few months older than I. She lives in her own apartment near the River Arno, not far from the Medici Palace in Florence. Some of the painters who were her friends while Zo was alive stay with her when they are in the city. She is one of the many forgotten lives, like so many billions of others, and I’m the only one to remember her.’

  ‘And now us,’ Lynette smiled at her, feeling that she had come to understand the Florentine woman over the past few days.

  ‘Now you,’ agreed Ally, feeling a warmth seep into her at the easy way Lynette accepted the life of Elli. ‘This is one of the reasons I needed to tell you her story – I need her to be remembered. I don’t really care if you think I’ve fabricated her and that she’s just a character from my imagination, or if you believe that she truly lived. I need her to live on outside my mind. Until a few days ago, the only place on earth where a part of her remained was in my mind. Now, she is in yours.’

  ‘I understand,’ Andrew patted her hand. ‘In a way, it is like me wanting Marcus to meet you. It was important that he know the person who is part of my very being, and the reason for all that I am now.’

  ‘Not all, surely,’ Ally teased him, gently. ‘I’m fairly sure the rest of our gang had something to do with shaping you, and each other, and me. We were woven together like the threads in a tapestry – I did not paint you like portraits on canvas.’

  ‘You were the foundation, the bridge, and the keystone,’ he replied, his eyes warm. ‘If we are woven cloth, and you are woven alongside us, I suspect you found a way to be both the weaver and the cloth.’

  ‘How deep,’ Ally chuckled, the violet in her eyes lit with the sunshine of affection as she looked at her friends. ‘I have missed you all so much.’

  The salt of tears heated their eyes as they regarded her silently, each feeling the guilt of the lost years.

  ‘It isn’t your fault,’ she wiped away her own tears, repeating the message she wanted them to comprehend. She knew them well enough, despite their decades apart, to know that each agonised about the decision to commit her for the treatment that nearly destroyed her. ‘You need to understand that. That day… that day when I ran, it wasn’t your fault. It was the right thing to do at that time. You all needed to continue with your lives. I needed to continue living with Elli, or with my fantasy, if that is what you decide it is. That was right at that time.’

  ‘But it was so unfair,’ whispered Peter, sitting slightly back from the others. ‘Look at our lives. We all had the success you dreamed for us. You dreamt it and it happened…’

  ‘You made it happen,’ Ally cut over him, wanting him to take responsibility for his own success and not continue to assume that it was her doing. ‘I had a dream, and I gave it to you. You did the work to achieve the success. And it isn’t unfair, Peter, it was my choice. I didn’t need any more than a bed to sleep in, food to eat, some clothes to wear, and the time to be Elli and be with Zo. I had what I wanted. I had the time. That was my life’s treasure, along with my memories of all of you.’

  ‘But you struggled,’ he continued, ‘and life was hard. You were so ill when I found you. If we hadn’t lost you all those years ago, we could have looked after you.’

  Ally waved his words away, seeing that his self-reproach continued to injure him, no matter what she said. ‘Let’s start again,’ she told him, ‘here, with these days together. We will stop looking at what happened when I went into hiding. This is the beginning of our future, and I’m sealing off the past with the words of Elli’s story. Once told, it will be behind us, and we move forward. Agreed?’

  Her audience nodded, even Nick and Marcus, like children agreeing with their teacher.

  ‘So, I will finish Elli’s story, as I need to, and she will be remembered. I keep hoping that something of her life will turn up, that someone will discover something relating to her so that history will know her, but, at least if you know her, she lives beyond me.

  ‘I studied that period in Florence, and I never found anything about Elli, only the things that she had influenced. I can look at known Renaissance art and see the parts she drew in for her artist friends – she always was the best at horses and animals. If a scene required any animals, Elli would often be at the artist’s side, doing those sketches for him. There is also Zo’s poetry. He mentions her many times, though readers in later centuries would not recognise the references. Some of the discussions in those rooms appeared in his poems, so I read them and I recognise our conversations.’

  A faraway look fell like a haze over her eyes as she remembered. ‘Elli encouraged Lorenzo to write poetry in Tuscan rather than Latin. One day, in about 1473, he came back from hawking with his friends, and he made up some lines about their adventures. She added to them, and they laughed…and he wrote The Partridge Hunt. Amongst my most treasured memories are those times when we were alone and he read his latest poems to me…’

  Her words ended in a sigh. She took a few seconds to recollect herself and continue. ‘When I was here, in the twentieth century, I could read his poems, I could read about his life, and I could learn about what was ahead for him, but I couldn’t take any knowledge back with me to Elli. I tried, but it didn’t work. Elli had no warning of what was coming. I couldn’t even take knowledge of the Pazzi conspiracy back to her, or the details of Zo’s death…it just plays out, and I am there, within her mind, watching, but unable to reach out to her, like someone i
n the audience watching the actress in the movie.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Sandy followed along with that line of thought. ‘One of the movies I did a few years back involved people coming back in other lives to finish what they had left undone, and in all the background research I undertook to prepare for the role, I never read a thing about a past life replaying at the same pace as this life, like you’ve described.’

  ‘I know,’ Ally said with vigour, flashing her brilliant smile at Sandy. ‘It felt like I was visiting a person who didn’t know I was in their house. I’d go, see, and feel everything, and have all her memories, but she had nothing of me, although there were occasional leakages, as I think of them, with some small part of this time following me through to Elli so, for the first few moments that I arrived, she’d feel the faint presence of ideas and memories that were alien to her.’

  ‘So, you think some knowledge from the twentieth century managed to seep back to Elli?’ Lynette asked, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin resting in her cupped hands. Her legal mind was sorting through the clues as though it was a case to solve. ‘I know you said that she didn’t have knowledge of you and this life, but what do you think could have leaked back to her?’

  ‘Small, unclear things’ Ally replied hesitantly, her lips pinched in thought. ‘I know she didn’t have any clear knowledge of this life, but there seemed to be moments when I would arrive in her mind, and something of this time would follow through with me. It was as though she’d have a few unsettled seconds, like a dream suddenly reappeared in her mind, and then vanished again. She didn’t have a concept of rockets, trains, planes, and cars, but she imagined what it would be like to travel to the moon and to fly like birds and to travel across the ground faster than any horse could take us, and she often discussed these things with Leo. He seemed to think something was going on.’

  ‘Ooh, really?’ Sandra looked at her with wide eyes. ‘Is there any specific memory of Leonardo da Vinci getting a peek at our time period through Elli’s thoughts?’

  Ally closed her eyes and thought for a moment, remembering one night in Milan when they and Sandro were visiting Leo, who had moved to Milan.

  ***

  Their discussions began covering ground that would have had them excommunicated, even imprisoned, if a priest overheard them. Elli was twenty-five at the time, and she lay on her back on the sofa next to Zo, her head resting on his legs as he ran his fingers through her hair. She could open her eyes and look up at him, his face a study of concentration as their conversation danced over many topics, then close them again, and focus on the caress of his hand in her hair.

  It was a perfect moment. A moment of grace. The great minds around her, the warmth of the fire, the smell of spiced wine, the conversation, and the feel of Zo’s hand on her hair, so gentle in his touch.

  Sandro and Leo were sitting opposite in chairs, their faces alight with twirling thoughts as they spoke of art and change, religion, people, and time. There were also two of Zo’s childhood friends present, Giovan and Braccio, who often hunted with him. They had travelled to Milan with them to watch one of Zo’s horses run in a race. They were funny and intelligent, and they had a fierce loyalty to Zo.

  Leo had been looking at Elli closely, and noticed she closed her eyes and her face was momentarily startled, then her eyes opened and there were shadows of something there. He had seen her do this before, and he was curious.

  ‘What happened just then, Elli?’ he murmured, leaning forward to talk to her, his voice soft.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied, her eyes still slightly dazed.

  ‘Did you see something?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ she closed her eyes, trying to grab the misty memories that were fading away as she approached them. ‘I saw something flying. Something travelling fast on the ground. Someone speaking to someone far away. It meant nothing, and yet it was important.’

  ‘Tell me about what was flying,’ he urged her. ‘Was it a bird?’

  ‘No, not a bird,’ she replied, her brow creasing in concentration. ‘I think I have a picture of it in my mind, or what’s left of it, it’s difficult to know. If you pass me a quill, I’ll try and remember.’

  Interested in what she would draw, Zo helped her sit upright and rested an arm lightly over her back as she took the quill, ink, and paper Leo offered her. All five men watched, riveted, as she began to draw. With her hand moving quickly, she did a series of lines on the paper, and drew something that had wings and a body, but nothing like any bird or flying insect they had seen before.

  ‘And this is what you saw flying just then?’ Leo asked her, looking at her face with deep concentration.

  ‘I don’t know, Leo,’ she said, looking at her drawing, faintly perplexed. ‘It is already fading. It was as though a breeze carrying someone else’s memories passed through my mind, but they weren’t to stay, and, for a moment, I could glimpse them, but then they were gone.’

  ‘I think this could fly,’ Leo tapped his fingers on the paper that he had taken from Elli, careful not to smudge the wet ink, and looked at the drawing of a basic airplane. ‘This is very interesting. You must keep paper with you at all times, and if you feel that breeze of memories passing through, write down any image or word immediately, before they disappear.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Zo agreed with his friend. ‘And I will take note of the words you use when you have those moments. You have said some strange words that are like a foreign language, and they make no sense, yet I feel they are important.’

  ‘Perhaps a ghost visits her,’ said Sandro, his head tilted to the side as he considered the moments that Elli described.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ Zo asked, challenging him with eyes that twinkled. ‘How does the notion of spirits wandering around us after their body has died, fit in with the teachings of the Bible?’

  ‘Isn’t the Bible simply written by men?’ Elli asked, her eyes narrowing at the raising of one of her pet topics in a place where she knew she could talk freely. ‘How do we know that they didn’t lie when they wrote it, or, at least, get things wrong. Men are not perfect.’

  ‘Apart from those present, of course,’ added Zo, making the others laugh.

  ‘That is always assumed,’ Elli smiled at them, and he tightened his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to his side.

  ‘If only I could wear you under my arm all the time,’ he whispered to her, his lips against her ear. ‘You make me laugh. You make me feel like a king.’

  ‘I think you are more important than a king,’ she said, turning to rest a hand on his cheek as she spoke, looking on the face that she loved so well. ‘So, perhaps making you feel like one isn’t a good thing.’

  ‘She has a point there,’ agreed Leo, giving her a wink. ‘Loro: better than a king. Of course, it is a shame our Elli remains locked away from the world, as she is better than a queen.’

  ‘Protected from the world,’ asserted Zo. ‘If my enemies knew of her existence, she would be targeted. We know that. Also, Clarice may not be so accepting of my young attendant if she realised that he was a very beautiful she.’

  Lorenzo took Elli’s chin in one hand and tilted her face up towards his, resting his other hand along the line of her jaw. ‘Is it that hard, dear one, to be hidden away, where your beauty is only seen by us, and then coming out with us disguised as a man?’

  ‘It is the best life I could imagine,’ she told him with feeling, leaning her head into his hands, and sighing at the feelings that flowed through her at his closeness. ‘I think all women should be able to run about the world as free as a man. I have never known such freedom as this.’

  Leo grinned slyly at them both, ‘Though the world does wonder why Lorenzo spends so much time with that pretty boy at his side.’

  Everyone laughed. The rumours of Lorenzo’s interest in the boy who travelled with him were well known,

  ‘I am sorry,’ Zo turned serious again, ‘that I can’t offer yo
u more than this, Elli. You deserve more than living in secret. The world should know about you. They should see your paintings and know your wit and humour.’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head, gazing into his eyes, feeling the swelling of love inside her as they locked gazes. ‘This is a life I am happy with. I have the best of you here, hidden away from the world, and from those who would damage us. I can speak like a man, and no one wants to lock me up for my words. I can cast my doubts about the world, our church, and our leaders, and you do not condemn me. This is the best of me, here. I would not trade it for anything.’

  There was a moment of silence as the lovers looked at each other, and the other four envied the raw emotions in front of them. Whenever the artists wanted to paint or sculpt love, or the poets wanted to write about it, these were the moments they pictured in order to see what love looked like. When Lorenzo and Elli locked eyes, it seemed as though a tangible current of emotion flowed between them, creating a light that shone on all those around them. Leo did not understand it, but he knew it both inspired and scared him, and he tried to put that love into his creations. He feared what would happen to either of these two if one of them, for whatever reason, had to leave the other.

  Sandro coughed to break the moment, and said lightly, ‘Well, you would not trade it for marriage to Silvio d’Este, that is for sure. Did you see the bruises on his wife’s face last week?’

  ‘I know!’ Elli exclaimed, turning her animated face to him as she remembered seeing the sad, plump woman wandering the markets in Florence with her attendants, trying to buy fabric, and looking frightened of everyone who passed close to her. ‘The poor thing, married to that great tub of lard who thinks he should be able to hit her. He should be trussed up like a pig and stuck on a spit to roast.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Lorenzo smiled wryly, amused by her outburst of indignation, ‘it is lucky for Silvio that you did not marry him. I shudder to think of the fate of a man who would raise a hand to you.’