by Lory Kaufman
Once the floor had been cleared of the old straw, it was ready for its fresh layer. But when Master della Cappa went outside to tell Hansum and Lincoln to start bringing in the fresh straw, they were nowhere to be seen. The pile of dirty straw was no longer at the front of the house either.
"I told them to just throw that old straw all over the street," Ugilino tattled. "It's useless stuff, I said. The wind will blow it away. They've probably wasted time and took it back to the barn. Stupid orphans. Don't you worry, Master. I'll teach them good."
But when Agistino looked up the lane, he didn't see his workers by the barn. He did hear laughter and familiar voices across the street, behind the house where the tailors lived. He followed the sounds and found the teenagers standing with the tailor and his wife in a small, well tended vegetable garden. There was also a compost pile on which straw had obviously just been added.
"Look, Master," Ugilino tattled again, "those stupid orphans gave away our straw to the merda throwing tailor!"
The tailor looked up and greeted the Master. "Ah, buon giorno. You must be Master della Cappa. Welcome to Verona," he said extending his hand.
"Buon giorno," Agistino said cautiously. "Beautiful garden."
"Ah, si, si. My little garden gives me much joy. And food."
"Why are my apprentices and kitchen girl here? We're supposed to be cleaning house."
"Si, Master della Cappa, I enquired about the old straw from Romero. When they said it was to be thrown away, I offered my rot pile."
"Look, Master," Hansum said. "Master Satore and his wife, Nuca, traded us some vegetables from their garden in exchange for the hay."
"Oh no, Romero," Bruno corrected. "Not in trade. In Christian kindness and sharing. And we must bring in this crop before the frost. There's far too much to waste."
All three teens had their hands full of vegetables. There were beets, leeks, cabbage and turnips, even a few pears, cherries and pomegranates from nicely pruned trees. Agistino's mouth watered at the sight of the fresh vegetables.
"A few handfuls of vegetables for a big pile of straw? Humph!" Ugilino chided, still lobbying for favor.
"Shut up! We be nice to all our neighbors, and they be nice to us." The Master smiled courteously at the Satores.
"I think I had more future with a drunk master," Ugilino grumbled under his breath.
The Master's heavy hand met the back of Ugilino's head.
Chapter 30
Ugilino was still grumbling to himself as they crossed the road back to their house. His agitation increased as he saw the Master smiling broadly at the three orphans, their arms full of food. In the house, the Master actually laughed with joy as he said, "Children, put our neighbors' gifts on the table. Look, daughter. See the wonderful produce our neighbors shared with us."
Guilietta got up from tending the fire and smiled warmly at the sight. Lincoln and Shamira put what they had on the table. Hansum handed his bounty, several large pomegranates, to Guilietta.
"Oh, how wonderful, Father." Guilietta accepted the fruit from Hansum without meeting his gaze. But Ugilino noticed Guilietta's fingers tarry just a second more than necessary against Hansum's hand when they exchanged the red, seed-laden fruit. He watched her hold the fruit to her face, drinking in its sweet scent. "We have not seen its like for some time."
"Girls, girls," a still enthusiastic Master said, "wash this food after you finish dusting and cleaning. Set up Carmella's sleep area and then go to the market. I will give you enough dinera to buy provisions to get us through a few days. This will give you time to learn the market and where to get the best bargains."
"Yes, father," Guilietta answered. "But perhaps Carmella and I could continue to share a bed. With winter coming it would make the nights warmer and she is teaching me to read."
The Master was amazed. "Read? Carmella, you know how to read?"
"Uh, Father Aaron taught me," Shamira answered.
Agistino crossed himself. Ugilino bit his lip and clenched his fists at this further bad luck.
"Romero and Ugilino," the Master continued, "take this canvas sheet and use it to carry fresh straw from the barn. Maruccio, as youngest, it's your job to make sure there is always firewood by the hearth. Now, go. Go, all of you."
Ugilino was silent all the way to the barn, but when they were in the barn's lower area, he spied something in the corner that could not escape his comment.
"Hey, what's the chamber pot doing down here?"
"I put it there," Lincoln answered.
"You?" Ugilino said with a scowl. He stepped toward the smaller boy, challenging him with his superior size.
"Yes!" Lincoln lisped without fear. "This way we don't have to watch each other crap. And we won't be throwing it out the window where we walk."
"Don't you tell me what to do . . ." Ugilino began, raising his hand. Ugilino felt Hansum's hand on his shoulder.
"Peace," Hansum said, smiling broadly in Ugilino's face. "It's a good idea, brother. Look at your boot. You just walked though your own merda. The Master would be some angry if you brought that into his clean house." Ugilino looked at the excrement sticking out from the sole of his ragged boot. But Ugilino felt reluctant to back away from a fight. He made an angry face, but Hansum spoke again. "Maruccio, go get the firewood as the Master asked." Lincoln quickly left, and Ugilino watched Hansum quickly climb the ladder, leaving him alone. From up in the loft, Hansum called down, "Ugilino, spread the canvas sheet on the floor. We can toss the straw on top of it."
"I . . . I was just going to say that," Ugilino said defensively.
***
From inside his little lamp, hidden in the shoulder of Hansum's tunic, Pan watched Hansum and Ugilino carry fresh straw to the house. After a half dozen loads, the A.I. whispered to Hansum, "If Mistress Shamira is going to the market, it is best for me to be transferred to her. I could gather intelligence of the town." Pan watched Hansum step up to Shamira and relay this to her. He saw Shamira nod, then speak to Hansum.
"Oh, Romero, there's a loose thread on your shoulder. Let me mend it before it opens wider." Pan saw Shamira looking straight at him as she undid the thread that held his brass lamp in Hansum's tunic. Now hidden in the dark of Shamira's closed hand, Pan heard the sound of her soft shoes on steps. The next thing the A.I. knew, he was in Guilietta's bedroom. Shamira began sewing him into the hem of her veil.
"Clever, young mistress," Pan whispered into her ear. "Clever and cunning." He saw Shamira smile.
When Shamira and Pan returned downstairs, Ugilino and Lincoln were bringing in a load of straw together.
"You keep telling me to stop letting hay fall, Ugilino," Lincoln complained, "but I'm not spilling it. You are."
"Don't talk back to me, orphan. I'm your boss," Ugilino said.
"And stop calling me orphan."
"That's what you are . . ."
The Master broke up the argument. "Peace! Both of you!"
"He's not listening to what I say, Master," Ugilino complained.
"He probably is," the Master answered, "but what you're saying probably doesn't make sense. You, Maruccio, don't argue with Ugilino. It gets you nowhere."
"See! The Master supports me," Ugilino said smugly.
Agistino shook his head.
"Romero, Ugilino, spread the straw and then go get one more load before we set up the workshop. Maruccio, take back this bowl to Master Satore and thank him for the coal. Then come right back. Girls, here are some coins. Off to the market with you both. We'll all be hungry in a few hours."
As they left the house, Lincoln muttered to Shamira, "I'm hungry now."
Chapter 31
Shamira liked Guilietta. She liked her sweet and earnest nature. And sleeping together in the old, creaky bed was like having a sister, something she had read of in books but never experienced. They had giggled the night away, combed each other's hair in the morning, and scrubbed themselves with hot water from the kitchen cauldron. Walking to the market, Guilietta carrie
d a basket and a string bag, similar to what she had in the first History Camp. Shamira carried a heavy canvas bag.
"Do you know the way?" Shamira asked.
"Up this avenue to the old wall, turn right till we come to the gates, turn left through the big opening. The piazza should be right in front of us. The market's supposed to be around a big Roman arena."
Shamira remembered now. When she had visited Verona on that school trip, there was this amazing structure built over twenty-five hundred years before she was born, The Arena. She hadn't paid too much attention to the history lesson the guides had given. At the time she was a 'junior hard case in training', but even then her artistic mind couldn't help but notice the huge interlocking stones and arches of the load-bearing monument. She had sketched a bit of it on her encyclopedia slate board with a fine stylus. But when the tour guide commented positively on it, she quickly told the board to erase.
As the girls walked, they had to keep their eyes down to avoid stepping in the waste and filth that covered the street. Shamira was nervous during her first encounter with a medieval crowd. Aside from their outward grimy appearance, she also noticed the lack of teeth among them. Many looked totally defeated while others had a high energy and certain joie de vivre she had rarely experienced. And the smell. All Verona seemed to be swimming in an ocean of odor. And there were so many children, all running around like packs of marauding beasts, exuding an irresistible primal force.
As the girls reached the end of their street, the high red-brick city wall loomed above them. Looking both left and right, Shamira analyzed the perspective of the wall, its crenellated battlements and the occasional square brick tower. The structure was a mass of red that seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see. Pan spoke into her ear.
"Walls and towers of this design do not exist anymore in modern Verona. Back in this time period, Verona was known as the city of forty-nine towers. In our time, most of them are gone, replaced in the sixteenth century with cannon-resistant fortifications."
"Freaky," Shamira commented out loud. Since, like zippy, the word didn't have a counterpart in ancient or modern Italian, it came out the same.
"Freaky? What does that mean?" Guilietta asked.
"Oh, just an expression from where I come from."
They turned right and walked till the sea of red brick finally ended at a large double-arched opening. This was the entrance to the old Roman part of the city. The arches were made of light- colored stone blocks. Between the two arches was a crest with the motif of a ladder carved into it. Above that, a sign, which Shamira read aloud: "Bra Public Square." She touched the subdermal button on her temple to see what would happen. While the scene stayed the same in her head, the writing changed to a language she didn't know. She read it phonetically. "Piazza Bra."
"It is such a blessing to be able to read and learn things quickly. You must be a geniuso."
'Was it only yesterday,' Shamira thought, 'when that word meant something different? Or was a thousand years ago? Or hence?'
"Carmella, you look deep in thought," Guilietta commented.
"Sorry," Shamira said. "I was just thinking about something."
They walked through the ornate gates and into Piazza Bra. It was a large open market with hundreds of stalls and a continual tumult of noise and movement. And in the background, looming up over everything, was the Arena.
"Freaky!" Guilietta exclaimed.
Chapter 32
The Master ran to the stairs and almost pulled his beard out when he saw what was happening. He was so exasperated, words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Lincoln and Hansum saw it too. Hansum was horrified. Lincoln began laughing uncontrollably.
"What a freak," he shouted.
"It's not funny!" Agistino said, finally finding words. Lincoln stopped laughing, but his eyes still bulged at the foolishness. Ugilino was on the stairs. He was carrying a huge heavy wooden object, all by himself. His face was obscured so he couldn't see where he was going. One foot was out in space, trying to find the next step.
"Stop Ugilino!" Agistino cried. "Wait! Wait for some help with that . . ."
CRASH!
Ugilino, along with the large object, tripped, stumbled and then tumbled down the stairs. He bounced off the railing and careened backwards, but never let go of his burden.
"My lathe!" the Master screamed.
"Aaaeee!" Ugilino cried. A moment later, he was lying on his back, the lathe on top of him.
"Are you all right?" Hansum asked, kneeling down beside the oaf.
"Idioto!" the Master shouted. "Romero, help me get this off of him. Careful."
The front of Ugilino's liripipe cap had come down over his eyes. As the Master pulled the hat away from his face, Ugilino smiled. "Hey, Master, I saved the day again! The lathe is unbroken."
"You wouldn't have to save the day if you hadn't ruined it in the first place. Imbecile! You, Maruccio, stop laughing. Help Romero move this thing. Take care. Take care with it. It is our living! Can you get up? Is your back broken? I can only hope."
"Oh, it takes more than some stairs to keep me down, eh Master? See, I'm still good as new." Ugilino moved in a way that showed he was sorer than he made out, but he didn't complain.
"Another blessing. Put it over there, boys. By the window. Okay now. Go upstairs and get the rest of the equipment. And don't drop anything."
The Master had stored the tools in a small loft and in the bedrooms for safe keeping. Inside the boxes were the tools and supplies which he and Ugilino were able to hide or steal back from creditors.
As the lathe was placed in the main room, Agistino thought how he'd prefer a separate building in which to ply his trade. Or at least a separate room. Unfortunately, this was not possible. It didn't take long to assemble all the supplies and tools. There wasn't much. Among a modest assortment of old tools and supplies, there were only fifty-seven blank discs and thirteen bone frames, two of which were broken. Not enough for a master who had six mouths to feed, plus his own. How was he going to get more supplies once they sold the first few spectacles? Who would give him credit, he wondered? Not the old suppliers in Venice or Florence. As the reality of his situation revisited him, so did an unwelcome impulse. He could feel a goblet of wine in his hand and taste the tart liquid running down his throat. Agistino quickly shook off this brief relapse, remembering the promises he made to his father confessor and friend, the gifts of money and his own hopes and dreams for the future.
The Master heard Lincoln say to Hansum, "This lathe doesn't look like the one in the other shop."
"Yes, but the principle's the same," Hansum responded. "Here's the lap, the spindle, the dop. See, that spot is where the lens has been attached."
"But it's black. Not milky, like the mastic."
The Master liked to hear the boys talking shop. It fed his thin veneer of hope.
"You know of mastic?" he asked.
"It's from a bush's tears," Lincoln answered quickly. "It only comes from one island."
"I see," the Master said, both surprised and appreciative. "Yes, you are right. At the end of my troubles in Florence, I couldn't afford mastic, so I used pitch and ash. God willing, one day soon we shall use only the best materials and make the finest discs for the eyes again."
"This machine looks different from the one we worked on," Hansum repeated.
"Yes, different shops, cities, craftsmen. We all have our little secrets and don't share them. But in the end it's all about shaping the glass. Do you think you can learn a new way? Work under a different master?"
"Sure," Hansum said. "Why couldn't we?" The Master scowled. Hansum repeated, "Why couldn't we, Master?"
"Some people can only learn to do a thing in one way. It's sometimes better to start again with someone who knows nothing."
"Like me, eh, Master?" Ugilino piped up.
"Hmmmph! You might be an exception."
"Yes, I am an exception!" Ugilino said proudly. "What's an exception, Master?"
> Lincoln, Hansum and Agistino burst into laughter. Ugilino looked confused. The Master put his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder.
"Come, boys. I will create the first lens. You all watch, help a little, and then we go from there. Ugilino, heat up the pitch pot and put a lens blank on a stone, next to the coals to heat."
"Sure thing, Master. Uh, what's the pitch pot?"
"I'll get it, Master," hissed his youngest apprentice, picking up the small cauldron and steel rod to stir the coal bed.
"Hey!" Ugilino shouted.
"It's okay," the Master assured. He found Ugilino a task to keep him quiet and in one place. Sitting him on the floor, Agistino gave Ugilino three marked wooden bowls. The Master took a moment and ground three walnut-sized chunks of pumice into different grit sizes. He placed the appropriate one in each bowl to show Ugilino what he must imitate. "Okay Ugilino, now you work. Fill up each bowl to the coarseness of these samples."
Agistino then organized his tools and supplies close to the lathe before he began. This lathe looked more like a spinning wheel, though much sturdier. It consisted of a long bench with two splayed legs at one end and a third, single leg at the other. The end with the single leg was narrower, allowing the operator to straddle it. This way he faced a solid wooden flywheel mounted on two heavy wooden uprights at the wide end. The flywheel was grooved along its circumference and a loop of hemp cord ran around the wheel and onto the spindle assembly. The right hand of the operator turned a large curved-metal crank on the flywheel. The left hand did all the lens shaping.
Back in his element, and with a modicum of hope renewed in his heart, Agistino was a good and pleasant teacher. He praised Lincoln on setting the pitch pot in the coals. "Perfetto!" he commented upon seeing how Lincoln even tipped the pot forward to the front of the hearth. This way, the opening was easily accessed and not directly above the heat. Then he touched the glass blank Lincoln had set on a stone to be heated by proximity to the fire.
"Watch it, Master. It's ouchie!"
"Such a funny boy," the Master laughed. "Such odd sayings."
"These glass blanks aren't flat like at the last shop we were in," Hansum added. "They're partially shaped on one side."
