Chiara – Revenge and Triumph

by Gian Bordin

  To be safe, I tagged along until they had turned a fair stretch into Via San Martino, and we were well out of sight of the gate. At a moment when few people were around, I left the cart, intent on entering a side street that led down to the river.

  "Ahi, ragazzo, thanks for helping." I heard a man call out. "Why don’t you join us for a drink? Our taverna is just around the corner."

  "Pepino, she is a girl!" the woman standing next to him exclaimed, laughing.

  I started walking away more quickly, not wanting any trouble now that I was hardly inside the city.

  "Ahi, figliola, don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm," the woman called after me. "Come with us."

  She sounded friendly, and I knew nobody in the city. They might give me advice on where I could find shelter. Still hesitant, I joined them. I guessed that both were in their mid forties.

  "What is your name, carina?" she asked, as I walked beside her.

  "Chiara, Signora," I did not want to reveal my family name.

  "I guess you are not from Pisa or else there would have been no need to sneak into the city with us." She chuckled. "Quite clever, I must admit."

  I went crimson. "They turned me away at the other gate," I explained.

  "But why are you dressed as a boy? … Let me guess. You are running away, right? And the way you speak, you are not a peasant girl either. But no worry, we will not pry."

  Was I so transparent that this woman who had never seen me before could guess everything about me within a moment?

  "Yes, Signora. Grazie, Signora." I murmured, averting my gaze.

  "I am Alda, and this bear here is my husband. Pepino to me, Pepe to all others. He is a dear, even if at his advanced age he still cannot tell a girl from a boy." She laughed again.

  "But she is wearing boys’ clothes," he protested.

  "Caro mio, do you believe everything you hear? … No? So why believe everything you see?" She turned to me. "He is though awfully clever with knives. You must come and watch ‘Il Spettacolo Magnifico’ when we do our tricks in the Piazza del Mercato tomorrow afternoon."

  At the Taverna San Martino, after stowing away their belongings, the whole group gathered in the inside open court. I did my best not to devour the bread and sweet wine offered in big gulps, but even so Alda must have noticed my famished looks. She shoved more bread to me. I told her that I was looking for work.

  "What kind of work?"

  "Anything, but I thought that maybe I could find employment as a teacher. I can read and write in Latin."

  "Have you done that before? … And do you have testimonials?"

  "No, Signora —"

  "Stop calling me Signora. My given name is perfectly good enough," she interrupted me.

  "No, … Alda."

  "Then you are unlikely to find that kind of employment. Anyway, in these sorts of boys clothing you will hardly find any kind of work, except selling your flesh, and you do not seem to be that kind of a girl."

  I still remember how I blushed and lowered my gaze.

  Our talk was interrupted by Lorenzo, the corago or leader of the troupe, who had climbed on a table and, holding a sheet of paper, began translating into the vernacular parts of Pisa’s recently promulgated ordinance on street players and other itinerants. I was very curious and listened carefully. Some rules limited the time and place — no performances on the eve of Sabbath and Sabbath itself, no performances before noon or an hour after sundown, no performances in front of churches or municipal buildings. Others, I felt, were unnecessarily restrictive, like no loud displays of any sort, no utterances that ridiculed representatives of the church or of the city government, or made fun of city ordinances. Why should these be excluded, I wondered, if they deserved it? Still others I approved of, such as no lewd displays, no blasphemy, and no swearing. The players greeted a few with loud protest or cynical laughter.

  "Lorenzo will have to change the lines in his favorite plays," Alda remarked to Pepe.

  "Or stage some of the more boring ones. That means fewer denari," he replied, shrugging.

  I picked up the broadsheet that Lorenzo had left on the table. Even for my inexperienced eyes, the Latin used looked archaic and highly convoluted. Some rules were ambiguous and could be given more than one meaning. But I also noticed that Lorenzo had either misread or misinterpreted several points, and I wondered whether I should be so bold as to point them out. Alda surprised me again.

  "Chiara, did Lorenzo translate it correctly?"

  I could not help blushing. "No, not all of it."

  "Then you must tell him. We do not want to get into trouble."

  "No, I could not do that. It would not be proper."

  "That may be true in the circles you were used to turn, but we all pick up each other’s mistakes and foibles without offense given or being taken. Come, I will go with you."

  She put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to where Lorenzo sat with a woman who looked ancient and had one front tooth missing.

  "Lorenzo, this is Chiara, and she has a few things to tell you about the ordinances."

  For a moment, he looked annoyed, then puzzled, and finally he grinned. "I see, in disguise. It suits you well. But tell me where I went wrong, because that must be it, otherwise Alda would hardly bother me about it."

  "Ser Lorenzo, I am embarrassed, but —"

  "No need. I should be."

  "You read ‘no performances in front of churches and municipal buildings’, but it also says here, ‘unless prior written permission has been granted by the Podestà’. And you may also extend sessions beyond one hour after sunset — again if you obtain written permission from the Podestà’. And here, I think you left out another important thing, namely that this restriction only applies to representatives of the Pisan Government —"

  "So we still may make fun of officials from other cities." He laughed heartily.

  "But even the wording of ‘ridicule’ is ambiguous. It actually says ‘giving falsehoods to the honor and character of city officials’."

  "Which could be interpreted that if there is truth to the matter and it is known, it is fine to point it out."

  "Yes, but it could still be dangerous."

  "Girl, you are a smart one. It would be good to have you around."

  My heart jumped into my throat. "You mean, you would allow me to stay with you?" My voice was no more than a murmur.

  Dear daughter, you may wonder why I tell you such detail about my encounter with these people. The reasons are simple. I took an instant liking to them. They were so refreshingly open and truthful, particularly Alda — yes, Alda, the dear woman who has become your own grandmother — and her husband, maybe a bit slow in understanding, but disarmingly honest, who was once a knife-thrower of great repute all throughout Tuscany and beyond, and who now spends most of his hours lovingly tending the flowers in our garden. I hope that by retelling how I met them and how they took care of me right away, you will love them even more.

  But let me come back to Lorenzo. His answer was not a simple ‘yes’. It took a whole evening to convince all players to let me join. What tipped the balance in the end was my willingness, to everybody’s great surprise, to become Pepe’s target for his knife-throwing act.

  My whole outlook to life changed that evening. I was going to live with them, be part of ‘Il Spettacolo Magnifico’, laugh and cry with them, spend money liberally when it was aplenty, go hungry when there was none, and most important, gain confidence in myself and my abilities. I became a different person, the person I am now.

  * * *

  Chiara searched Lorenzo’s eyes for an answer, full of trepidation that it would be yes.

  "Not so fast, my girl," he said with a smile. "All members of my troupe have to agree."

  Her hopes vanished as quickly as they had arisen, and her face must have shown it.

  "Let’s first see what you can offer us besides reading Latin. I guess you can write it too, but can you do any tricks? Have you acted in a
play?"

  She lowered her head. "No."

  "Oh, she shows talent," interjected Alda, grinning. "She snuck past the guards by pretending to be one of us."

  Chiara mustered all her courage and said: "I would be willing to do any kind of work, cleaning, mending, pull a cart. You and the others could teach me tricks, how to tumble, juggle balls, act small roles in your plays."

  He put his left hand to his chin and began stroking his beard.

  "We have people for all of these things, my girl."

  "I don’t expect to be paid, just food and a place to sleep."

  The old woman, who had scrutinized Chiara all this time, now said: "Lorenzo, give her a chance."

  "Yes," said Alda, placing a hand back on Chiara’s shoulder. "Why not put it up for discussion, but after dinner, when all bellies are full and people feel happy after today’s long march."

  Chiara could have kissed her.

  "Fine with me," replied Lorenzo. "But don’t put your hopes up high, girl." With that he sat down again and resumed talking to the old woman.

  "That’s Antonia. She’s our fortune teller. It’s wise to be on good terms with her." She led Chiara back to their table. "No matter what happens, you may stay the night with us."

  "Thank you, Alda. You are so good to me."

  "You seem a nice girl, … and it would be good to have another intelligent woman in our group."

  Chiara did not know what to reply. She was physically and mentally exhausted. Suddenly, the tears proved stronger.

  "Oh, my dear child," Alda exclaimed, taking her into her arms. "Has it been so hard for you?"

  Chiara put her head on her shoulder and let go, sobbing silently, while Alda stroked her back.

  "Come, let’s go over there and sit quietly."

  She led her to a bench in a shady corner. Chiara used the sleeve of her tunic to wipe her face. They sat in silence, and she regained a measure of composure. Alda had closed her eyes. After a while, she opened them and asked: "Would you like to talk about it?"

  Chiara shook her head. How she yearned to empty her heart, her pain and her sorrows, but how could she tell of her disgrace, tell about blinding a man?

  "It’s all right, Chiara; but you know, it often helps to talk. Maybe later. Look, some of us are going out to explore the town. Would you like to come along? It might take your mind off things."

  "No, I’m embarrassed about my clothing, … and …" She was just going to add that if Niccolo Sanguanero or any of his sailors were in town, she might be recognized.

  "Yes?"

  "No, it’s better that I stay here. Thank you."

  At that moment, Pepe approached and put an arm over Alda’s shoulders. "Coming, tesoro mio?"

  She nodded. Her warm smile expressed her love for him. She turned to Chiara. "Rest, or even better, go and talk to Antonia. I know she’s curious about you, and having her on your side might help tonight."

  Chiara was of two minds about talking to the old fortune teller, but the moment the last members of the troupe had left the court, Antonia waved her over.

  "Come, figliola, keep me company. I’m too old to go nosing around town and, besides, I’ve seen it all before."

  "It will be my pleasure, Signora. I also must thank you for speaking up for me to Ser Lorenzo."

  "Oh, that was only fair, my girl, but unless you can offer the troupe something it needs, they won’t take you in." She inclined her head to the side, a sly twinkle in her eyes. "And then you may think traveling artists — yes, we all think that what we do is art — that this is all fun and excitement. It isn’t. It’s a hard life, and we never know whether tomorrow we’ll have a roof over our heads and where the money for the next meal comes from. Last lent some of us went begging for food because we had such a bad season. People had no spare denari during the famine when they hardly could feed themselves. Oh, right now you wouldn’t believe it. Right now we’re a happy bunch, but don’t let that deceive you. My advice to you is, stay away from the likes of us."

  "I don’t mind hardship, Signora."

  "How old are you, girl?"

  "Sixteen, seventeen in four months."

  "And have you ever been hungry? Really hungry? … Don’t answer. No, you haven’t. You’ve been raised in a good family. You never even doubted that the next meal wouldn’t be served at its proper time in beautiful dishes. Then something happened that you thought you couldn’t bear. It may have been something as trivial as not liking the man your father chose as your future husband."

  Chiara averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks go hot.

  "Yes, girl, but that’s nothing compared to a belly empty of food for two weeks. When men are hungry, really hungry, they become animals, worse than animals, and women, they’ll sell their body for a crumb of old bread."

  "I would rather suffer that and be free than go back," Chiara murmured.

  The old lady scrutinized her face for a long time. It was unsettling.

  "You’re of noble birth, aren’t you?" she said finally.

  "Yes, Signora."

  "And you think something terrible happened to you. Let me guess. You were raped. Am I right?"

  Her chin on her chest, Chiara whispered: "Yes."

  "Are you with child?"

  Chiara looked up alarmed. That thought had not even entered her mind. "Could I get pregnant from a single time?"

  "Oh, yes, my dear innocent child. It all depends. What did you do right after it happened?"

  "I jumped into the sea."

  "Then I think you don’t have to worry. That’s the best way to prevent getting pregnant." She stroked Chiara’s hand. "You’ll be all right. But that isn’t the reason you ran away, right?"

  Chiara had stopped wondering why these people seemed to read her like an open book. "No," she replied.

  "You don’t want to talk about it."

  "No, and I will not go back. I would rather die." An obstinate tone had crept into her voice.

  "It’s easy to talk about dying when there’s no real threat. It’s much harder to do it, dear child, especially as you get older and cling to life, even if it’s miserable," the old women said with a bemused smile.

  "I was willing to die after he did it. I jumped into the sea, leagues off the coast, to get away from them."

  "But you didn’t die. You’re a survivor. Maybe you are cut out for the life of traveling artists. We’ll see what happens tonight. And now, figliola, fetch me a cup of wine."

  When Chiara returned with a full cup, she said: "Alda mentioned that you tell the future."

  "Yes, I read the cards. Would you like me to tell you what’s in the cards for you?"

  "No, I don’t want to know."

  "Why?"

  "Because if the cards say something that I don’t like, I would do all I could to prevent it."

  The old woman laughed. "Dear child, the cards aren’t that specific and there are always several different possible interpretations for any constellation of faces, but I think that you’re wise not to put your trust in cards."

  "The reason I asked about fortune telling is that the city ordinances prohibit it. I thought you should know."

  "I see they haven’t rescinded that law yet. So I won’t tell fortunes but simply read the cards. They don’t specifically prohibit that or do they?"

  Chiara could not suppress a smile. "No, only telling the future."

  The old woman chuckled. "Yes, we learn all sorts of tricks."

  "Then you have been in Pisa before."

  "Oh many times. I’ve been traveling these regions since childhood. Lorenzo’s troupe is the fourth one that I belong too. He likes to do a circuit through all the towns this side of the mountains, Pisa, Lucca, Florence, Arezzo, Perugia, and then back along Via Francigena to Siena — you know the road the pilgrims from the north take to go to Rome, and then back to Pisa, and all the villages and smaller towns in between. Two years it takes to make the round. When I joined him, he also still visited Urbino and Rimini, but not any
more. It’s too strenuous to cross the mountains and we were robbed. Lucky they didn’t kill us."

  "Have you been to Venice?"

  "No, that’s the one city that I yearn to see but never could. I guess I’m too old now to travel that far."

  Chiara was just going to protest, when she continued: "Child, would you do me another favor? My shoulders ache badly. Would you knead them like this?" She demonstrated the hand movement on her knees.

  "I will try, Signora." Chiara moved behind her and worked the knobbly shoulders.

  "Yes, that feels good on my old bones…Harder… All over, please… Yes, don’t stop… Serena, my daughter used to do it for me every evening."

  "Where is she now, Signora?"

  "Here in Pisa, under the ground, eight years now."

  "Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?"

  "She caught the swamp fever. That’s why we’ll only stay three weeks in the city before going into the mountains. It gets bad here in July. All the rich merchants abandon the city then."

  A young male voice startled Chiara. "I see, Antonia, you found two nimble hands for your shoulders."

  She briefly looked at the young man entering the court, before resuming massaging the old woman’s shoulders. It was the one who had been pulling the first small cart.

  "Yes, Giovanni. What else can I do since you always find an excuse?" the old woman replied with a raucous laugh. Turning to Chiara, she added in a low voice: "Handsome Giovanni dreams of playing the lover in our theater, but that’ll have to wait until Lorenzo gives up. You can stop now, figliola."

  In ones or twos, the members of the troupe trickled back into the inn. Chiara joined Alda who was sitting at the closest of the four trestle-tables.

  * * *

  "Ahi, Carlo, tell us the gossip," Pepe called out to the latest arrival.

  Alda leaned toward Chiara and whispered: "Carlo is our ears. I don’t know how he does it, but he always manages to worm all gossip and rumor out of the locals. If Lorenzo wants to know what’s happening in a town, he only has to send Carlo."

  "Not much, Pepe," replied the tall man.