The Food Taster

by Peter Elbling

'Crazy, why?'

  'Why?' He waved his hands about, becoming excited like the old Tommaso. 'All around us the world was dying, but we were living in this hut like . . .'

  'Like what?'

  'Do you not see?' he cried. 'We were all alone . . . we could have been the only two people living ... in the world—'

  'Living like what?' I grasped his throat.

  'Like man and wife!' His eyes stared into mine. Unafraid. 'I cannot lie to you, Ugo. Kill me if you wish. I do not care. I love her. E il mio l'amor divino. L'amor divino,' he repeated.

  She loves you too, I said to myself. So much so that she would pretend to be raped in case she got with child. How could I do anything to Tommaso? He had brought my Miranda back safely. I told him he could no longer sleep with her. 'Our agreement is for one more year. If you love her you can wait.'

  Miranda woke each morning with Tommaso's name upon her lips. She whispered his name in her prayers. She wrote little poems to him and declared that they would get married and go to Roma so that Tommaso could cook for the pope. She swore she would be in love with him till the day she died.

  Because Tommaso had won her heart, the other boys stopped teasing him. Now he walked around the palace with Miranda on his arm, as proud as a peacock. He worshiped her and brought her combs, ribbons, and other trinkets. He made pastries for her, little delicacies of sugar and fruits in the shapes of birds and flowers. Sometimes they sat for hours on the wall outside the palazzo entwined in one another's arms, caressing one another's faces, stroking each other's hair, saying nothing. She would take his short stubby hands in hers, kiss each nick and burn, press her face against his cheek, and sing to him.

  Watching them, I sometimes wondered if there was not some invisible twine linking them together like the one Ariadne gave Theseus, for no sooner did they stray from one another's grasp than their fingers blindly searched for the other until they met again. I often overheard their conversations; most of them I do not recall, but this one I remember for it showed the gentleness of their nature. They were saying good night to one another when Miranda said, 'You must sleep on your right side with your left arm extended like this. I will lie on my right side, too, and then I will know you are lying behind me and your arm is across my body and I will sleep well.'

  I smiled to myself and thought no more of it until I saw them together the next day. From the way they were standing I knew he had done as she asked. They were, in a word, as happy as doves who, having found a mate, remain together for the rest of their lives.

  Miranda and Tommaso were not the only ones who embraced life after the plague. I could now read and write and took great pleasure in recording my experiments with plants and herbs. I also amused myself with a servant girl. In Corsoli, men took new wives and women found new husbands. I do not know where they all came from, but a few months later there seemed to be as many people in the city as there had ever been and all the women were with child.

  I heard that after surviving the plague, some princes, like the duke of Ferrara, devoted themselves to the church or charitable works. Federico was the opposite. 'We survived the worst God could send us,' he said, stroking Nero, who now sat in Bianca's chair at the table. 'Why should I believe in Him? Ugo does not believe in Him, do you, Ugo?'

  Christ on a cross! Arguing and cursing God was something I did when I was alone, but Federico was asking me to denounce God with the new bishop of Santa Caterina sitting right there and everyone staring at me. I stumbled over my answer, afraid to speak and yet pleased that Federico had called upon me for my opinion. Fortunately, Federico did not wait for an answer, but said that from now on he was going to enjoy life even more.

  He ate twice as much as he used to, took up with new whores, and increased the number of his hounds to a thousand — the dog shit around the palace was ankle deep. He spent huge sums on new silks, satin robes, rings, and other jewels. Sometimes when he dressed up he looked like an altar at a festival. But though he never mentioned Bianca's name again, her death affected him deeply. As the days grew shorter and the skies filled with melancholy clouds and angry, biting rains, he moped around the palace, Nero by his side.

  'I want a wife!' he shouted at us one morning. He ordered Cecchi to write letters to the d'Este's, the Malatesta, the Medici and other courts stating his intentions. When the replies came, if they came at all, they said all the eligible women and girls were spoken for. Federico decided the only way to get a new wife would be to journey to Milano where he had once served Duke Sforza. Everyone in the palazzo was beside themselves with excitement. To leave Corsoli and go to Milano! They begged and lied, pleading with Cecchi for a place in the retinue. I did not have to raise my voice. I knew I would be going with Federico. He could not afford to go anywhere without me.

  CHAPTER 20

  Going on a journey with Federico was like going to war. Lists were drawn up of who should go and who should stay, then more lists were made of what to take. These lists changed every day, sometimes from hour to hour. Cecchi hardly slept for months and those parts of his beard which were gray turned white and those which were white fell out.

  To begin with, there were to be no more than forty of us, but then three boys were required to look after the horses, and the cart master said he needed at least three servants and so did Federico's dressers. The number grew to eighty. The whole palace wanted to leave, but since few monasteries or palaces could house that number, carpenters, laborers, and sewers were added to build tents wherever we stayed. We were now a hundred. When Federico saw how much this would cost, he threatened to castrate Cecchi, burn his body, and then behead him. Cecchi reduced the number to sixty. By now Federico had grown so fat, and his gout so painful, that a special cart had to be built to carry him. It was lined with silken cushions and sheets, and pictures of jousting knights were painted on the sides. Federico tested it twice a day to make sure it was comfortable.

  Since Miranda and Tommaso were not going to Milano, they paid little attention to the preparations. Besides, they were too much in love to care. Although Miranda had not been with child, I feared that could happen while I was away and since she often spoke of marrying Tommaso I was tempted to tell her of the pact I had made with him. In truth, I was surprised he had not mentioned it, but I guessed this was because he now loved her and wanted to respect me. This changed my feelings toward him and in this mood I went to the kitchen intending to say that although the four years were not yet up I would be happy to announce their marriage.

  Tommaso was placing pieces of spit-roasted thrushes onto slices of toast. He had mixed up some spices, which by smelling the bowl I could tell included fennel, pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg, egg yolks, and vinegar. He poured the mix over the birds, placed the slices of toast in a pan, and put them over the flames. I told him it was fit for a duke and there was no doubt that he would one day be cooking for the pope.

  'I could be a chef in Roma or Firenze right now if I wanted to,' he boasted. He told me about new recipes he had invented, of special foods and spices from India he wanted to try, even ways of improving the kitchen. Never once did he mention Miranda. The longer I listened, the more uneasy I became. I thought — he has grown tired of Miranda, but does not know it yet. So I said nothing about the marriage contract.

  Miranda spoke of him with as much love as ever and wandered about the kitchen wanting to be close to him, but where they had once walked side by side, now Tommaso walked a little ahead of her. He no longer brought her ribbons or combs and looked away when she spoke to him. He yawned when she sang and once when I was watching from the window, I saw her lead his hand to her breast. Laughing, he pulled away and strode off.

  Septivus told me that Miranda had missed her lessons and had been seen weeping in Emilia's garden. I looked for her there and in the stables, but could not find her. I sought out her friends, asking them if they knew the cause of Miranda's distress.

  'Tommaso,' they answered, as if the whole world knew. 'We warned her his word was not to be tr
usted.'

  I found Miranda in our room tearing at her hair, beating herself about the breast, and scratching her face like the shrieking harpies in Dante's Inferno. 'He no longer loves me,' she wept.

  'No. It cannot be true.'

  'It is!' she screamed. 'He told me. He told me!'

  I sliced a mandrake root into tiny pieces, fed her a little, and she fell into a restless sleep. Then I sharpened my knife and went looking for Tommaso.

  He was putting on a tight-fitting, green velvet jacket over some deep red silk hose. Rings twinkled on his fingers and the chains around his wrist glinted in the moonlight. I asked him where he was going at this late hour.

  'What is it to you?' He pulled on a pair of black boots.

  'You have upset my daughter.'

  'Your daughter.' He shook his curls so that they sprayed out across his neck. 'Your prisoner. She cannot pee without you watching over her.'

  'That is because I do not want her to become a whore like the girl you are going to see.'

  'I am not going to see a whore,' he said hotly.

  'You told me you loved Miranda.'

  'I did not tell her of our betrothal so I did not break my promise to her.'

  'In the Bible, Jacob waited for Rachel for fourteen years.'

  'That was the Bible.' He adjusted the feather in his hat. 'This is Corsoli. My name is Tommaso, not Jacob. And tonight I am going to hunt the hare.'

  'What happened to your love?'

  He shrugged as if he had lost a cheap coin. I threw myself at him, grasped his throat, and slammed him into the wall. I pulled my dagger and pressed the point into the crevice by his neck bone.

  ‘I will teach you to taste the peach before you buy it.' I drove my knee into his stomach. 'You think I will carefully cut your face like Miranda did?' I pierced the skin and could feel his flesh quivering around the point of the knife. Blood spurted over the blade. 'Tell me, what happened to your love?'

  'I do not know,' he begged, 'I do not know.'

  'You do not know?' I pulled the knife across his neck. I wanted him to feel as much pain as Miranda felt.

  'Who knows where love goes?' he gasped in bewilderment.

  I was about to drive the knife into Tommaso's throat when a voice said, 'No, babbo!' with such power that I stopped.

  Miranda was standing behind me, her head lifted high, her face as white as chalk. 'He is not worth dying for.'

  'But he--'

  'If you kill him and are hanged for it, what will happen to me?'

  I lowered my knife. Tommaso pointed to Miranda and cried, 'If you believe this will put me in your debt, then kill me now.'

  Miranda replied. 'It is I who owe you. For you have closed my heart and opened my eyes.' She reached her hand out to me, 'Babbo, come. Anger shortens our lives and we have much to be grateful for.'

  I told her to come to Milano with me. 'You will see wonderful palaces. There will be balls and parties and many fine young men.'

  'I do not want many fine young men.'

  I asked if there was any way I could be of comfort to her.

  She said, 'I am comforted by God. It is Tommaso who is restless. He always has been and always will be. That is his nature. That is why he needs me.'

  'You still love him? After what he has done to you?'

  'Does the shepherd stop loving the lamb who strays? I am his balm. Without me he is lost.'

  Then she lay down on her bed and in a few moments was sleeping the sleep of the dead, while I stared out at the hillside wondering if I would ever be as wise as she.

  Federico wanted to leave at the end of Lent, but Nero was sick and we had to wait three days. Then Federico would not leave on the seventh of the month, so it was not until the following Tuesday that the bishop blessed the journey and wished Federico 'buona ventura in his desire to find a wife.

  As we emerged from the Duomo Santa Caterina into the bright spring morning, the bell rang joyfully and the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen embraced the heavens, each color so clear and vibrant that we knew God was watching over us.

  Twenty knights dressed in full armor climbed upon their horses, their red and white banners waving from their lances. Then came Federico's cart pulled by eight horses, twenty more knights, carts containing Federico's clothing, and another cart bearing gifts. After that were the falconers, chamberlains, grooms, clerks, kitchen staff, dressers, whores, and more carts containing everything else.

  Miranda watched from our window as we gathered in the courtyard. The night before I had urged her to practice her lyre, fulfill her duties cheerfully, and promise to take several drops of a potion I had prepared for her humors before she went to bed. In truth, it was the juice of apple mixed with the powder of a dead frog and it dulled all feelings of romance. Although Tommaso was no longer in love with her, I feared that because she was a woman she might fall in love with someone else just to show him she no longer cared.

  'Women are different than men,' I counseled her. 'They are weaker in the face of love, yet they are braver in their pursuit of it and I do not want you to get with child.'

  'Nor do I,' she had yawned.

  Now she suddenly ran out of the palace and threw herself into my arms. I held her close and whispered I was sorry she was not coming and that I would miss her. She said she was sorry for her rudeness and, putting on a brave smile, said that I had no need to worry on her behalf; she would discharge all of her duties faithfully and with good cheer.

  There was a fanfare of trumpets, Federico's carriage stirred, and then we were moving out of the courtyard toward the Weeping Steps like a long colorful snake. All of Corsoli watched us leave. Federico threw a few gold coins to the cheering crowds though I swear the cheering became even louder after we passed through the city gates.

  A brisk wind chased the puffy white clouds across the bright blue sky. The green hills were dotted with patches of yellow violas and blue lupines. Everywhere the sound of running water accompanied us, dripping from trees, spilling over rocks and rushing in little streams underfoot to the bottom of the valley. I felt the same as I did when I first left home: this journey would change my life!

  Halfway down the valley, Federico's cart bounced over a boulder, the back left wheel snapped off, and the cart crashed to the ground. Federico emerged like a mad bull, tangled up in sheets and blankets, red in the face. "Who built this piece of shit?' he screamed.

  Cecchi said they were Frenchmen who had been hired for the task, but who had since left Corsoli.

  'Then we declare war on France,' Federico shouted.

  'Is that before or after the cart is fixed?' I muttered. A chamberlain next to me laughed. Federico ordered him killed. Instead, he was taken back to the palace and thrown into the dungeon. Cecchi said he knew some Italian workmen who could fix the cart and while Federico was carried back to the palace, Cecchi sent for the men who had built it — they were from Corsoli — and warned them if they did not repair the cart correctly they would be hanged. Two days later the procession started again. This time no one watched us leave.

  The second day Federico complained that the path was too bumpy and any rock or stone larger than a ducat had to be removed before we could continue. Every servant, knight, and minister — even Cecchi — had to get down on their hands and knees and clear them all away. By the end of the morning the road was so smooth you could have rolled an egg on it. Cecchi said at this rate it would take five years to get to Milano. Federico cursed and ordered all the geese from the nearby farms killed, and their feathers stuffed into his cushions. From then on many farmers drove their livestock into hiding when they heard we were coming. The abbeys were not so lucky.

  At the bottom of the valley, we stopped at the abbey of Abbot Tottorini, the same one who had turned Miranda and Tommaso away during the plague. I remembered that he made his own wine and cheese and thought it only right to tell Federico how wonderful they were. Federico agreed with me. Indeed, he liked them so much we stayed for a whole week.
/>   On the fifth day, I rode to my father's farm. Although my last visit had been a bitter one, I hoped that time had softened his heart toward me. I wanted him to see what I had made of myself. His house looked as if the slightest wind would blow it down. I looked about but could not see him, so I called out his name.

  'In here,' he cried out.

  I no longer remembered if the house had always stunk like that or if it was because I was now used to the perfumes of the palace, but I could not enter and stood in the doorway. At last, my father's shrunken frame limped out of the darkness. He was bent over almost double now and he smelled of decay and death. He squinted at my new leather jerkin and brightly colored hose, but although I said my name I was not sure if he knew who I was. I put my arms around him and offered him a few coins. He could not open his hands properly so I pushed the coins into the spaces between his fingers. I told him I was accompanying Duke Federico to Milano and asked if he wanted to see the procession.

  'What for?' he croaked.

  'The knights, the duke's carriage. They are magnificent.'

  'Magnificent? Spain! Spain is magnificent.'

  'Spain? What do you know about Spain? You have never been out of the valley!'

  'Vittore tells me,' he said. 'Spain is magnificent.'

  'Oh, so Vittore has fled to Spain.'

  'He is commanding a ship!'

  'Yes, and I am the king of France.'

  He waved a finger at me. 'Jealous,' he shouted. 'You are jealous. Jealous!'

  'And you are a fool!' I said, climbing on my horse. 'And I was a fool to come here.'

  He tried to throw the coins at me, but his hands could not let go of them.

  The abbot Tottorini was waiting for me when I returned, his fat face sagging around his jowls. He hissed that all his wine had been drunk, and his cheese and fruit eaten. He said he prayed that all my children grew tails, my blood would boil, and that I caught the French disease. I told him he should wait until we had left before he insulted me or I would tell Federico about some of the tricks he liked to perform with the nuns. Then I made sure that whatever wine and cheese we had not drunk or eaten, we took with us.