“Those singers, they live no ordinary lives, dear friend.” I pat Carina’s arm.
She turns to face me with the truest stare. “And you’re no ordinary woman, Letizia. I’ve heard you sing. You belong on the stage… Your voice is meant to fill the grandest theaters—not the confines of a kitchen.”
“You cannot be serious…” I shrug off the compliment.
“I am being serious!” Carina smiles. “You should be on the stage, delighting all members of gentry and nobility with your voice… Not baking bread.”
We stop before a fruit cart. The man standing behind it seems in a hurry, about to close the shop.
“I could never abandon my brother, Carina,” I say. “You know that.” I slip a few coins into the merchant’s hand and choose the best apples which I then drop in my basket.
“Fabrizio would never stand in the way of your wishes…” Carina takes a few apples and pays the merchant. “Your brother has the gentlest of souls.”
Ah… Can this be a sign of my friend’s waking interest in my brother? I cannot tell for fear of mistaking kindness with affection. I am the worst cupid if there ever was one.
Heavy dark clouds cover the sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The breeze turns cooler and moist. “We should go, Carina.”
“You go ahead. I promised my father I would stop by the butcher’s on my way back,” she says. “I’ll see you soon!”
“Va bene!” I hold her in my arms in a tender embrace, and we quickly part ways.
My footsteps echo in the narrow calle that leads the way home. I welcome the silence as the market’s roar stays miles behind.
A thousand thoughts clash inside my head. Mattia’s proposal comes back to haunt me. Fabrizio and I could well benefit from Mattia’s influence. The possibility of snatching our legacy from Baresi’s claws shines in my mind as the most tempting thought of all. If there’s but one chance to recover from our family’s fall, this is it.
There’s no other way. I must marry Mattia.
“You!” someone calls.
Startled, I turn back. Where does this voice come from?
“You there!” Again, it speaks.
Between the shadows, a few feet away from me, an old woman stands outside a small dilapidated house. She keeps a crooked chair by the door, and next to it, there’s a wobbling table the surface of which is covered with a dark blue piece of cloth. A dozen masks rest on the tattered piece of fabric. The masks are ordinary, white, and with no particular design that would deem them interesting.
“What is the matter, old woman?” I am compelled by her frail figure. “Do you need help?” I ask, moving closer.
Her bony hands seize my wrists. She pulls me close enough that the putrid scent of her rotting teeth hits me fully. But a deeper impression marks my horrified soul when I see her blind eyes, covered by a white sheath—vacant, opaque. Her thin lips stretch in an ominous grin, and then, they part to speak:
“One voice
Both blessing and curse.
Sing for Him
And death you bring!
Choose light or darkness
Infamous torture…
Fame and misfortune!”
The woman’s warning chills the blood in my veins. I step back, but find resistance as I never expected from someone so old and frail.
“Lasciami andare!” Let me go, I say. Twisting my arms, I finally become free.
Croaking laughter escapes the woman’s mouth. She raises her hand, pointing at me with her crooked finger. And all the while, her words echo in my mind.
The first raindrops fall, darkening the street with myriad spots until they become too many to discern. Covering my head with the shawl, I give another step back, and another until I turn and walk away from the old woman.
But something compels me to look back. I fear what I might see, yet I turn.
The woman retreats to her decadent house—its walls barely stand, but the roof shelters her from the pouring storm.
Fame and misfortune… How those words linger in my ears.
Wicked dreams haunt my sleep at night. Each time my eyes close, they see the old woman’s blind eyes. The torment of her words echoes in my mind without remedy.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I push the covers away. The cool air filters through my nightgown, embracing me fully. I should have started the hearth hours ago.
I rise from the bed with heavy eyelids. Sluggish steps take me to the other side of the small bedchamber. My clothes lie over the dressing table. The gown’s fabric is cold beneath my fingers. Returning to the bed’s comfort is a tempting thought, but gaining sleep will be an impossible feat. I must get on.
The silence that reigns in the house is most delightful. The stairs’ rough-edged handrail reminds me my hands have lost their smoothness.
This house had long been entrusted to one of my father’s solicitors. As a child, I visited more than once in my father’s company as he tended to his legal affairs. The day Fabrizio and I lost everything, leasing it from its new owner—Signor Baresi—was all we could afford.
There’s an oval-shaped looking glass at the staircase’s landing. Its gilded frame glistens in the darkness. These days, I avoid glancing at my reflection like nothing else because the sight before me is one I hardly recognize. Sometimes I feel so old… The scars in my soul have jaded me even if my countenance is still that of a young girl of eighteen.
The time to start the oven is near. Memories of Maria, our cook, come back to haunt me. She used to spoil me with warm bread every morning, but it does not do well to linger upon those thoughts.
An immediate draft envelops me when I step into the kitchen. The windows are wide open. How odd. I could have sworn I shut them before I went to bed… It matters little. I reach the window shutter, and as I am about to pull, the most unexpected sight stops me.
Innocent, endowed with graceful beauty, the blue butterfly sits on the windowsill.
“I am glad to see you,” I whisper, leaning towards it. The creature does not flee as my hand approaches. Its dark eyes fix on me directly. Is that a gleam of intent that I see behind its blank stare?
“You and I are survivors of distinct evils,” I say, touching its soft wing with my finger—yet the creature does not fly away. “I survived the end of my world as I knew it, and you… You survived Mattia’s attack, pretty butterfly.”
The butterfly’s black and blue wings flap slowly with sublime cadence. The creature responds to my words. Can it understand me?
Minutes pass while the butterfly holds me in its thrall. The sudden flutter of its majestic wings snatches me away from my fascination. With a quick bat of its wings, the creature flees as the first rays of morning light paint the darkened sky. It flies away from the window, into the quiet street, and fades in a beam of sunshine—that’s when I see him.
Swallowed in the shadows, he leans back against the stone wall. He folds his arms over his chest and raises his chin. His green eyes glisten with inextricable pride as their stare lands on me. An air of self-entitlement sifts over him. His sole presence fills my heart with uneasiness.
Who is that man?
“Letizia, is that you?”
I startle. Behind me, I catch a glimpse of my brother standing at the top of the stairs.
“Yes, it’s me,” I say. “Go back to bed, Fabrizio.”
Fabrizio smoothes his hand over his beard and walks away from the railing, back to his room.
Once more, I turn to the street. Where is he? I search for him along the narrow street to no avail.
The mysterious man is gone.
Feeble rays of moted dust light break into the small parlor. I’ve laid out the table to the best of my memory so that it’s reminiscent of our old home… Will he notice?
I light the last candle. My hands land on the table, pressing the napkin. Uncertainty brews in my heart.
The hinges creak as the door opens.
He’s home.
There’s nothing subtle when
reality darkens our door. But one cannot attribute it with cruelty, however harsh. The truth is a sharp blade: we cannot move through life as it stands without financial aid. We cannot go on living as a pair of destitute orphans.
As the sole female in our home, in my hands lies not only my future, but Fabrizio’s. There are no other choices for a young female subjected to my conditions, and I firmly detest it—but so it is.
I will marry Mattia. I am determined.
“Letizia!” The door slams behind him. Fabrizio’s heavy footsteps echo in the hallway. “Letizia, come see this!”
“What is it?” I ask, moving through the parlor. The sheer excitement pouring from his voice can easily be confused between happiness and distress—so, which one is it?
Fabrizio meets me in the kitchen. A generous smile blooms on his lips and his eyes fill with excitement. He removes his hat and slams it on the table, careless that it instantly dusts with flour.
“Sweet sister!” he says. “I have come across such luck as I have not seen in the past weeks!”
“Luck?” I frown. “You know perfectly well I do not believe in such a thing.” Fabrizio is a dreamer. “Our father believed in luck. See where it led him…” I cannot help shaking my head disapprovingly.
I reach Fabrizio’s hat and give it a quick shake. A white cloud lifts from the black felt. A few more taps remove the rest of the flour.
“You will not ruin this for me, Letizia.” He gives me a knowing look. “This was the purest luck there has ever been!”
Now I’m intrigued. Folding my arms over my chest, my eyes narrow. “Well then… I am happy for you.” I pause. “May I ask the reason for your good fortune?” Unless by some miracle Baresi has decided to return our family’s legacy, I doubt I’ll be impressed.
Two sheets of parchment come out of Fabrizio’s jacket. The writing is exquisite, high-quality imprint.
With a mockery of a bow, Fabrizio offers them to me.
L’Orfeo
del Signor Luigi Rossi
Carlo Ricci e Syneca Fiori
Rapresentata in musica
in Venetia l’anno 1669.
“This is a libretto,” I muse, gliding my fingers over the heading.
“Sister of mine…” He sighs. “You and I have seats for L’Orfeo. I know how much you adore Syneca Fiori—are you happy now?”
“Can this be real?” My eyes fly open. The blood in my veins quickens with the news. Listening to Syneca’s unique voice again had been an unfeasible dream but a few days ago.
Fabrizio nods.
“But… How?” I can hardly say the words.
“It was the strangest thing, really…” He pulls a chair and sits before the hearth. “On my way here, I came upon a man in the street. He was desperate to be rid of two tickets for the opera. I could not believe it at first, but the man insisted I take them off his hands. And when I did take them, he seemed relieved as if his life depended on it!” He chuckles. “I thought the man would faint!”
“That is strange, indeed…” I muse. Why would anyone give away such a valuable thing?
“That is true luck, Letizia!” he teases. “You may now thank me.” Fabrizio rises from the chair. He moves towards me with welcoming arms, but stops short at the parlor’s threshold.
“What’s this?” he asks, peering into the room where candlelight flickers and bathes the dinner set. “Are we… celebrating, dear?”
I stand behind him, pursing my lips. “We very well might be in a minute,” I say.
“Letizia…” Fabrizio makes his best effort to conceal his smirk. “I am afraid to ask, but I will anyway.” He pauses. “Tell me, what is the occasion?”
“Marriage,” I plainly say.
“Ah!” raising his brow. “Who’s marriage, my dear?”
“Why, mine of course.” I hint a feigned smile.
Fabrizio frankly guffaws. “Nicely done. You tease me,” taking both hands to his waist.
“I assure you, I do not.”
We move into the parlor. Fabrizio examines my countenance with undeniable disbelief.
“Well, let us hear more about this mysterious fidanzato,” he says. “Who is he? Do I know him?”
“You’ve known him for years…” I lower my gaze, staring at my clasped hands. “The man I am to marry is Mattia Moretti.”
Fabrizio knits his brow. “Not our childhood friend, Mattia?”
“Of course, him. What other Mattia Moretti is there?” My back stiffens even as I hear myself speak the words.
My brother leans against the table with arms folded over his chest. Suddenly, his expression turns serious. “Has he offered you marriage, then?” he asks. “When was this?”
“He proposed a few days ago—”
“He’s a wretched man, Letizia. You cannot marry him!” he finally bursts, standing straight. He bites his lower lip. “I… know things. You are a lady, I cannot possibly tell you what Mattia is. Suffice it to say he’s as much as a libertine as Father ever was.”
Fabrizio and I lock stares.
“My mind is made up, Fabrizio… It’s what’s best for all.”
“But certainly…” he says in a calmer voice, smoothing his hand on my cheek. “It is not what’s best for you.” His gaze reads the depths of my soul—can he see the struggle within me?
I move away, avoiding his stare.
“Do you love him?” he asks.
“What does it matter?” I mutter, looking out the window.
“You cannot be serious!” Fabrizio slams the table with his hand. The cutlery shakes and a knife falls to the floor. It catches the candlelight with a spectral gleam.
“Letizia, are you listening?”
I snap out of the trance. Fabrizio stands before me with a clenched jaw and tightened muscles in his neck. His cheeks burn.
“I am perfectly serious.” My voice is cold and monotonous. I take the knife and clean it with my apron. “I will not be persuaded otherwise.”
“Dearest…” Fabrizio steps close enough to hold my hands. “Do you feel obliged to this because of my feelings towards Carina? Would you have me marry into nobility so that you may be spared from this dreadful match?”
“Even though I consider you the finest of men, we cannot ignore that our lack of fortune now deems you a most undesirable partner… I am amazed Mattia has shown any interest in me at all!” I gasp. “Your love for Carina is but too true. And I already love her as my sister.” I press his hand, tears loom in my eyes.
“I have kept a roof over our heads so far, that would never change even if I married…” His voice is soft and serene. “You do not have to marry Mattia.”
“I must!” I cannot hold back the words.
“Why do you say that?” Fabrizio loses all self-restraint.
“Because I want it all back!” I finally explode. “Do you not understand? Fabrizio, you are older than I and a man—how can you remain still before this terrible injustice? How can you not fight for our family’s fortune?” Warm tears roll down my face.
My brother falls silent. He slumps in the corner of the room. I can almost hear his heart breaking because of my scornful words.
“Baresi…” he whispers. “He’s a cold-hearted man. There was little I could do… It was difficult enough for me to bargain the lease of this house.”
“I should not have said that.” I lower my gaze. But deep inside, I hold no regrets. The truth stings and wounds, but that’s the price to pay for reality. Still, to recognize such evil lurking inside me makes me shudder to my core.
“Have you given Mattia an answer?” he asks with a hurting voice.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Fabrizio sighs. “Good…” He stands straight and heads to the hallway. His stoic countenance is one I had never seen before.
The door shuts.
For the first time, my brother trusted me with a secret—his affection towards our neighbor, Carina. Perhaps he now regrets seeking my confidence. But I would never
object to his match with such a woman. Despite Carina’s lower birth, our destitute condition makes us equals—and even that I cannot say, for her soul is fairer than mine ever was or could ever aim to be.
Fabrizio has found love, and that cannot be easily discarded. This is his one hope for happiness after everything he’s endured. As the eldest male of our family, he would have inherited our father’s fortune and the whole of his estate. He lost it all before it ever touched his hands. Resignation came quickly to my brother—but I cannot say the same about myself.
A sudden knock on the door startles me.
“Fabrizio…” I pull the door’s lever. “I did not mean—”
My heart stops. I can barely breathe. The man standing before me… He’s not my brother.
Six feet tall and broad-shouldered, the man’s shadow sifts over me. My quivering hand releases the door handle. I step back and swallow hard.
“Pietro…” I muse.
Baresi’s ruffian sweeps me head to toe with a salacious stare. The deep white scar carved across his left eyelid is impossible to ignore.
“Signor Baresi is not pleased,” he croaks, smoothing his hand over his unshaven beard.
The putrid scent of cheese and vinegar penetrates my nostrils. A stale taste hits my palate. My stomach turns.
He wants money we do not have. Money for the place that has belonged to my family for decades… Inside my stomach, where bile and water sizzle, anger begins to rise.
“Where’s Fabrizio?” he asks, pushing me aside with his arm. Pietro steps inside with muddied boots that invariably leave a trail.
“My brother is out,” I say. My voice is a withering timbre that sails through clenched teeth.
“Ah…” Pietro turns. A sinister smile looms on his chapped lips. “Then you and I must come to an agreement, ragazza.”
The Devil's Song Page 2
