The Devil's Song

by Silvana G Sánchez

The crowd splits and reveals Giovanni Lombardi standing at the end of the room. He raises the glass in his hand. “Salute, signorina!” he says, and then takes a swig of wine.

  I am relieved to find a familiar face in the roaring horde, uncomfortable as his welcome makes me feel.

  “And here is your Orfeo!” Giovanni points to his right, glass in hand. The handsome evirato Carlo Ricci emerges from the crowd. He stands before the hearth, impeccable in a dark green satin suit embroidered in gold, his dark brown hair gathered in a low coil. The shadow of his deep brown eyes hardens his expression.

  “Good evening, Letizia…” he says in the lowest of voices. A shy smile, and his gaze drifts away from me—ashamed by Giovanni’s coarse introduction, I assume.

  “Carlo…” I muse, feeling the warmth rise to my cheeks.

  Giovanni takes another swig of wine—perhaps he has had too many drinks already. He turns to his friends, and fortunately, soon forgets about Carlo and me.

  “I’m sorry you had to suffer Giovanni’s bad manners…” Carlo whispers, standing close to me.

  “He’s drunk,” I say, dismissing Signor Giovanni’s ill behavior.

  “One can hardly blame him,” Carlo says under his breath, looking back at Giovanni. “Mastering liquor takes a special kind of skill… I should know.” He winks, raising his cup. Carlo takes a sip and sets it over the chimney’s mantelpiece.

  “Come.” He takes my hand and leads me through the jostling horde. I follow him away from the warm room through a vast hallway with tall stuccoed ceilings.

  Soon, we leave behind the bustle of laughter and conversation. Only our footsteps resonate as they tap against the marble floor.

  Where are we going? I am too excited to ask… Too anxious and too thrilled by this mystery.

  We take the stairs and arrive at the palazzo’s second floor. Carlo releases my hand and pushes open the double doors before him. A gust of cool wind filters through the doorway. Moistness lingers in the air.

  We stop before the quadriphora. Carlo’s hands land on the balustrade, his eyes fix on the Grand Canal.

  “Is this not better?” he asks in a whisper. “Blessed silence.”

  “Much better…” I say, stepping closer to the balustrade where I meet him. “Being here feels like a dream—such luxury, such opulence…” It reminds me of my old life. The fabric between illusion and reality has never been this transparent.

  “This is our world, Letizia.” He sighs. “Lights and masks, velvet and silks, wine and women... Forgive me, I… I speak too freely.”

  I choke a laugh. “You speak the truth. There is no harm in that.”

  “Most of my life has been spent in idle luxury,” Carlo says, turning away from me once more.

  “You have been fortunate, then.”

  “Have I?” He frowns without parting his gaze from the rippling waters. “Would you believe I find my lifestyle intoxicating?”

  “How can that be?” I say, smoothing my hand over his. “You are Carlo Ricci, primo uomo de la Scuola Veneziana… Whatever your heart desires lies within your reach.”

  “That might have been once, carissima.” His other hand lands on mine. “But I’m afraid meeting you has changed everything.”

  “How so?” I ask, intrigued.

  “I hate to say it, but… your influence has made me aspire to more than I should.”

  “What do you mean?” I cannot conceal that I am puzzled by his words.

  “Letizia, you are the most genuine woman I have ever met…” His bright eyes lock in mine. His hand smooths on my cheek. “The kind of woman with whom I should fall in love with.”

  “Carlo, what are you saying?”

  “We do make quite a pair…” He shrugs wearing a smirk. “Each night, your voice and mine shake the very foundations of the theater… Do you think fate pulls us closer? Should we be together?”

  I give him a knowing look, aware of his playful scheme. “I believe your heart points to another direction, and it has been so for a very long time.”

  Carlo sniggers. “Syneca will not see me… I have caused her more pain than she ever would deign to admit.”

  “You must try again,” I muse. “One cannot lose hope when one’s heart is dependent on another…” My gaze drifts to the canal. A small boat sails through the misty waters. The boat draws closer.

  “Spoken like one whose heart has already been taken.” Carlo raises his brow in a teasing manner, but I pay no attention to his game.

  “She has lost everything…” I say. “Syneca needs you more than ever.”

  The man in the boat gets on his feet. In the darkness, only his silhouette remains visible, outlined by the dim moonlight.

  Carlo’s lips stretch in a humble smile. “Marriage is denied to me by law, but that matters little… All I really want is to love her,” he says, stepping back into the room’s shadows.

  “Then you should waste no time,” I add.

  “You’re right.” He nods. “I will go to her this instant.”

  “She will be glad you did.” I give him a faint smile.

  One more step, and Carlo is swallowed by the darkness.

  Alone, standing before the quiet Grand Canal at this late hour in the evening, I lean against the balustrade and close my eyes, savoring this moment.

  Below the quadriphora, the soft murmur of the canal’s stirring waters lures my attention. The small boat arrives at the palazzo’s water gate. A man steps off the boat. He stands on the ledge and sees the vessel drift away. His hands slip into his pockets. Aware of my stare, he looks up. The gaze of his gleaming green eyes locks in mine.

  Il Diavolo.

  I must meet him.

  Rushing down the marble stairway, I glide through the crowd of drunk aristocrats until I reach the mezzanine.

  Weeks have passed since our last encounter. Since then, so much has changed… Has he heard of my performance as L’Orfeo’s Eurydice? Is this the reason for his return? Foolish thoughts all of them, but they raise my spirits. I stop at the foot of the stairs to contemplate his imposing silhouette, drawn at the water gate’s entrance.

  I would call him by his Christian name, but it remains unknown to me.

  “You have returned,” I foolishly say, stating the obvious.

  As he steps into the room’s pool of light, I catch a glimpse of his pale blue silk suit embroidered in gold brocade. He carries his jacket over his shoulder. A hint of a smile appears in the corner of his smooth lips.

  “Here I am,” he says with a velvety voice, stepping closer.

  “How on earth did you know where to find me?” I cannot stop myself. Any shred of prudence within me vanishes into thin air.

  Il Diavolo sniggers. He glides his fingers through his mane of dark hair and looks away for a second. “I live here,” he says, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

  “You… live here, in Palazzo Contarini?” I muse. Dear God… He is Duke Contarini.

  “That is what I said, yes.” His expression softens. “I always host a ball at the end of the Opera season…”

  Foolish once more, Letizia. His presence here has not been designed to meet me, but to celebrate his own success.

  “I am too tired to meet my guests tonight… Shall we talk some more, perhaps in my chambers?” he asks.

  The blood rises to my cheeks. I am sure he has noticed it, even by candlelight.

  “This palazzo is full of people. There is nowhere else for us to speak without interference, you understand…” he adds. “I mean no offense. You may refuse of course, and we may meet some other time—”

  “I will go with you…” I am astounded by my forwardness, but there it is. I said it.

  “Then please, follow me,” he says, exhaustion seeps through his voice. “There’s a secret passageway that leads to my chambers, we will remain unseen. This way.”

  Il Diavolo closes the door behind him. The room is filled with the welcoming warmth of a hearth started hours ago. It is a grand parlor, decorated
with colorful frescoes. Intricate tapestries hang on the walls, tall windows frame the darkened view of the Grand Canal.

  He stands by the window. Il Diavolo’s gaze locks in the dark landscape that lies before him. The full moon looms through heavy clouds. Lightning flashes in the sky, but Il Diavolo’s stare lands on one of the towers of this grand palazzo.

  “It occurred to me during my travels that it might be time for you to step into some of my affairs…” he muses.

  “What kind of affairs?” I say, moving closer.

  “Oh, simple evening gatherings of a social nature. Usually small parties, ten to twelve people. My invitations are seldom extended, and I do not offer them lightly as you will soon discover.”

  “You want me to join you for dinner?” I ask. “Pardon me, but I do not understand—”

  “I want you to sing for them.”

  “I see…” I bite my lower lip. “You seek entertainment for your social affairs.”

  “No, Letizia,” he murmurs in a sultry tone. My name on his lips is a tantalizing sound, music that I cannot resist. “I wish to expose you to the most privileged circle of my acquaintances. You will make such connections that will propel your career beyond your expectations.

  “There is a world of delights waiting for you beyond this island. The Scuola is only the beginning.” He hints a smile, proud of himself. “Do you see what I mean?”

  I nod. My hope clings to each of his words. This man—Il Diavolo, Duke Contarini, or whatever he wishes to call himself—he has opened the doors to success for me. Only a fool would shy from such a promise.

  “Then it is all settled. Oh… You must forgive me.” He frowns. “Before you speak another word, I must congratulate you.”

  “Oh?” I stand by the door.

  “This is your first Opera with La Scuola Veneziana…” he adds, slipping into a chair by the hearth. “A wondrous achievement.”

  “You have not heard…” I muse. The thrill of revealing this part of the story to him disarms me completely. “Syneca fell sick, she lost her voice. Doctors say she might never sing again…”

  “That would mean—”

  “Yes, I have played Eurydice for the past four weeks…” The pride looming through my smile is inevitable.

  Il Diavolo rises from the seat. “Letizia,” he whispers, moving closer. His eyes glisten, mirroring the fire’s amber gleam in a thousand shades. “That is great news, indeed. I never expected your ascension in the opera scene would occur this quickly.” He pauses, smoothing his delicate fingers over his lips.

  “Non ci posso credere…” I cannot believe it, he says under his breath.

  “Bene, credici.” Well, believe it, I say with amusement. “It would be foolish of me to pretend that I have reached this position by my own merit. Had you not given me the chance to audition for Signor Giovanni—”

  “Don’t…” Il Diavolo’s hand stops mid-air, and with a slight shake of his head, he begs my silence. For reasons that elude my understanding, he seems somewhat thrown off guard by the news. I can tell he is pleased by my success, though highly disconcerted.

  “And what about Syneca Fiori?” he asks with a frown.

  “What about her?” Where is this heading? I cannot tell.

  “She cannot sing, you say… What has become of her?” He takes a step closer.

  Why is he so concerned about the prima donna? I expected a little more enthusiasm upon bestowing him the good news, but I receive this line of questioning instead.

  “We will have her back by the following season, I’m quite sure… Those doctors have not been acquainted with Syneca’s stern character.” That should bring ease to his concerns.

  “I see…” Clasping his hands behind his back, he turns to the hearth. Is he relieved by my answer? “And what about Carlo Ricci?”

  “You must forgive me… I do not follow.” What can he possibly mean?

  “I know his kind…” he whispers, his eyes fixed on the flames. “Have you betrayed her with him?”

  His concern for Syneca’s welfare is beginning to irritate me. This is not what I expected—not from him. “I thought you said she would only be a hindrance from now on...” I mutter.

  “Does that mean you have taken him as your lover?” His voice is so low that it blends with the crackling of the hearth’s charred logs.

  “And what if I have?” I finally say.

  “Have you, then?” He turns, his eyes lit with fury.

  “I have.” The words slip off my tongue. I do not know what makes me say them, but I will stick by them come what may.

  Is that a glimpse of jealousy looming in his countenance? If it is then I am glad of it.

  Il Diavolo narrows his eyes. His lips stretch into the most alluring of smirks. Tilting his head to one side, he steps close to me, close enough that his perfume fills my lungs.

  “I am the Father of All Lies, Letizia…” he whispers in my ear. His voice sends a ripple of excitement through my body. “You cannot deceive me. I know that you lie.” His fingers barely brush the back of my hand. “The question is, why would you even attempt to fool me?”

  I give no answer. With a lowered gaze, I clasp my hands over my gown. Regret beats in my heart. Why did I come here? And what is more, why have I not left this room?

  “You will not say.” He sighs. “Very well, then. I must admit, I am impressed. Carnal delights are my one weakness… Refusing Carlo Ricci must have been difficult indeed.”

  “It would have been wrong,” I say.

  “Is it your compulsive nature to act upon what is right at all times?” He stands before me. Il Diavolo seeks to read my reaction to his words… How they sting me like a thousand needles.

  “I did not refuse him out of righteousness!” I say in an outburst of anger.

  “Then why, Letizia?” he insists. “There must be a reason.”

  “I should go,” I mutter, turning to the door.

  He does not stop me. My hand closes around the handle.

  “Letizia…” he says.

  I had hoped that this would happen. He will stop me and somehow say the words I long to hear: I missed you, Letizia. You cannot love another because your heart belongs to me.

  “What is it?” I ask with feigned indifference.

  “I know what brews within the depths of your heart,” he says. “You cannot love me. I am a creature undeserving of any kind of affection. Loving me would seal your doom… Do not do it. Do not fall in love with me.”

  No words come out of my mouth. A tightness so painful strains my throat and hinders any speech. My hand clasps the door’s handle tight, hoping to conceal its trembling from him.

  Never once looking back, I say the words: “I will not.”

  As I pull the door open, a gust of cold wind envelops me. The warmth that embraced me minutes before is gone. I shut the door and lean against it.

  Shuddering, I weep in silence.

  The first beams of daylight filter through the winter sky when I reach the theater’s frontispiece. Tomorrow, la festa di Santo Stefano will mark the beginning of the carnival. The season’s first rehearsal starts within the hour.

  I scarcely mind the bitter cold that clings to my calves and feet. Sleep has not come easily to me for the past few weeks. Il Diavolo’s warning haunts me in the most unexpected moments of the day.

  I am a creature undeserving of any kind of affection, loving me would seal your doom… My mind whirls in search of an explanation, for what sins might deem a person unworthy of love or kindness? Certainly something so grave that my worst thoughts cannot fathom.

  Il Diavolo’s sullen expression upon that day follows me ever since. And perhaps that is why I am here with such anticipation, hoping to escape the image of his glistening green eyes or the pleasant shape of his mouth which so often conceals a cynical smile… Oh, how he tortures me and lures me at the same time! His company is a bitter wine that soothes my burning thirst.

  The stillness of the theater engulfs me t
he minute I step inside. I find relief and even peace as I move through the central aisle, but the feeling lasts little.

  Another presence inhabits the house.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the blurred image of a man.

  As I look up, the vision becomes clearer.

  Suspended from the stage’s beam, rigid as a wooden board, a body gently sways from side to side. The fraying rope is knotted tight around his livid neck where spots of blue and cherry red merge and spread to his face. The man’s glazed eyes fix their vacant stare on me. And through his swelling lips tinged in dark purple a swollen tongue slithers as if by a will of its own and hangs from the crooked gaping mouth.

  I hear the scream within my head. Whether the voice comes through my throat and out of my mouth, I do not know. All I know is that a shot of bile hits my palate and my body convulses to spit it out.

  “Letizia!” The voice echoes in the empty room.

  As I recover from that nauseous blow, I raise my gaze. Again, I see him, and for the first time, my lips part to utter an intelligible sound.

  “Signor Giovanni!” My knees buckle and I fall. Strong hands land on my shoulders, seeking to restrain me more than to offer any comfort.

  “Dio mio!” the man whispers.

  “Take her away from here... Immediately!” another voice speaks with urgency. The next words come as a muffled sound which I cannot decipher.

  Cold embraces me. Numbness quickly spreads from my hands to my arms, and then I hear absolutely nothing.

  Everything turns black.

  I am out.

  “Is this a habit of yours, carissima?” a voice speaks in the darkness, dragging me closer to a state of awareness.

  Gentle brown eyes appear amidst the shadows, staring at me with genuine fondness. His chiseled lips stretch in a soft smile.

  “Mm?” He sniggers. “Welcome back.”

  “Carlo… What happened?” I ask, sitting up perhaps too quickly. The room gives a quick spin and I am feeling lightheaded, but more importantly, I need to hear an answer.

  “You fainted, my dear.”

  I lie on a plush four-poster bed, dressed with thick green velvet drapes. The hearth’s crackling soothes my racing heart, and its warmth envelops me like a cozy hug reminiscent of my childhood.