The Colour of Heaven (8 page)

‘I’ll show you every beam, bitt, and bunker,’ he laughed and recounted travellers’ tales of what such adventure might mean: of earthquakes forty cubits high, of whales nine hundred feet long, and of eels which, he had heard, could choke a man even after they had been eaten, writhing and twisting their way inside the throat of their victims. People had returned from the east with stories of giants with teeth a hundred times the size of a man’s; of cannibals and pigmies, sorcerers and soothsayers; of vast oceans, and mountains that touched the sky; of winds that could make a man fly, and of rains that could wash away whole towns.

On the rowing deck the oarsmen were already lining up on the benches. The air was damp with sweat, and there was little room to move or breathe. Paolo thought himself to be an intruder in a dark and secret world of men, violence, and adventure.

‘Now,’ said Simone, once they had returned to the upper deck, ‘we must part. Take my purse.’ He handed Paolo a leather wallet. ‘It contains ten florins. Remember what I have taught you. Travel boldly and without fear. Find me the colour of eternity.’

‘I cannot believe that I have agreed to this,’ Paolo replied.

‘Have courage. Who will have lived a life as interesting as yours? Think what a hero you will be on your return.’

‘If I do return.’

‘Of course you will.’

Simone did not quite know how to say goodbye and gave Paolo a playful punch on the shoulder which hurt far more than his pupil admitted. ‘I will wave to you as the ship departs; perhaps you will not see it, but believe me, I will salute you.’

‘Then I will look for your salutation.’

‘Farewell.’

Simone leaned forward and attempted a paternal hug. Then there was a bell, a hauling at the anchor cable, and a sharp cry. All at once the men below began to row, chanting as they did so, pulling away with the tide, leaving all that was light. The figures on the shore were blurred and indistinct, and Paolo looked out into the path of the sea ahead. He felt the waters becoming thicker underneath as the ship struggled to make headway through treacherous channels. Out to the north lay a stretch of sandbanks, bleached gold by the evening sun, standing proud against the wash of the sea. He tried to look back to the city once more, in order to remember what they were leaving, holding it in his head, but it was already too late. He could not see Simone at all. Everything had become faint.

He made his way down onto the lower deck and asked Stefano if he should not try to find Jacopo.

‘The old Jew? Let me take you to him.’

When he found his patron at last Paolo noticed that Jacopo had pushed back his sleeves and strapped one length of leather containing a prayer box to his left arm and another around his head. He stood with his feet together, hands folded over his heart, facing Jerusalem. As he spoke the words of the Amidah he bowed four times.

He prayed without acknowledging Paolo’s presence.

‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters – these saw the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep; for he commanded, and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves thereof
.

‘They mounted up to heaven, they went down to the deeps; their souls melted away because of trouble; they reeled to and fro, and staggered like a drunken man, and all their wisdom was swallowed up – they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distresses. He made the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof were still. Then were they glad because they were quiet, and he led them unto their desired haven. Let them give thanks unto the Lord for his mercy, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
’

When he had finished, Jacopo turned to face Paolo. ‘Sit down where you can and eat with me. I have challah.’ His voice softened. ‘Marinated herring. Even some kichlach biscuits.’

‘What are they?’

‘Ah.’ Jacopo smiled. ‘I see that I have much to teach you.’

He took off his prayer shawl, washed his hands from a jug, dried them on a towel, and then sprinkled salt over the bread.

‘I cannot imagine the length of the journey,’ said Paolo.

‘You must have faith.
The fear of man brings a snare; but whoever puts his trust in the Lord shall be safe
.’

‘The Book of Proverbs.’

‘You know the passage?’ Jacopo was both curious and amused. ‘Of course; you believe in
that man
.’

‘As my mother has told me.’

‘The man who promised heaven within a generation.’

‘I believe so.’

‘But where is it? I cannot see it.’

‘I have been taught that it is not for this earth.’

Jacopo smiled as if Paolo had fallen into his trap. ‘But he told his followers –
Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass, till all these things be fulfilled
. How can he have been the Messiah, if we are still waiting for such deliverance?
And they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds
.’

‘You have read this?’ asked Paolo.

‘And I have found it wanting. His promise has already failed.’

‘Then, as my mother believes, we must trust and love.’

Jacopo laughed. ‘I do not want to insult your mother, but I do not see much trust and love from those of your faith. You preach poverty but covet wealth; you speak of forgiveness but your behaviour is otherwise. You say that we Jews are rapacious but you come to us for loans; you study with us but declare the Talmud to be blasphemous; and then, if that is not enough, we are persecuted …’

‘I have not seen this …’ said Paolo.

‘If a Jew is bountiful then he is seeking to corrupt; if he is cautious then he is considered miserly. If he is proud then he is too proud; but if he is humble then he is too humble. Even if he is baptised into your faith he is still considered a Jew.’

‘And yet Christ was a Jew.’

‘He was,’ said Jacopo. ‘Perhaps you can remind the Christians we meet on our journey of that truth.’

Just before nightfall Paolo climbed back up to the main deck and then onto the beakhead under the foremast. He watched the sky shade into dusk, filling both sea and horizon with the deepest and darkest of blues. He tried to understand what it was like to live without sight of landfall, alone in the vast expanse of ocean.

And, as he looked out into the night, he realised that his world had expanded far, far away from his own small life, wider than he had ever expected, out into an immensity.

The ship was swift under sail and made good progress towards Ragusa on the Dalmatian coast. Paolo soon learned to adjust to the crowded conditions, the stench of men and animals, and the meagre food; but the contrast between the darkness below decks and the brightness above hurt his eyes. He longed for a fixed sense of place where he could choose between light and shadow; for the freedom to travel in another direction; for solitude. He realised that the only way in which he could survive would be to be as discreet as possible and to make himself as familiar with the ship as if he were blind, memorising dimension and direction, learning the routine rhythms of work, sail, food, labour, and rest.

His first duty was to unload provisions as Jacopo sold wine and bought silver. He was to keep a record of every transaction and check their goods each day, inspecting cloth for damage and food for decay, re-stoppering bottles of oil and securing flagons of wine.

As they travelled Jacopo began to feel strangely responsible for his charge, worrying if he was wearing sufficient clothing or if he might become chilled. He was watchful of their diet, suggesting that Paolo eat not meat but fish cooked in wine according to his wife Sofia’s recipe. He should also take as much fruit as possible in order to keep his kidneys healthy and his water clear. By the time they reached Candia, Jacopo had become almost paternal, telling his companion to avoid all temptation from the women of the town because a bite from a Cretan woman’s teeth could be as fatal as the pox from her favours.

Paolo had not yet seen any women to be tempted by and, because of his eyesight, had difficulty in looking at them at all. If he wanted to see a girl properly he had to stand so close that the object of his intended affection would immediately wonder what he was doing, suspecting him either of lechery or theft. The only chance of an encounter lay in the crowded markets of the ports and islands where women stopped to gather provisions. There he would seek out moments of beauty – the fall of hair, a perfect mouth, or the curve of a breast. Yet such times came so fleetingly, and the women seemed so remote, that Paolo doubted that he would ever know the delights of flesh against flesh. Nevertheless, Jacopo insisted that he remain vigilant. A man should do everything possible to avoid temptation and desire.

When asked how the terrors of lust might be avoided, Jacopo advised that the best course of action would be to cease shaving immediately and grow a beard, since, in his experience, the most lustful men were always clean shaven.

‘A beard,’ he told Paolo, ‘is a mark of wisdom and maturity.’

Paolo replied that his skin was so pale and his hair so fair that he wondered if anyone would ever notice if he had a beard or not, but Jacopo was adamant that he make the attempt.

It was slow progress.

Each day Paolo touched his face to check that the beard was growing. He scratched the stubble so often that it began to look like a nervous gesture. He would peer down his nose to see the burgeoning hairs on his upper lip. The spikes were sharp blond, pale brown, even auburn. It was as if the beard were not his own and that a separate creature had taken possession of his face.

‘I do not like it,’ he told Jacopo, but his guardian insisted he continue, arguing that a beard not only conveyed wisdom and learning, but also gave character to a man’s profile. It compensated for any loss of hair on the scalp, for the chin and the cheeks possessed far more vigorous follicles. It was also economical, saving money in the acquiring of knives and time spent shaving; and, most importantly, it would not only protect the face from the heat of the desert, but also avoid giving offence in the land of Mohammed.

Jacopo was quite obsessed with the subject. Male lizards, he told Paolo, grew beards in courtship displays; Noah and Methuselah must both have had beards that were over nine hundred years old; and the female Christian saints, Paula and Uncumber, had both escaped being ravished by spontaneously growing miraculous moustaches.

By the time they reached Constantinople, Paolo’s beard was in positive sprout and he had almost begun to enjoy the adventure. He had never seen such a majestic array of buildings: the city laid out in splendour across the waterfront, its mosques and minarets glistening in the evening light as if created by a single wave of God’s hand.

Once they had disembarked the two men found themselves in a maze of narrow streets filled with strolling musicians, itinerant jugglers, sudden crowds, and intense heat. There were pickle sellers, spice merchants, halvamakers, and children hawking cherries and pistachios. There were barbers, bakers, butchers, and babies; prophets and priests, hajjis and hojas, judges and jewellers. Gem cutters and glyptographers worked turquoise from Anatolia, amber from the Baltic, agate and amethyst from beyond the seas. Jacopo stopped at each stall, measuring each of the stones, weighing and judging, pressing them to the side of his cheek to feel their temperature, continually assessing the validity of each sample on offer.

Constantinople, he told Paolo, was a place of glory and of crime, where the best and the worst in human nature combined: the holiest men meditated amongst criminals; the most saintly women were forced to walk past murderers and whores. Paolo looked at the women who stood in the streets with their breasts exposed and wondered how much it might cost to touch them. It was hard for him to discern either their age or beauty, and every time they came close, Jacopo ushered them quickly away in disgust.

He warned Paolo that this was a city of heat, noise, and strangeness, so loud, so crowded, and so confused that none could trust their sight or hearing, such was the nature of its blast and din. If the trumpet announcing the Day of Judgment were sounded he swore that it would pass unnoticed.

Nothing was permanent, as if the city could never be stilled. Each person travelled for fear they might miss the end of the world, the solution to misery, or the key to happiness. They were looking for miracles, journeying in desperation to find somewhere, anywhere, other than where they were. Stalls and benches were laid out to soothe fears and answer any question a man or woman might choose to ask: ‘How long will I live?’ ‘Will I stay healthy?’ ‘How will I die?’ Others were more specific. ‘Shall I buy a farm?’ ‘Should I marry my cousin?’ ‘Am I the father of my wife’s child?’ There were fortune-tellers, palm-readers, and soothsayers all seeing into the future by different means: by contemplation, trance, or divine inspiration; by holding a piece of clothing or jewellery; by feeling muscles, drawing lots, turning cards; or by the simple observation of a flight of doves.

Hour after hour people gave up their secrets and then listened as their personalities were revealed and confirmed: their weaknesses, hopes, and fears; their loves and losses, dreams and disasters. Charlatan after charlatan confirmed that although their clients could be outwardly confident they could be as vulnerable as children; that women were dissatisfied with their hair and men feared losing theirs; that some had been afraid of dogs as children, some needed to live near water, and others had a scar on their left knee. Christians were told that a woman called Maria had been, or would one day be, important to them. Jews were informed that a distant relative, David probably, was often in their thoughts. And it was confirmed to Mahometans that the Prophet was ever watchful.

As they ate sweets of halva and fried dough, marzipan and sugar, Paolo asked if he too could find out about his future, and even his past. Would he ever meet his true mother or father? Would he find the blue stone? Would he ever know love?

‘It is not good to know of the future,’ Jacopo answered. ‘It is for God alone.’

‘But what of the past? What if I do not understand that?’

‘You have a lifetime to discover your own past,’ Jacopo replied.

‘But I want to know now.’

Jacopo looked worried. ‘You know these men are charlatans.’

‘Then why do people go?’

‘Like you, they need hope.’

‘Then give me hope.’

At last Jacopo relented, telling Paolo that he would pay for a consultation with a Latin-speaking soothsayer if only to teach his charge how fraudulent the world could be. He gave Paolo three ducats and they approached a tent that seemed to glow like gold.

‘Consult your destiny,’ he advised.

Inside, just behind a table, sat a man with a narrow face and a beard that was almost blue. He was dressed in a bright-yellow hooded cape. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be in a trance. The man lowered his head towards a small crucible in front of him, and inhaled a substance that looked remarkably like black pepper. He then sat back, stretching his arms out wide, and emitted the longest and loudest sneeze Paolo had ever heard.

‘
Veni
,’ said the man.

He brought out two further crucibles and explained, in Latin, that he could tell much of a man’s future simply by measuring the direction and duration of the human sneeze. It would cost Paolo five ducats. This might seem expensive, but he would be able to tell in which direction his guest must travel in order to fulfil his destiny, and for how long. He could even, in certain circumstances, predict the duration of the journey and when a man might be expected to return home.

‘I only have three ducats.’

‘Very well. Give me what you can.’

Paolo paid the money and stood before the crucibles. The man in the yellow gown brought forth what looked like a compass, and encouraged Paolo to begin.

The first crucible was thick with the scent of paprika. Paolo inhaled, and then turned to his right, sneezing away from the table three times.

‘South,’ shouted the man.

He brought the second crucible to Paolo and invited him to sniff once more. This was pepper.

Paolo inhaled, and his whole body convulsed. His eyes began to stream with the heat and the powder. He felt an enormous sneeze welling inside him until it could be contained no more.

The resulting sensile explosion was so strong that it lifted him in the air, twisting his body round upon itself.

Paolo sneezed five times.

‘East,’ instructed the man. ‘Five months.’

‘No more,’ cried his patient.

‘One more,’ instructed the sorcerer. ‘It is your destiny.’

Paolo looked at the bowl of yellow powder before him. Could it be cumin? He inhaled as lightly as he could, and then began to sneeze again; his body shuddered, and he found himself back in the position in which he had first entered the room.

The man held out a hot towel. ‘Blow,’ he ordered. ‘Clear yourself.’

Paolo obeyed. His eyes burned with pain and heat.

‘Now rest,’ ordered the sorcerer. ‘Sit in this chair, and close your eyes.’ Paolo felt his eyes cool, as the man laid what appeared to be cucumber across them.

‘It will be a long journey,’ the sorcerer began; ‘and it will have dangers. Much heat. You will be very hot. Perhaps at one point you will think that you are dying.’

‘You can tell all this from the way in which I sneeze?’

‘No. That is destiny. But I advise you to travel south at first, with whatever friends you have. Do not be alone. Then you must, and you will, travel east. Far, far east. For many months.’

‘Five months …’ Paulo ventured.

‘Probably. The sneezes seldom lie …’

‘And then?’

‘You finished sneezing in the same position. This means that you will return home. And you will see more clearly …’