The Glassblower of Murano (31 page)

Concerned nuns and a doctor in blue scrubs collected at
her stirupped feet. Monitoring belts bound her heaving
belly. A machine chattered at her side with a needle spiking
over reams of graph paper in improbable peaks. The pain
darkened her eyes and she called again for Alessandro, as
she had done at every labouring of her body. At last, miraculously, he answered. Not as an ephemeral pain-filled daydream - for she had relived their time together to get her
through this - but as a strong presence, here by her bed,
his firm dry hand holding her damp one tight. She clasped
his fingers, hard enough to bruise bone. The fog cleared
and she saw him clearly then, raining kisses on her hand and forehead. He held something in his hand - a book.
He whispered something in her ear - through the thrum
of blood in her head as she pushed again, she heard:

`He came back! Corradino came back!'

The pain abated. She knew its dark ways now - there
was time enough for her to say what she had to before it
came again.

`I don't care. Don't leave me.'

She heard him say, `never again,' before the pain made
her insensible. She was not aware that, as she laboured, he
slipped onto her third finger a ring with a ruby red as the
banked fires of a furnace. He had been carrying the little
box around with him all day - he had meant to propose
at the Carnevale, and that had been the reason for his
excitement of last night. This was not as he had planned
it. This way she knew nothing of the question that had
been asked of her. He could have waited for tomorrow,
for hearts and flowers, and the bending of one knee. But
he wanted her to have the ring now.

In case tomorrow was too late.

Leonora was still. Alessandro, his eyes still wet, still held
her hand. The hand that wore his ring. Her suffering was
over.

And the prize? He slept too, in a clear plastic box next
to the bed. A small, perfect bundle with a face crumpled
from his ordeal, but to Alessandro the most beautiful thing
in the world beside Leonora. He would battle tigers for
him. His son. He should be in a casket of gold, not this
incongruous tupperware.

Alessandro had been there just in time for the birth. The
events of last night were as a dream to him - returning
in triumph to an empty house, fearing that Leonora had
gone away, then spying the winking red light of the answer
phone. The message from the hospital. The mad dash to
get here, fearing he knew not what.

She stirred. Her eyes opened and the bloom returned to
her cheeks, Spring no more, but full blown Summer, rich, abundant and with a healthy son. He thanked God for the
first time since he was a child.

He kissed her gently as she smiled, and the baby, as if
sensing his mother's wakefulness, woke too. They smiled
at each other as the boy opened his eyes, their dynamic
for ever changed from two to three. A triangle now.
Alessandro tenderly picked up his son and held him to his
chest. Tiny, heavy and real. He moved to the door.

`Where are you going?' A new mother's anxiety.

`My son and I are going for a walk,' his heart thrilled
at the words. `You should rest. But before you do, read
that.' He nodded to the vellum notebook where it lay on
the coverlet.

`On the final page is a letter for you.'

`For me?' But Alessandro had left the room with their
son. Their son. She barely had the patience to read, so
cocooned was she in her new happiness. But her name on
the parchment caught her eye.

Leonora mia,

I will not see you again. Mid-way through the journey of my
life, I took the wrong path, the right way being lost. I have sinned
against the State, and now I must be punished. Moreover, two
line men, Giacomo del Piero and Jacques Chauvire, died because
of what I did. But I want you to think kindly of me if you can.
Do you remember when I came to see you last, and we said
farewell, and I gave you your heart of glass? I went to France
and gave away the secrets of that glass. But now I will make amends. Now I am coming back home, to Venice, so you will be
safe and the glass will be safe. And you will be safe, I have been
promised. I will walk back through Venice once more, and leave
this book for you. By the time I reach the other side of the city,
I know they will find me and finish me. Keep your glass heart
close, and think of me. I want you to think of the way we touched
our hands together that last day, do you remember? Our special
way? Every finger and the thumb? If you should read this,
remember that Leonora, remember me that way, on that day. And
Leonora, my own Leonora, remember how much your father loved
you, loves you still.

Tears dropped on the coverlet and soaked the hospital
gown they had given her, when they had taken Spring's
raiment away. She cried at last for Corradino, but also for
Giacomo, for her mother, for her father and for Stephen.
They were her past. But by the time her future came back
into the room, she was smiling and ready to hold her son.
The notebook was tucked away, tidied carefully onto the
night stand, ready to return home to the Pieta and the
kindly sacristan who had understood why Alessandro
needed to take it away.

PadreTommaso climbed the stair to the girls tiring chamber,
expecting to find the bride-to-be surrounded by her contemporaries, all twittering over her dress and hair. Instead,
his heart failed him as he beheld the girl that had become
as a daughter to him, the girl that had been like his own
since the defection of her father, the girl that had been
the delight of his old age. She was alone, kneeling in the
sun of the dorter window, her bright head bent.

She was at prayer.

He knew as he watched that the trinket she held at her
throat as she prayed was no cross but the heart of glass
that her father had given her the day before he had disappeared for ever.Then Corradino was in her thoughts today.
It was natural, he supposed, that an orphan should think
of her dead parents on her wedding day. It made it easier to tell her what he had to. He waited with his head bowed
while she finished her intercessions and chose his words.

She smiled up at him. `Padre? Are they ready for me?'

`Yes, child. But before we go, may I speak with you a
little?'

A slight frown crossed her perfect features and then
cleared. `Of course.'

The Padre lowered himself slowly onto a faldstool, as his
bones were no longer young. He gazed at this peerless
beauty and tried to remember her as Corradino would
have seen her last - without the silver brocade gown, the
ringleted hair set with moonstones, and all the trappings
of a woman who was shortly to marry into one of the
most powerful families in Northern Italy. `Leonora, are you
happy in this match? Is Signor Visconti-Manin truly the
choice of your heart?Your head is not turned by his riches?
I know his gold must be tempting to one orphaned such
as yourself ...'

`No, Padre,' Leonora interrupted with a rush, `I truly love
him. His riches mean nothing to me. Do not forget that
when he first came to Venice he was merely a younger
son, and he came as a student of history, anxious to find
the Venetian branch of his family. Only now after the death
of his brother and father, has he assumed the riches that
were never his before. I love him - I loved him long before
his inheritance. He is kind and good and loving. He wishes
to settle here in Venice and bring up his children in the
Martin name. I hope ... you will still be my confessor.'

`Cara mia, of course I will. These old eyes would miss
you too much, else.' The priest sighed and smiled, his mind
at rest. Corradino would be glad that his daughter was to
be happily matched. Now he must come to the burden
of his visit. `Leonora, do you remember your father?'

'Of course I remember him. Very fondly, for all that he
left me never to return.' She clasped the glass heart. 'He
gave me this, and I have worn it always as he said. Why
do you speak of him now? No man ever heard from him
again.

Padre Tommaso clasped his hands. `That is not entirely
true. He returned here, just once, and gave me something
for you.'

The girl stood, straight as a willow wand, her green eyes
wide. 'He came back? When? Is he still alive?'

'Leonora. No. This was many years ago, you were still a
child. Only now that you are a woman, might you be able
to understand.'

'Understand what? What did he leave for me?'

'He left enough gold for your education, and a handsome dowry. And ... this.' The gnarled old hand proffered
the vellum notebook. 'Your father was a genius. But he
was not without sin. Great sin. Read this, and form your
own mind. But do not neglect to read the final pages. I
will leave you for a moment.

Padre Tommaso retired into the next chamber, and once
there he prayed too. Leonora took so long that he was
afraid for the patience of the congregation downstairs in the church. He was also afraid he had taken the wrong
course in showing her the book. But at last the door
opened and she came out. Tears had turned her eyes to
glass.

`My child!' The Padre was distraught. `I was wrong to
have shown you.'

Leonora fell into his arms and clasped his frail body
tightly. `Oh, no, Father, no.You were right. Don't you see?
Now I can forgive him.'

As Padre Tommaso led Leonora Manin down the aisle of
Santa Maria della Pieta, the place that had been her home
for one and twenty years, the orphaned girls sang with
especial beauty. It seemed to the priest that today they
attained divinity in their music, but perhaps it was the
more earthly longing - that they too might one day make
a match like this - that gave wings to their song. Lorenzo
Visconti-Manin stood at the altar in magnificent cloth of
gold, and Padre Tommaso felt a misgiving at the man's
grandeur until the groom turned to see his bride and his
eyes were also wet with tears. As the priest surrendered
Leonora to her husband, the couple did not join hands as
was customary. With a shared smile and in a practised ritual
that Padre Tommaso did not understand, they reached out
their right hands and, starlike, placed fingertip to fingertip,
thumb to thumb.

When Salvatore Navarro went to the Cantina Do Mori
to receive a commission, and the voice of the one that
greeted him was French and not Venetian, he was not
surprised. Only very, very frightened. He was not surprised
because They had warned him that this may come to pass.
All he could think of was Corradino Manin's body, falling
forward into the chilled waters of the canal, a glass blade
in his back and his robes darkening as they accepted the
water and dragged him down to Hell. Salvatore left at
once, without even listening to the Frenchman's proposals.
He knocked over a table in his haste to be away, as if every
instant he spent in the man's company implicated him
further as a traitor.

Salvatore gulped the twilight air and raced down the
Calle del Mori to the canalside. He waited, dreading
following footsteps until with relief he heard the familiar
mournful cry; `gondola gondola gondola,' and hailed the gondolier. It was not until he had settled back into the
velvet cushions, and directed the boatman to the Doge's
palace, that he began to shake.

Still inside the Do Mori, Duparcmieur shrugged and took
another leisurely sip of his wine. Salvatore could not be
persuaded, and Duparcmieur had lost Corradino in a spectacular fashion, but someone soon would be persuaded by
the King's gold. He glanced at his goblet and calculated
- yes - he had time to finish his wine and still be safely
away before Salvatore denounced him to The Ten, and
they came looking. He drank deeply. Really, the wine was
excellent here.

The birth had been difficult, so the hospital kept Leonora
for another day. Never an easy patient, she was anxious to
go home and was delighted to be discharged. The three of
them took a boat from the hospital as she was still feeling
weak, and she looked at the palaces and bridges and gloried
in the city. With an open heart she loved Venice again and
the city loved her back. She belonged. She had done something as fundamental as giving birth here. She had given La
Scrc►rissinia another son. And as for Corradino - he was
forgiven by her and the city too. Carnevale was here, winter
was gone. She longed to see her flat again. Better still was
the clutter that greeted her as she opened the door - all of
Alessandro's things were stacked in the hall. He had moved
in overnight. She caught sight of the ruby on her hand as
she opened the door and thought of the moment of quiet
in the hospital yesterday when he had asked her properly
and she had said yes. Alessandro followed her up the stairs with their precious cargo in a carry-cradle which he placed
tenderly beside her bed. Their bed. The Madonna of the
Sacred Heart smiled benignly down on the three of them
from her frame. The heart she held glowed in her hands
and Leonora understood her at last. The heart was the
Virgin's Son.

In the crazy first weeks of constant feeding and broken
sleep Alessandro was home on paternity leave, so he was
there when they received an unexpected visitor. Adelino
crept quietly into the flat behind a barrage of flowers,
kissed mother and father on both cheeks and waggled his
fingers at the son. The baby was lying on a sheepskin in
the living room, captivated as his mother and grandmother
had been by the reflected crystal filigree of the water
shimmering on the ceiling. He captured one of Adelino's
gnarled digits and seemed happy to hold on.

`He is very strong,' Adelino pronounced, `very good for
his future profession' Adelino ballooned his cheeks as if
blowing a parison, and popped them to amuse the child.
He sat on the proffered chair which Alessandro politely
vacated to perch on the bed. `Now; I bring two gifts,' said
the old man, `one for the mother and one for the son. The
father I have brought nothing for, but it seems he has
everything he wants already. Now, ladies first.' He produced
a folded newspaper from his pocket and handed it to
Leonora. She received it with the shock of memory which
reminded her of darker times.