Page 26 of Just for a Taste

No doubt hearing the confusion in my tone, he sighed. “I don’t care what it is you’re reading—I carewhy. This library existed before you came. It will after you leave. So tell me, why do you stay in that section?”

I gulped audibly. As cloistered as my world was, the notion of someone gazing upon it was as exhilarating as it was horrifying. Under normal circumstances, I would have changed the topic. But right now, beneath such a massive sky, it didn’t feel like there was reason to.

“I think classic literature is really special because it’s lasted so long, you know? So many people have died, but these stories are still read because something about them exemplifies humanity.”

I wished desperately now that I was sitting beside Duca de’ Medici, so that I could look over and gauge his reaction to see if he thought I was foolish, or pretentious, or talking out of my ass. Maybe it was better this way.

I took a breath and continued, “What’s changed about people over the centuries is interesting and all, but I think what’s stayed the same is the most beautiful part. No matter how many times I read theAeneid, it feels like the first time. Every time I read it, I cry harder and dread the ending more.”

Duca de’ Medici said something indistinguishable beneath the dulcet warble of the surrounding crickets.

“What?”

He repeated himself, just a hair louder. “Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt.”

Book one, line 462 of theAeneid, a line practically tattooed beneath my skull. A line with no direct translation due to its dual meanings, where a translator had to choose one over the other, and, in my mind, the most beautiful line of poetry to ever exist, written by a dead person in a dead language about a dead city. All to express the abstract entanglement of mortality and reality from the perspective of both man and the world he inhabited.

I had to restrain myself to not shout with excitement. I suppressed my tone to a whisper. “Sunt lacrimae rerum. You know, I learned Latin for that line.”

Though Duca de’ Medici spoke rather than whispered, his voice was softer than my own. “I wish I could say the same.”

I sank into the quiet, allowed it to linger for a time, then finally said, “You know, you never answered me about why you chose that song for tonight.”

Now the silence felt different. Guarded. “Why do you want to know? Is my answer itself insufficient?”

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the exact phrasing he had used. “I don’t care what it is you chose, I care why.”

Duca de’ Medici laughed loud enough that a nearby nightingale fluttered away. “Ha! Using my words against me? You really are an amusing one, Signorina Bowling.”

I puffed out my cheeks. “Well? What’s the reason?”

Another chuckle, but gentler now. “I don’t know. I don’t have a reason. I could pretend to, but it just makes sense.”

It didn’t seem like he was lying, but a small shred of me still wondered. “Really?”

“I wish I did, signorina, but I do not. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me nonetheless.”

My face went hot. “Um, yeah, of course. I mean, I am yourbeniamina, after all. It’s the least I can do.”

Suddenly, Duca de’ Medici sat up. I noticed how the back of his shirt clung tightly to his skin with moisture, and how the moonlight glistened across the fine dew clinging to the white hairs of his arms. I did not, however, see his face.

“Yes,” he stated plainly. “You are. Let’s return to the abbey.”

As he quickened his pace on the way back, I attempted to initiate idle conversation. “That tea was really good. It uh, wasn’t very sweet, though. You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose.” While curt, his response didn’t seem as though he was upset. Rather, he seemed in a trance.

Just in case I was wrong, I tried again: “I painted a picture of Leonore, actually. I’m not sure I got her eye color right.”

“You’ll have to show me some other time.”

Once again, a polite termination. I decided not to make a fool of myself and keep trying, so we walked back in near silence. The only words beyond that point were a mutual,good night,followed by him quickly departing.

I settled in my room, my stomach flipping. Most nights, I would read before bed, but I hadn’t checked out another book yet. That didn’t matter, though, as I was too busy replaying our conversation to uncover where I went wrong, a task that continued until the moment I fell asleep.

Chapter 13: Crescendo

Isquinted my eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. It seemed like the text before me had grown smaller, closer, and lighter with every page, and now the letters were battling and overlapping.

---