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There were things she had to keep, and things she had to forget.
"Hedy Kiesler," she replied. "And you, sir?"
"My name?" The young man smiled.
His brown eyes were clear, and there was still paint on his fingers that he had not yet washed off.
"Leonardo di Piero... da Vinci."
——
The pronunciation of "da Vinci" was quite clear, and Hedy froze for a moment, clearly surprised.
Renaissance, Italy, da Vinci.
Everything connected, and no coincidence could make it just a shared name.
"You are... Mr. da Vinci?"
She instinctively looked at the young man again, wanting to ask something, but the tangled Latin words swirled in her mind, making it hard to form coherent sentences.
Hedy knew many things about him.
The genius painter, best known for Mona Lisa, and also an inventor, just like herself.
But many memories mixed with the man in front of her seemed to not quite match up.
The young man looked somewhat disheveled and casual, and the room was messy, with no apparent help to keep it tidy.
"You may have heard of my name," da Vinci said with a slightly helpless smile. "Believe me, it’s not what you think."
The incident from last year had stirred up quite a bit of trouble, almost becoming one of his personal stains.
"Let’s eat," he made the sign of the cross. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come..."
Hedy paused for a moment, lowering her head and making the same gesture without exposing any flaw.
She was a pure Jew.
Judaism and Catholicism had never been on good terms, but even during the Second World War, she had kept her background quiet, even from her two children who knew nothing about it.
—She could even recite many passages from the New Testament, and her actions and clothing had always reflected a deliberate difference.
To survive, people could let go of many things.
The two of them had a simple lunch and then took a tour of the small workshop.
Florence had several long streets filled with workshops, mixing textile, milling, painting, and other industries. The city was busy and noisy, but the people were generally friendly.
As Leonardo explained the areas she shouldn't touch in the workshop, he showed her a small storage room for her to rest in.
He had only been independent from his master's workshop for a year, and his finances were not exactly abundant. The house he rented was not large.
In the yard, long strips of pasta were drying, a gift from the friendly old woman next door.
The studio was filled with things, including two pieces of black bread that had evidently been left untouched for so long that they were now being used as rough painting rags.
His bedroom was simple and modest, with a few books placed nearby.
