Page 9 of What Dreams May Come
“I have indeed. Everyone in Verona talks about them. The players could hardly wait to acquaint me with their locallovers legend.”
“For the price of this gold coin, I would have you write them a sonnet that sings the praises of their love stretching from the first flush, through the botched circumstances in the tomb, and the happiness they’ve found together in the long years since.” Such a poem would be a loving gift to the parents who had supported me through all my previous travails and those that loomedon my horizon.
“That’s not a sonnet,” Guglielmo objected. “That’s a play!”
“Two gold coins?” I offered, grabbing a second coin from my stash and wiggling both at him.
He tried to snatch the coinsout of my hand.
I was too fast for him; the second coin went up my sleeve and into the leather holster there. “One now, one when you deliver the play, or sonnet, or whatever you decide to do. It matters not to me, only that you also destroy all copies of the poem for Lady Rosalineand Lysander.”
“It’s in my head.”
I wanted to point out his head could be detached from his shoulders, but such an action was beyond my abilities and indeed my resolve, and if I did work myself up to such a heinous act, the consequences would be even worse than those I was attempting to prevent. “Forget every line.”
“I know it’s stupid to admit, at least while you’re holding that knife, but I cannot.” He tapped his rather dominant forehead. “I’m a player as well as a playwright, and I’ll remember the sonnet always. But aspart of our covenant, I will swear to you the sonnet will never be spoken, recited or performed until I return across the sea, and even then, I’ll change the names. Additionally”—his eyes gleamed with greed—“I agree to your terms and will write a sonnet for Romeo and Juliet.”
“Done!” I sheathed the dagger and handed him the gold coin. “Now finish the play with the previous ending and everyoneis satisfied.”
Guglielmo hissed at the stage, made a series of gestures that meant nothing to me and earned him a glare from the lead player. I saw the play end, and applauded as vigorously as anyone standing in the audience.
As I prepared to leave, Guglielmo approached me. “One more thing, young man. In the theater, the female characters are played by youths like you. Should you ever wish to tread the boards, you’d make a charming...girl.”
Oof. That struck close to home and was a clear warning to me that my disguise was not impenetrable. “My thanks to you, Guglielmo.” My mouth twitched downward. “If I fail in this night’s challenges, I may be forced to take you upon your offer.”
Taking my hand, he bowed over it. “The story of your parents told as is would be a charming romance, but I believe it will have more impact toldas a tragedy.”
With what I knew of the circumstances, I didn’t doubt it. “Their tendency toward drama very nearly turned a love affair into a tragedy, so do as you think best, but I paid for a sonnet to give them as a gift and that I wouldhave in hand.”
He promised it before Sunday next, and I hastily exited the theater and plunged into the crowd. Bakers hawked small, fat loaves of bread, and sausage makers grilled meats which they presented on sticks to hungry theatergoers. Tavern owners sold wines and ciders by the jug.
As the scents wafted around me, myknees wobbled.
I hadn’t eaten for hours, and not long ago, I’d been badly hurt. Indeed, for many weeks, I had hovered close to death. My body reminded me that it cared not about my crushed spirit or the unhappy end to my love for Lysander. The scents of the food carts tempted me beyond my feeble powers of resistance. I bought a sausage and a roll from makers I trusted and consumed them in greedy bites that should have convinced any onlooker that I was, indeed, a youth, and one who liked hismazzafegato. I ordered wine and, as Katherina and Princess Isabella had said, the goodwife watered it and sneered when I complained.
It wasn’t until I licked my fingers and started toward the lofty, thin, brightly lit bordello at the edge of the square that I realized...I hadn’t told Guglielmo that Romeo and Juliet were my parents. Somehow heknew.
Just as Madame Culatello knew Katherina and Isabella were girls, Guglielmo, who wrote and worked in the theater where illusion walked hand in hand with entertainment, had recognized something in my tone that told him the truth, and if he could do it, so could others.
Wisely, I took it as a warning and a need for haste. I needed to get to La Gnocca, retrieve Isabella’s ring, and get home before my world collapsed around me, and my family, my reputation and mypride with it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Before I could lift the heavy ironpizzleon the door (the knocker was aptly shaped) and slam it into the waiting irongnoccawhich gave the house its name, Madame Culatello opened and said, “Greetings, Rosie!”
The second person to easily penetrate my camouflage! I stopped on the doorstep and asked in chagrin, “How did you know it was me?”
Madame Culatello guffawed. “Those eyebrows, my dear. Satan’s eyebrows!”
“Ah.” I had inherited my father’s eyebrows, which rose almost without curve toward my hairline. No wonder Guglielmo had recognized me. How many others on the square had suspected and speculated about my connection tothe Montagues?
I experienced a moment of petulance; could I not get awaywithanything?
Madame Culatellogestured me in.
I entered to lights and scents, soft calls of welcome from the workers and fond embraces offered by women whose skin colors matched all the peoples north and south. There was laughter at my outfit and teasing about my snobbishness. “Rosie, it’s been too long since you’ve visited us,” they said. “We thought you didn’t love us anymore!”
Not true, of course; I hadn’t visited La Gnocca since my own first dressed-as-a-youth foray into Verona’s night streets, but I saw the women in the daylight hours when they shopped in the market or called on Friar Laurence’s apothecary shop and we always greeted each other fondly.
