failed you? I wonder. You are ready to sing this solo!”
Tonio didn’t answer. He was too surprised, because he could not remember Guido ever calling him by name before. And he was unprepared for the fact that he cared so much that Guido had done so.
He insisted again that he couldn’t sing. He tried to dispel the atmosphere of San Marco. Alessandro was right beside him, and Alessandro said, “I never believed it!”
When the day drew to a close, he was exhausted. Guido had said no more about the solo, but he had given him several pieces of Christmas music to sing, and for all he knew the solo was one of these. His voice was ugly and unwieldy to him.
And as he climbed the stairs to his room, he was discouraged and anxious. He didn’t want to see Domenico, but there was a thin band of flickering light beneath the door, and Domenico was dressed and ready as though going out for the evening.
“I’m tired,” Tonio said and he turned his back to make this even clearer. Often he and Domenico coupled quickly before Domenico left for some engagement. And he could not do it tonight, the very thought of it oppressed him.
He stared at his hands. This black uniform was already too short; he deliberately avoided his reflection in the nearby mirror.
“But I’ve made very special arrangements for tonight,” Domenico said. “Don’t you remember? I told you.”
There was a slightly timorous quality to Domenico’s voice. Tonio turned to see him better by the light of the one candle. He was splendidly decked out. His slender frame supported clothing with all the grace of those figures in French fashion engravings. And for the first time, Tonio realized they were eye to eye though Domenico was two years older than he. If he didn’t get rid of him, he would lose his mind.
“I’m tired, Domenico,” he whispered, annoyed with himself for being so rude. “You must leave me alone now….”
“But Tonio!” Domenico was obviously surprised. “I’ve arranged everything. I told you. I’m leaving in the morning. You can’t have forgotten that….” His voice trailed off.
Tonio had never seen his face so agitated. It gave a piquant spice to his looks and aroused some careless passion in Tonio.
But suddenly it dawned on him what Domenico was trying to tell him. Of course, this was his last night because he was going to Rome immediately! Everyone had been talking about his leaving, and now the moment had come. Maestro Cavalla wanted him there early to rehearse with Loretti. Loretti had fought Maestro Cavalla for the opportunity to write his opera for Domenico, and Maestro Cavalla, whose taste was far better than his talent, had conceded.
The moment had come and Tonio had completely overlooked it.
He began to dress immediately, vainly trying to recall what Domenico had told him.
“I’ve got a private room for us with supper ordered at the Albergo Inghilterra,” Domenico explained. This was that lavish place by the sea where Tonio had rested after his night on the mountain. He stopped for an instant when he heard the name, then he pulled on his slippers and took his sword down from its hook.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is,” he murmured.
He was more ashamed when he entered the rooms. They were not those he had let before, but they commanded a full view of the sea, and through the freshly washed windows the sand was perfectly white in the moonlight.
The bed was in its own small chamber already lit with several candelabra, and the supper table was set in the main room and decked out with linen and silver.
All very pretty and he could not concentrate on a word that Domenico was saying to him.
He talked about the rivalry between Loretti and his teacher, and how unsure he was of the audiences in Rome, why did he have to go to Rome, why couldn’t he have made his first appearance in Naples. After all, look what the Romans had done to Pergolesi.
“Pergolesi…Pergolesi…” Tonio whispered. “I hear that name everywhere….”
But this was an imitation of conversation. His eyes moved over the white panels of the walls, their dark green painted leaves and blue and red flowers. All appeared dusty, shadowy in this mellow light, and Domenico’s taut, pale skin looked good enough to…
He should have bought him some gift. It was dreadful that he hadn’t, and what the hell was he going to say about it?