he cannot get enough, nor of gambling, nor drinking….”
“But these women,” Tonio said, his voice a monotone, his fingers touching Alessandro’s hand for emphasis, “tell me about them, what sort are they?”
Alessandro was obviously puzzled by the question. He hadn’t considered it before. “All sorts.” He shrugged. “The best of the courtesans, surely, wives who are bored, girls even now and then, if they are especially pretty and easily corruptible. I think it matters only that they be pretty and that there be no scandal attached to it.”
He studied Tonio’s face, apparently trying to divine the importance of this to Tonio.
“But he is ever wise and discreet. And to your mother the sun and moon, so small is her world. But he cannot give her the one thing she wants, which is…her son Tonio.”
Alessandro’s face grew pensive and sad.
“She loves him still,” Tonio whispered.
“Yes,” Alessandro said, “but when had she the slightest will of her own? And I tell you there were times in the past months when she would have left her house on foot to come to you had they not restrained her.”
Tonio shook his head; he was suddenly spending himself in a series of little movements as if he could not contain all of this, and did not want to give way to tears, but could not help it. Finally, he settled back in the chair and drank the wine Alessandro had offered him.
When he looked up, his eyes were reddened and vacant and very tired. With his open hand he made a gesture of helplessness.
Alessandro was watching him, and impulsively he reached out and clasped Tonio’s shoulder.
“Listen to me,” he said. “He is too well guarded! Day and night, inside his house and out of it, four bravos follow him.”
Tonio nodded with a bitter twist of a smile. “I know….” he whispered.
“Tonio, to send someone against him might only mean failure, and it would arouse his fear. And there is too much talk of you in Venice now already. There will be more talk after last night’s performance. Go out of Italy, Tonio, bide your time.”
Again, Tonio gave a slight bitter smile.
“Then you never believed it?” he asked softly.
Alessandro’s face became so violent in an instant he seemed not himself. He winced, and his mouth lengthened in a sneer. In a tone full of dark irony, he said: “How can you ask?” Then he drew very close to Tonio. “If I could I would kill him myself.”
“No,” Tonio whispered, shaking his head. “Leave him to me, Alessandro.”
Alessandro sat back. He looked into his wine, and moving the cup ever so slightly to make it swirl, he lifted it to drink. Then he said: “Give it time, Tonio, give it time, and for the love of God, be careful! Don’t give him your life. He has taken too much already.”
Tonio smiled again and taking Alessandro’s hand, he crushed it softly to comfort him.
“I’m there,” Alessandro said, “whenever you need me.”
A long silence fell between them and it was easy and simple as though they had so long been friends that nothing need be said. For a while, Tonio seemed lost in his memories.
Finally, his face brightened and softened, and some glimmer of well-being returned to him.
“Now,” he said, “I want to know how you are, and how it’s been with you. Are you still singing at San Marco? And tell me, last night were you proud of your old pupil?”
It was an hour later that he rose to go. The tears came back, and he wanted the embrace to be quick.
But it seemed as their eyes met for the last time, all of Tonio’s past thoughts about this one he so loved were revealed to him, the innocent superiority of that boy who had thought Alessandro less than a man, and all the suffering heaped upon those old considerations—all of this visited Tonio as he stood in the door.
And he realized the full measure of what lay unspoken between them, that both were of the same ilk, but neither for the world would say so.
“We’ll meet again,” Tonio whispered, unsure of his voice. And very unsure of the words he’d just spoken, too, he slipped his arms around Alessandro and held onto him just for an instant before turning and hurrying away.
It was almost noon. He would have to sleep, and yet he could not. And walking on past the Cardinal’s house as if he did not even recognize the gates, he found himself finally in one