been frank with me about that. So far, they’d given me a splendid roof over my head, clothes such as I had never even dreamt of owning and delicious food. And they were educating me. At least, that’s what they called it.
Every morning, Giaconda would come into my room and, with Hafeza in tow, talk about my ‘toilette’; how to make sure I was clean in the areas that count. For a lady, this was my face, my armpits, in my décolletage and between my legs. I was to perform this ritual daily and, once a week, I would enjoy a bath and wash my hair that, owing to my healthy diet, was growing quickly. It already swept my shoulders. I often touched the wisps that would escape my coiffure, twining them around my finger.
Giaconda taught me to add particular fragrances to the water to ensure my skin smelled sweet. There was a rich and heady musk from Hafeza’s home, Moroko, and an infusion of florals from Firenze, a city-state a few weeks from Serenissima. There was a citrus perfume from Iraklion, infused, so Giaconda told me, with olive leaves, as well as a range of spicy oils to awaken and inflame the senses that came from as far away as Konstantinople. There were also the scents of roses, dewdrops, sunshine and fabulously shaped containers labelled with ridiculous claims such as ‘innocence’, ‘lust’ and ‘energy’, though how you could extract those without being an Estrattore defeated me. I used them anyhow, and enjoyed the sensation of their perfume lingering in my nostrils throughout the day.
After my daily wash, which Hafeza would inevitably perform while Giaconda watched, I would learn about female clothing. It took me a while to get used to the fine undergarments that a woman was expected to wear – the long-legged drawers with the silk ties and the gossamer-like camicia that stopped the corset rubbing my skin raw. I found it strange to wear anything under my dress, especially when it took me so long to gather up the yards of material in the skirt before pulling down my pants in order to relieve myself. When I complained about this one day, Giaconda exchanged a long, knowing look with Hafeza.
‘You won’t always wear them, Tarlo. Do not worry. These are very temporary.’
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
It wasn’t till the beginning of my third week that Giaconda introduced me to the zoccoli. These added inches to my height, and I struggled to maintain my balance, even with Hafeza’s arm to clutch as I tried to walk around the room.
‘Glide, Tarlo. Slide your feet forward as if you’re dancing,’ suggested Giaconda in her calm way. ‘Don’t try to lift your legs; the shoes are too heavy for that. You’ll look graceless.’
‘I think I’ve achieved that already.’
Giaconda just smiled patiently. ‘By the time you’re ready to be introduced to society, you’ll feel as comfortable in those as you used to in your old boots.’
I doubted that, but shut my mouth and stumbled around, every step being met with a loud crack as the wooden heel slammed into the floor. Hafeza winced and threw her hands up in the air. But Giaconda was right. After a week, I was accustomed to the heavy, ornate shoes and enjoyed the additional height they gave me.
On top of these were lessons in table manners, dancing, and how to speak to nobiles of different rank and merchants of varying degrees of wealth. Giaconda would constantly ride me about my accent, making me repeat words over and over to remove the vulgar strains of the Dorsoduro Sestiere that I’d apparently adopted.
She also taught me how to tip my head, whose eyes I could meet and whose I should not. How to curtsy and how deep; how to use my dinner knife; hold my glass, my napkin; how to leave a table, enter a room, how to deploy my fan … the lessons went on and on.
One day, a thought occurred to me.
‘Giaconda,’ I began, ‘I don’t understand why you’re teaching me that I can look some people in the eye and not others. Surely, being what I am, I can’t meet anyone’s eyes.’ I let my gaze rest on her face to drive my point home. We had moved to the main portego for our lesson, so the light shining on my face accentuated my silver regard more than usual.
Giaconda tipped her head. ‘For the moment, your eyes are a problem. At