Comments 1: Special thanks go to my biggest and apparently ONLY fan Joyfulangel for her steadfast R&R. Folks, be nice to her and help her commenting on my story, even if it's only to say she's not alone out there.

Chapter Seven

Comments 2: In a father's not too happy eyes...

Deeply worried Lorenzo Massimo sat down behind the old desk from where he reigned over the glass business and large parts of Venice's politics like so many before him and hopefully many more to come after him. In front of him laid his assistant's reports that required very careful thinking on his part. The future of several hundred workers and their families depended on him and his ability to make the right decisions. But he had no head for this now. Looking up he gazed at the portrays of some of the most significant members of the old Massimo family. They could trace the family tree back to the times of "Il Magnifico" Lorenzo Medici in Florence. And since then the family had produced six doges, four generals, two admirals of the Venetian fleet in former times and one great master of glas blowery who still influenced the craft up to date.

Indeed, they were of old blood. And was this the explanation for Scipio? If you over-bred your animals, they turned eventually weak. Defects would creep into the genetic makeup. Was his son too highly bred? The image of him appeared in front of his inner eye. The soft still round child's face, soft brown eyes, soft velvety voice, soft skin, soft brown hair. And soft backbone! Lorenzo's face hardened.

Why didn't he ever fight back? Why did he always stand there, sometimes with blinking eyes and swallowing hard and just took his verbal beatings? Why was there never the look of defiance in his eyes? Why didn't he ever shout back, stating he hated him in an act of teenage rebellion or to leave him the hell alone? No, Scipio always remained silent and submissive, taking everything in, never giving anything back. Frustrated Lorenzo admitted to himself he'd almost be glad to catch Scipo smoke, drink, take drugs. Or if the police would bring him home someday saying he had committed a crime. At least that would show that there was life in the boy! How many more times would he need to push his son's nose into the dirt and humiliate him before he began to fight back?

His thoughts went back to the conversations he had had recently with Scipio's teachers and coaches. His son lacked seriously the will to succeed, to be the best. Or better, it wasn't as if he couldn't win, rather he had no desire to do so. Getting top marks or failing a test, beating his opponent in a fight or being beaten, it seemed to be all the same to him. According to them Scipio had all the potential, but it laid dormant. And his class teacher told he was one of the invisible pupils that were neither liked nor disliked by their peers - a ghost. And that seemed to be what Scipio wanted, to be left alone. But she hastened to explain that this wasn't so unusual for a boy his age. It was as if they withdrew and spun a coccoon around themselves to prepare for maturity. Very much like a caterpillar before it transformed into a beautiful butterfly. He recalled how he had refrained from answering, that he didn't want his son to become a butterfly but a man he could take pride in, if he couldn't in his son.

Lorenzo stood up and stepped to a window to look out onto the fondamenta and the canal. A lonely tourist boat chugged by slowly to give its passengers time to take pictures of the grand casas. Taking a sip from his glass of cool water, he let himself be transported back to happier times. How he had burst with pride, when his little baby boy had grabbed his finger and his heart for the first time, the first unstable steps he had taken into the world, his first words and what temper trantrums the little ram had been able to throw, when he didn't get what he wanted. And then it had all changed. When he and Christina became more and more estranged from each other, fighting more and more over Scipio, over their future and all in all too many trivial things. And one day their marriage had been too shattered to even think about having a second child and Christina found solace in her work as a doctor. And eventually she had left him with a five year old boy on his hands who couldn't understand why his mommy had gone. It still made his heart ache recalling how Scipio had cried every night for his mother until he hadn't been able to find another remedy but to send the boy away to his brother. And when he had come back, there was no crying anymore and the once loud and cheerful boy had turned quiet.

Comments: Joyfulangel and others, get in the mood for the next chapter with Beethoven's Fifth. Destiny's on HER way to knock at his door...