Gianna
Father always said I could speak to a wall, and my inner need for attention pressed me toward the only person available. My companion was as mercurial as ever. His moods bewildered me. One moment, he hung onto every word I said; the next, he acted as disinterested as an adult would be toward a child. I felt I had earned something in the brief moments I captured his attention. With each success, I craved more. The increased attempts led to more failures.
"How long do you think this trip will take?"
"A few weeks."
"That is not long- though I should write to my father soon. Can we stop near a town?" My guilt ate at me. I thought of the driver. Surely they had found him by now? And the other man...
"San Marino is several days away. We will stop there, and you may write- though do not mention me."
"Why ever not?"
He still refused to climb the horse. At this point, uncertainty blossomed. Did his reticence stem from annoyance or disgust towards my person? I had killed someone. I shuddered at the knowledge and reminded myself that he attacked me. And now I traveled with a masked companion across the Italian countryside. The entire situation was so unexplainable. He would not understand. It was better not to contact Father. Let him think I was with my uncle. "Is my head getting better?" Wearing these simple clothes felt torture enough.
"No- you look quite the hag."
"Do I? Really?"
He sighed. "You are a silly little girl. You look fine."
"You are so rude!"
"Only when people deserve it."
"Do they teach common manners in France?"
"Yes, they do, though I enjoy subverting them." I ignored him. He cleared his throat. "You say you are from America- I understand it is a very large country."
"Are we playing the question game again?"
"No." He said hurriedly. "I am simply having a conversation, which can cease at any moment." I stilled; the only sound was the gelding's soft pants and the light breeze between the trees. Better to discuss with him than with my thoughts. "Where in America do you reside?"
"New York."
"The city or the state?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Both. I am surprised you know the difference."
He looked taken aback at my jab but recovered. "I heard they completed the great park. Have you been?"
I almost laughed but schooled it. He would not appreciate my ridicule. "Central Park? Yes, that was a few years ago. Father brought me for the opening ceremony."
"How are the designs? Did he know the architects?" His eyes gleamed with excitement.
I nodded that he did, and Erik launched into a speech about the importance of designed space in a city and the benefits of public gatherings. He asked me questions that I could not answer but did my best to respond to. I did not know he would get so passionate about anything, so I asked him what excited him so.
"Everything must be built afresh in America. It allows for innovation. Europe is cursed to deal with the endless process of repairs and renovations. Most contractors do not want creativity, but to create what has already been built again."
"But there is a history in that. Tradition. Culture."
"History happens every day. Culture is everywhere." He gestured to a vineyard. "If I told you that this vineyard was thousands of years old, would the wine taste any better?"
"Maybe. I do not know. I have never had such a drink. But I suppose we crave what we are not accustomed to. New York would be a thrill for you, would it not?"
He looked away, then blurted. "Your birthplace explains the faulty French."
Were we not having a civil conversation? "It is not 'faulty!'" I would not tell him my Father had warned me of this exact issue, constantly searching for 'real' French tutors and testing my pronunciations throughout my childhood.
"Do you speak English with the same clumsiness?"
"No, I do not," I said in English.
"Accent is off." He retorted in the same tongue. My mouth fell open. How many languages did he know?
"You enjoy teasing me."
"Perhaps." He said mildly. His smile was tight and sly as if he was privy to some great secret.
Not soon later, we passed a small village. Few people walked about. When I inquired, Erik stated that it was Sunday.
Were I still at my father's house, we would be sat in the large pews at St. Patrick's Cathedral on Mulberry Street attending mass. Father always liked the front row, as it provided the best angle to be seen by neighbors. He always told me to wear my best dress that day- and the church was a performance - for God, yes, but also for our fellow men. We must lead by example. Especially to the Irish and Germans. I chatted amiably to Erik about my usual Sunday rituals when two figures appeared behind an unused barrel.
Two little children, dirty as sin and scrawny, appeared before us. They looked like a boy and a girl, but I could hardly tell. Their faces sunk in, and their hands outstretched, begging.
I immediately thought of our limited rations. We had no money and several days of meals, but that would run out soon.
Erik reached into the saddle bag, pulling out at least a day's rations of dried pork. I stilled my hand over his, stopping him. Then I whispered to him, reminding of our limited rations. He glared at me, his golden eyes shrinking like a cat's, and ripped the food away from my grasp, handing it to the children.
He made it out like I was so evil. Of course, I wanted to help those children! But was I able? Of course not! Had I my things- I would have given that little girl the finest silk dress she could grow into. Or she could sell it for all I cared! Why was Erik acting like I was the devil? Tired of arguing with him anymore and sick of his judgment from those beady yellow eyes, I allowed him to hand out the food like Jesus feeding the multitude.
As if Jesus wore a mask. Ha! Erik was more akin to something else, though I dared not say it out loud.
We continued for several hours in awkward resentment. His mood irritated me. I was only thinking of us! Eventually, I grew tired of wondering if I genuinely repulsed Erik. I decided to confront him.
"You know we could travel faster if we rode the horse together."
"It's always Erik, you know; quit scolding me, child!"
"If I am a child, so are you!"
"Why am I doing this?" He dramatically raised his hands in supplication as if begging God for mercy.
"Fine. If you refuse to ride with me, I shall go ahead of you." I kicked the dapple, propelling us into a canter. I looked back, but Erik just stood there, staring. I hoped to make at least him run. That would be funny indeed- his stick-thin legs propelling him forward like an ostrich.
I wondered at the sensation, incredibly freeing as it was, and I childishly took pleasure in leaving him behind. He certainly always threatened to do so! Several strands of hair fell out of the careful hairpins, but I fixed my stare forward, determined to be the victor in this battle.
I heard a low whistle. My mount slowed down, turned around, and trotted back. No matter what direction I commanded, the horse continued toward Erik, its ears perked.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, angered yet amazed.
"Just something I have been working on."
"In two days?" In moments, I fell back at his side, stuck. He made no further comment.
"Well, you have been working with him. What is his name?" I had wondered that. I felt supremely bad depending on an animal and not knowing its name. The driver would have known, but I never asked, I thought guiltily.
"I do not know. Is he not your horse?"
"He must have been borrowed him from somewhere or another."
We stood at an impasse, it appeared.
"What about lemonade?"
"Absolutely not."
"Daisy?"
"Do you have eyes, girl? It is a male!"
"So?"
At this point, we continued our path forward. I seriously doubted Erik's desire to speak to me for the rest of the trip. The thought terrified me, as this landscape bored me terribly, and the sun was hot. Nothing was such a good distraction as conversation, no matter with whom.
"Do you have any ideas?" Perhaps if Erik had control over this one situation, he would not feel the need to use that stupid whistle trick.
He pondered several moments as if testing me further.
"Orpheus is a fine name." He patted his neck.
"I agree. It is a Roman tale, no?"
"Greek."
"It has something to do with a battle? Most legends do."
I could tell he had to stop himself from correcting my ignorance. Eventually, my patience paid off.
"He plays the lyre- a songwriter, if you will. Orpheus asked Hades, the God of the Underworld if he could retrieve his diseased wife. However, Hades did not allow Orpheus to look back at Eurydice. When they reached the last step, he could not help himself, and they were since separated forever."
"How tragic."
"It is a Greek tragedy." He shrugged.
"Why did he look back?"
"He did not trust Eurydice. She had strayed."
"May we have a truce?" I reached out my hand.
"For what?"
"I have grown tired of arguing. We have a long journey ahead of us." I continued to hold my hand out like an idiot. He stared.
"We can appreciate companionable silence."
Never above begging, I furrowed my eyebrows, a semi-successful gesture with Father. "Please? You are very interesting to talk to, and I think you will find the time passes quicker with another soul to share with."
After some great deliberation with himself, he took my much smaller hand, vaulting behind me. His body felt rail thin on my back. I sensed him curving his spine as if seeking to avoid any physical contact. His eyes fell to my legs, both firmly secured to the right.
"We cannot possibly balance like this. Your leg is in the way."
"I am balancing just fine. It is you who are having trouble." It was challenging without a lower pommel, but I needn't advertise that.
Those cat eyes bored into me like he could force me into submission.
"It is not appropriate. My father taught me better."
He muttered something in a language I did not understand.
"Here, just put your hands here. It will help." I guided his hands near my waist, perfectly appropriate given the situation. I never possessed a tiny waist, but his hands nearly enveloped it. After several moments of quiet adjustment, we set off, cantering down the long, wide road. Erik's bony knee jutted into my thigh quite painfully on several occasions.
I slowed us to a walk. "You are poking me on purpose!"
"Of course not. I know manners, mademoiselle." He said innocently.
I glared at him. "Just address me by my name, please. You make me feel like a stranger."
Wasn't I, though? We had only met. However, I had never spent so much consecutive time with one person, and the lack of familiarity made me uncomfortable as if he would slip away at any second.
"Yes… Gi." A small battle won. I rode astride the rest of the day in concession. He did not gloat about it as much as I thought we would and did not protest my holding of the reins.
We found a small village nearing dark. The wind blew much faster today, and my heart raced at the idea of spending another night outdoors.
"I will find something tenable. Stay here." He ordered.
I doubted him but was too tired to pitch much of an argument. Several leaves scattered the ground, and the air chilled. Though late July, wisps of autumn sprouted. My mood darkened. No one bothered me. I doubt I could handle any villager deciding to investigate a woman traveler; no doubt rare around here. After nearly half an hour, I spotted the brown leather mask behind a stone building.
He waved me on, and I led Orpheus to a small public stable, empty and full of hay. We settled him in, and I breathed a sigh of relief. If we were not warm tonight, at least the horse had comfort.
Erik then led me to a small storage room with a cot. Its bedding rumbled, and the rope mattress nearly touched the floor. A small window with bars hovered above the bed, and a single candle stood unlit. The idea of being enclosed in this small space sent a chill down my spine.
"Oh, I cannot sleep in a stranger's bed!"
"Would you rather the floor? I will gladly take it, princess."
"Don't call me that!" I summoned up my courage with a deep breath. These accommodations were better than I could have acquired, though humble. "I am just tired. Thank you."
He nodded. "I will go find something to eat." He acted like some servant or as if I were a small child. Did I act so helpless?
"Allow me to come with you."
"No."
"Please!"
"We have been together all day." He said, complaining.
"Yes…but I will not get in the way! Please!" I would not sit around like a useless dolt while he did everything for me.
His shoulders slumped, and he waved his hand. I smirked but looked away quickly.
We arrived at the back door of a small tavern, bustling with guests. Several workers stood outside, smoking pipes and rolling papers for their tobacco. I shivered, immediately reminded of Father.
"Stay here. I will be back shortly." I nodded.
Behind a rubbish heap, which thankfully disguised some of the smoke smell, I watched Erik in amazement. He scanned the group, cleverly waiting until their backs turned. I watched as his hand snatched a ring of keys on one man's hip, entering the kitchen. I only heard the scratch of matches catching fire and light chatter for several moments. Although I recongnized the wrongness of stealing, we were in need, and it didn't seem like such a crime when my stomach panged in agony. Salt pork was disgusting.
Erik emerged with a small bag, bursting with contents I could only guess, slipping behind crates and casks of wine.
"That was incredible!" I exclaimed.
A worker turned. His eyebrows raised as he spotted a bottle of wine in Erik's grip. "Hey! You two! Get back here!"
Erik grabbed my hand, yanking me through alley streets and tight corners. We raced through the narrow passageways. I marveled at their ancient look, leading to Erik pulling me faster. We ducked under archways and doorframes. Were people somehow smaller years ago? Erik had the agility of a rat- I exhibited the grace of a clumsy bull. I panted and stumbled. My heeled foot caught a cobblestone, and I thrust forward, nearly slamming my face into the hard ground. Erik righted me as I slowed my breathing in large exhalations.
"You stupid child! You nearly ruined everything!"
"I am sorry! I couldn't believe how incredible that was! He never even noticed you; you were right under his nose! How did you do that?"
His head cocked, and his anger seemed to dissipate. We walked several paces and magically arrived back at the room.
"Your food." He made to hand me the burlap sack.
"Mine? You earned it. Share it with me."
"You use that word generously." He slowly pulled out an unmarked green bottle, working to unscrew the cork. It opened with a soft pop.
"What is that?"
He brought it to his nose and made a disappointed noise. Then, he took a slight pull, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing.
"Barbaresco." He handed me the bottle. I had never touched alcohol- Father's viewpoints stood ardently in opposition to any such libations. From spotting my fair share of drunkenness after nightfall in Lower Manhattan, I was inclined to agree. As I searched Erik's face- or mask, I felt the distinct impression that those golden eyes, so full of ready judgment, dared me to drink.
I took a small swallow, the liquid intense and harsh. I coughed but refused to look as inexperienced as I was. I gulped another sip down, then another.
Erik snatched the bottle away. "Easy."
"I am fine!"
He made no further comment, and if I scrunched my face or tongued a piece of fruit as we drank, he pretended not to notice. The wine tasted better the more I ingested; soon after, I felt loose and tingly. How did Father caution against this?
Erik sat as stiff as ever. "My birthday is soon," I said randomly. What did he care?
Waiting for him to respond bored me, and I doubted he would. The silence pressed on, and his moroseness only strengthened my need to lift the mood.
"You were very good at that."
"What?" His eyes narrowed. "Stealing?"
I shook my head. Yes? He was good at stealing.
"No- being subtle back there. I am sorry I ruined it all."
His shoulders relaxed. "You did not ruin anything." His mouth twitched. "So I am a good criminal?"
"Would you just accept the compliment!"
He stilled, then took another swig from the bottle. "I am unused to such… appreciation. Forgive me." His eyes fell anywhere but me.
"It's alright." A change in subject seemed necessary. "What will you do when we arrive in Venice?"
He quieted for many moments, tracing the bottle's neck with his fingers. "I am unsure. I do have several possibilities in mind."
"Like what?"
"That is none of your business."
His terse tone struck me. Whether from his continual demeaning remarks, the stress of the past few days, or potentially the wine, I felt hot tears slip down my cheek. "I do not know why you are so mean to me! I am trying to be nice to you!" My voice sounded a bit too loud, even for my ears. He looked uncomfortable like my tears physically repulsed him. Out of nowhere, he offered a familiar silk handkerchief.
"Where did you get this?" The fabric felt fine and soft in my hands, starkly contrasting my recent wardrobe of harsh linen.
"You asked me to save the yellow silk." I refused to shred the fragile peace between us, so I pushed down my anger at him for keeping it from me for so long. It was mine!
Packing it safely away in my dress, I avoided using it to wipe my eyes. I rubbed them impishly with the back of my hand.
"What will you do once you reach Venice? Find a husband?"
"That is what I am supposed to do."
"Supposed to." He mocked. "Do what you wish."
If it were so simple. "I do not know what I wish. I only know that when I arrived in Rome, I was supremely disappointed. He expected me to stay boarded up in that house? My uncle said we would travel! And then there is a matter of schooling. My father will probably already have a finishing school where I will be cooped up like a chicken for my entire stay there."
"I find experience to be the best teacher."
"Well, we cannot all be expert riders from the outset, can we?" He smirked confidently. Boys.
"You do not have to obey your father's wishes. He is very far away, yes?" He stated it so blatantly and matter-of-factly that he turned the absurd idea into objective fact.
"I cannot just simply disobey him!"
"Why not?"
"I- I - I cannot do that to him." And I cannot imagine what he would do to me. "I am supposed to learn my mother's family. To be trained in French manners."
"And to send you to Italy to do so?" At my silence, he pressed. "Have you not learned already? We are dining late, drinking wine." The corners of his mouth lifted. The candle's flame cast long shadows across his mask. "Take it from a local."
"Did you disobey your parents? Is that why you were wandering all alone?"
His smile flattened. "Trying to make my mother happy only ended in misery for the both of us."
"She has since passed, then?"
"I hope so."
"Erik, do not say that!" I would give anything to have a mother. "You are too blunt."
"So are you." He sighed. "Your Uncle?"
"I have never met my uncle."
"Yes, I know. But perhaps you can convince him to let you do as you wish."
We chatted and emptied the bottle, drawing out the oaky taste until I drifted off.
Before I closed my eyes, I saw the empty rope bed. Neither of us had claimed it.