The Secret Book of Grazia dei Rossi (55 page)

My brothers looked so very young to me that evening, sitting around the trestle table playing some silly game. Even Asher, a full-grown man, clapped his hands together delightedly like a child when his counter took the rest. I left them there and went off to my bed to plan our evacuation feeling at least twice my seventeen years.

By morning my plans were made. I would send the
famiglia
on to Ferrara at once. And the
banco
must be dismantled quickly. I instructed Asher to begin packing up the contents of the warehouse and went off to arrange for the transfer of our goods to a safe place. Messer Davide Finzi, our old neighbor and fellow loan banker, bore no great love for our family; but I had been told all my life that in times of trouble Jews stick together. The time had come to test the truth of that axiom.

The old man agreed at once to make room in his warehouse for our goods — at a fee, of course, and a fee which I had to negotiate at that. But business is business, as I had also heard all my life. What surprised me was that, without my asking, the old man offered my family one of his
bravi
as their escort to Ferrara. He even bent his stiff old neck so far as to volunteer himself and his sons as pallbearers at Papa’s funeral, a most considerate gesture since all the men in our family would be gone by the time of that unhappy event if my plan went well.

My next stop was the posthouse. There I hired enough horses and carts to carry everyone in our household to Ferrara, excepting only my father and me. If it must be done, it had best be done quickly.

That afternoon I gave orders for the
banco
to be closed and called a family meeting. As accurately as I could, I relayed to them the substance of my meeting with Madonna Isabella. “I will stay with Papa,” I announced, “as I gave him my word I would. It is best that you all go on to Ferrara now. There is no need for anyone else to stay behind but me. There may be trouble here with the
bargello
’s men and —”

“If there is trouble, we must be here to fight off the devils,” Jehiel broke in heatedly. He never was short on courage. And little Gershom added, “We can get swords out of the warehouse. I have seen them there.”

“Quite right, cousin,” Asher agreed. “A woman alone . . .”

“A woman alone has a better chance than a group of unarmed boys,” I answered him. “I have my tears to protect me.”

“But we cannot abandon you, Grazia,” Penina insisted.

“You will not be abandoning me,” I answered. “You will be doing me a service. I must keep my vow to Papa. If you go, you will leave me free to do my duty. Don’t you see?”

“But I do not want to leave you, Grazia.” Gershom threw himself into my arms, a child still in spite of his efforts at manliness. “Must I go?”

I nodded sadly. “Yes. It is best for all of you and for me. Now it is time for you to begin packing. I have ordered the horses for tomorrow.”

Through it all not a word from Dorotea. Now, she spoke. “You have arranged all this without consulting me?”

“The sooner we get our gold and valuables out of the city, the better,” I explained, with as much patience as I could muster. “Already the
illustrissima
has offered to ‘protect’ them for us. And you can guess what that means.”

“But should not our honored parents be consulted?”

“There is no time for that, Dorotea. They will be happy to see their strongboxes safe, believe me.”

“All this comes too fast for me . . .”

“For me too,” I answered tartly. “And I daresay for Papa. I do not believe he was counting on leaving this world quite so hurriedly.”

“Oh, Grazia, what a thing to say . . .” And she flew from the room, weeping. I still do not know whether she intended to stay on with Papa or go to Ferrara with the rest. God knows, I did not want her. Still, I could hardly forbid a wife her place at her husband’s deathbed.

I needn’t have worried. After the children were asleep, she came down to the
banco
, where Asher and I were packing up, and beckoned me to one side. “I must speak to you, Grazia . . .”

“Speak.”

“Not here. Not in front of Asher.”

“Dorotea, I have enough work to keep me here all night. And I must try to sleep a little to keep strong for my father. So, whatever you have to say, you will have to say it here or not at all.”

She now went into a little song and dance of whining and truckling as she always did when I spoke curtly to her. “Oh, Grazia, have pity on me,” she whined. “I have an important decision to make and who else do I have to turn to? Your honored father on whom I depend for counsel is . . .” She snuffled up the bubble at the end of her nose. “Asher is meant to take the place of his father but he has not your strength, Grazia. He is delicate like me.”

And what am I, I thought, a pack mule?

“I know that your honorable father would understand, but I fear that you will never forgive me,” she wailed.

“For what?” I demanded.

“For going ahead to Ferrara with the children.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at the end of her nose. “I would be no use here, Grazia. Soldiers frighten me. And you know I always faint at the sight of blood.”

“But Papa isn’t bleeding, nor is he expected to,” I reminded her.

“He cries out in pain,” she answered. “I cannot bear the sound of his screams in the night.” How could she speak with such indulgence of her own gutlessness?

“What about me, Dorotea?” I taunted her. “Am I to be left alone with a dying man in a house under siege?”

“You can manage it, Grazia.” She reached over and patted my arm with her hand. “You have the strength for it.”

Using every bit of self-control I possessed, I very carefully detached her hand from my sleeve. It felt clammy and boneless, like an eel.

“Have you told Papa you plan to leave him?” I asked.

“Would you tell him for me?” Once again she placed her hand on my sleeve. This time I made no attempt to disguise the disgust I felt when I picked her fingers off me.

“Yes, Dorotea, I will do your dirty laundry for you. I will tell Papa that I have begged you to go with the children for their protection. I will do it not for you but to save his feelings. I cannot bear to see him so bitterly disappointed in these last days of his life as he would be if he knew what a craven, gutless, crawling, cringing, fawning bitch he picked to take my mother’s place. Now get out of my sight.”

And the poor wretch crept out into the dim of the courtyard.

But don’t you think she was back in five minutes, pulling at my sleeve again?

“What now, Dorotea?” This time, I all but shoved her aside.

“A little thing . . .” She hesitated. “When you speak to your father, had you not best find out from him where he keeps his will? To make certain that his wishes are carried out? I have looked high and low for it.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” No reply. “Or have you already?” Silence. How strange that he had not confided in her.

“Very well. I will ask him,” I agreed, for it was important to me too that my father’s wishes be known and carried out.

“Tonight?”

“When I see fit,” I answered brusquely. Then, beyond patience, I added, “Do not worry yourself, lady. I will worm the secret of his will out of him before he breathes his last.”

“Oh, Grazia, how cruel you are . . .” And she was gone, this time not to return.

As Asher and I worked on wrapping and packing and checking our inventories the matter stuck in my mind. It was unlike her not to know what was in Papa’s will. If I knew her, she had dictated it.

Then, as if he had been reading my thoughts, Asher spoke suddenly. “My mother fears that Uncle Daniele has made a new will these past few weeks.”

“Is it true?” I asked.

“Just before you arrived he had Ser Natale the lawyer here three days running. The lawyer had never stepped foot inside this house before, Grazia. But he came three times and brought documents and he called for a quill and some hot wax. Your father must have signed something official.”

“It could easily have been
banco
business,” I suggested.

“Yes, it could.” He considered my suggestion. “But I do not believe it was. For after the lawyer left the last time, my uncle called me to him privately — I have told this to no one, Grazia — and spoke to me most affectionately. He said he wanted to assure me that I would be taken care of, that he had arranged it. He told me that when he took me to his bosom after my own father died, it was not only an act of charity but also an act of love.” He turned his head away and pulled out a raggedy
fazzoletto
from his sleeve. “And he thanked me for my service to him. And called me his own son. And he kissed me . . .” No longer able to stifle his sobs, he turned and buried his head in my breast. “Oh, Grazia,” he sobbed. “I will miss him so. He was like a father to me.”

Then I broke down as well and we let our tears mingle and were finally the brother and sister that my father had so long wished us to be. Together, we finished fastening the last chain around the last
cassone
just as the watchman passed by chanting matins. We had inventoried and packed the entire contents of the warehouse within one revolution of the sun. We had done Papa proud.

“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine for matins time.” The watchman’s rough voice rang out in the street below.

“I must admit I was never certain we could accomplish the task,” I confessed to my cousin. “I could not have done it without your strong right arm,” I told him.

“My strong back is more like it, cousin.” He smiled. “But this is only the beginning of the task. It is far easier to dispatch trunks and cartons than people.”

“Oh, we will get them off safely, never fear,” I assured him.

“About my honorable mother . . .” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I beg you not to judge her too harshly, cousin. In many ways she is a child. Often she does not know what she is saying.”

So she would have you think, I said to myself. But I held my tongue. No matter how indefensible her conduct, she was his blood mother and there was something upright and admirable in her son’s defense of her.

Then on a sudden impulse I turned to him. “Stay with me, cousin,” I urged. “Dorotea can take care of the children. I need you more than they do. Next to my honorable husband, you are the strongest and most loyal man I know.”

How eagerly he responded to the compliment! “At your service, madama.” He sprang to his feet and executed an awkward bow. True, he almost toppled over on his way up from the floor. But if gallantry begins in the heart as they say it does, my cousin Asher had all the makings of a true gallant. What a fine husband he will make for someone, I thought to myself. How perfect for Penina. But I quickly reminded myself that La Nonna had other plans for her and no doubt for Asher as well.

The next morning the children lined up at my instruction to come and say their goodbyes to Papa. Gershom was the first. No one had told him in so many words that this was the last time he would see his father alive, but he knew.

“Papa . . .” He bent down and laid his cheek beside my father’s. The blue-veined eyelids fluttered. Papa had lost at least half his body weight in these last weeks and his skin stretched over his bones like a fine woven cambric cloth. Beside him, the little boy’s sallow complexion appeared positively ruddy with health and youth.

Now Gershom began to whisper urgently into Papa’s ear, so quietly I could not make out what was being said. On and on he talked, becoming more agitated by the moment. No response from Papa.

Then all at once, before I could stop him, the little boy took my father’s frail body by the shoulders and began to shake it wildly. “Say something, Papa. Talk to me. Please.” And would you believe it, my father’s eyes opened wide and he spoke. “Gershom, my son.”

“Oh, Papa, I love you so much. I do not want to leave you. But Grazia says I must go to Ferrara. Must I go, Papa? Must I? Cannot I stay here with you and Grazia? I do not want to go on this journey.”

“Nor do I, my son.” I swear I saw a trace of a smile on Papa’s lips as he uttered these ironic words. “But when the call comes . . .” His voice drifted off. Then just as he was sinking into a doze he roused himself up and held out his arms. “Kiss me, Gershom.”

My little brother’s name was the last word my father ever spoke. When Jehiel came in a few moments later with Ricca, Papa remained in his doze with nothing but an occasional twitch to indicate that he had not already passed over the bar.

Within the hour, all of them were gone: Dorotea, the children, and Asher, who was to see them as far as a bucentaur at Borgoforte and then return to my aid. And I was left with my dying father and two frightened servants. From the day they learned that we had been put out of our house by order of the
bargello
, they had quaked at every shout in the street and paled at every knock on our portal. When they realized that nothing stood between them and the
bargello
’s pikes but a dying man and a defenseless woman, the last vestige of courage left them. By the end of the day I had had my fill of their bitten lips and twitchy eyes and told them to go.

So it happened that I was quite alone with my father when he breathed his last. He passed over so peacefully that I never knew the exact moment of his going. At about the fifth hour I took hold of his wrist to feel the pulse and felt — nothing. His heart had stopped beating.