Daughter of Venice Read Online Free PDF Page A

blind and never travels. I’m glad that he’s always around, though of course I wish for his sake that he hadn’t gone blind. He’s my favorite uncle because he’s always been the most patient. And he knows a lot, because, as he likes to say, he was adventurous before he went blind, so he had all sorts of experiences, even though he was but Francesco’s age at the time. When I was small and everyone else would get annoyed at my incessant questions, Uncle Umberto would pull me onto his lap and answer question after question, until I was satisfied—at least for the moment.
    But I have four other uncles. My father’s brothers. When they are in town, they live in rooms on this floor. They like living close to one another, and they gather often in this map room. The whole world matters to them. That’s where they are now, off in that wide world. Uncle Leonardo is on a trade mission to Constantinople, undoubtedly buying barrels and barrels of pepper. Uncle Giacomo is on a peace mission to the Sforza palace in Milan. And, most important, Uncle Girolamo is finally governor of Cyprus, after three separate times of being ambassador, and Uncle Giambattista is ambassador to no less than His Holiness, the Pope.
    I can say the place names easily. But I don’t know where Cyprus is on these maps. I don’t know where Milan is. Or even the Vatican.
    One wall has smaller maps. In a sense, they aren’t maps at all, but pictures of
campi
with churches. I find Piazza San Marco. It’s the only one I recognize. Though I was but a little girl, the facade of that basilica is painted in my memory permanently from my one festival there, as are the bell tower and all the arches—arches and arches and arches.
    I remember standing on a long balcony with Andriana and Laura. Mother sat beside us on a stool. And so many other women and girls lined the balcony. Mother was pregnant and not feeling well. Carolina was inside her—Carolina, one of our three sisters who later died.
    Father talks about the census figures, how many people live in each area of town, how many babies die, how many women in childbirth die—so I know that our family is far from alone in these sad matters. Indeed, while Mother’s and Father’s childhood families had more losses than most, the family they have built together has made up for it by being exceptionally lucky. Mother has lost only three babies to illness, and all of them girls.
    It was a dreadful time. A lethal fever swept through Venice, bringing the stink of rot, which hung in the air for months. Loud, raspy coughs racked all the girls younger than Laura and I. Mother quickly quarantined them. Iole and Daria, the other set of twins, died, as did the new baby, Carolina. Only Paolina lived through it, though she was pale and skinny. Mother has made up for it by feeding Paolina the fattiest pieces of meat ever since. She’s now on the plump side, to be sure. Everyone knows the fattiest meat is the juiciest and the most delicious. But we don’t begrudge it to Paolina. She is everyone’s darling.
    A rush of love for Paolina warms me. I’m so glad she didn’t succumb to the fever.
    I remember everything about the day of the great festival. Mother felt so poorly, she almost changed her mind at the last minute and didn’t let us go. But Andriana cried and swore to hold Laura by one hand and me by the other, so that Mother wouldn’t have to do anything at all—just be there. Mother finally relented, though she sat silent the whole time.
    The woman to my left explained what was going on to her daughter, and, naturally, I listened closely. She pointed out who was who in the procession in the
piazza
below. She knew which officials wore the gold and white, which wore the crimson. She knew who the standard-bearers were. Her daughters ate candied nuts from a silk purse on a cord around her wrist and laughed at the rising slope on the rear of the Doge’s hat. None of us could see the jewels from where we sat, but