Daughter of Venice Read Online Free PDF Page B

runs from there to the Piazza San Marco. The four of us walk the full length, listening to trade news. Then Father continues on through the
piazza
to his work in the Senate, while we boys wander back slowly.” He smiles. “Getting our fill of current events.”
    “And going into shops is current events?”
    “In a way. We have to know what Venice produces, after all. And it’s fun.” Antonio grins now. “That’s a fine
xilografia,
don’t you think?”
    “The men are real,” I say. “The women aren’t.”
    “What do you mean?”
    A thickness forms in my throat. I feel unreal myself, like the women in the
xilografia
, as though everything I am, everything I think, is merely an idea, a dream—and a flimsy dream, at that. I know nothing. “Have you ever seen a map of Venice that shows all the
palazzi
and the canals and the alleys—all from above?”
    “Jacopo de’ Barbari made such a map.” Antonio stops prancing. “Why?”
    “I wish we had one.”
    Antonio frowns. “I could get a copy, I’m sure. But what’s on your mind, Donata?”
    “Venice,” I say. “Simply Venice.”
    “Keep going, horsie!” Nicola shouts. He squeezes Antonio’s nose playfully. “Go go go.”
    They gallop out of the map room.

C HAPTER F OUR
    MIDDAY MEAL
    M other’s in the kitchen with Cook. So is Aunt Angela. Even Cara, the wet nurse and laundress, is in the kitchen.
    Andriana and Laura and Paolina and I have spent the morning playing with the little ones in Laura’s and my bedchamber. Or, rather, Paolina and I played with the little ones, while Laura and Andriana worked on the girls’ hair. I’m used to putting my hair in braids, naturally, but the bun Andriana has fashioned on me is not a twist of braids over one another. Instead, it’s a clever smoothing into a large puffy ball. And it’s not in the ordinary place, on top of the head. No, the new style, according to Andriana, who somehow manages to learn these things, has the bun at the back of the head.
    Aunt Angela comes into the room. “Don’t you look nice. And just in time. Come along, everyone.” The boys run past her toward the dining hall. Little Maria takes her hand.
    Andriana looks Laura and Paolina and me over with a discerning eye. “Oh, I forgot something. The most important thing. We’ll be there in a few moments, Aunt Angela. I promise.”
    “Hurry. Your father has announcements to make. He won’t tolerate delay.” Aunt Angela leaves with Maria.
    Andriana picks up her hairbrush, and with quick, deft moves, she loosens a few strands of curls on both sides of Laura’s face, so they hang down beside her cheeks. “Isn’t that perfect?” she says happily.
    And it is—the curls are of exactly the same thickness and length. I smile in admiration.
    “Now, Laura, you do that to Paolina. I’ll do myself and Donata.” Andriana goes to the mirror and primps.
    I stand beside her feeling foolish. After all, if Laura can arrange Paolina’s hair, then I should be able to arrange my own. I reach for a lock of hair at my temple.
    “Don’t, Donata.” Andriana speaks gently. “You heard what Aunt Angela said. Father’s got important announcements to make. That’s why everyone’s cooking so much. It will be like a party. You want to look your best, don’t you?”
    Andriana’s right; I’ll look better if she does my hair. It’s not that I’m clumsy. It’s more that I’m impatient about certain kinds of things—and hair is among them. I hold my hands behind my back to keep them from acting against my better judgment.
    Andriana kisses me on the cheek and fixes my hair. I stare at the mirror transfixed. I look just like Laura—perfect.
    We hold hands and walk to the eating hall. Giovanni plays on the floor with a carved wooden tiger that Francesco brought him from the Chinese market—Francesco is liberal with gifts; he loves the markets. But everyone else is seated. Even little Maria. Andriana and Laura and Paolina and I take our seats.
    The