Farewell to the Flesh Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t know you had a few more years to go, I’d say that you were having a mid-life crisis.”
    Although the Contessa had continued to chide him about his dissatisfaction, she had ended up providing a solution. A month after the Regatta she decided to finance the restoration of the San Gabriele fresco. She secured the appointment of Josef Lubonski and arranged to have Urbino help him. Everything seemed to be working out well, except that both Urbino and the Pole had come down with the flu. Lubonski’s case was much more serious and he was being tended by the sisters at the Casa Crispina across the campo .
    Actually the San Gabriele fresco wasn’t in particularly bad shape compared to other frescoes more exposed to air currents but the pastor wanted to bring the church’s patron saint back to a semblance of what the older parishioners could remember as its much greater vividness.
    An architect and two contractors had dealt with the problem of the water-soaked plaster on the latticework behind the fresco, and now Lubonski was several weeks into what the Contessa liked to call the “cosmetics.”
    â€œIf we could only restore ourselves to our original luster!” she had lamented. “Now that would be something! Every couple of years we could hang a sign on our doors that says ‘In restauro’ and emerge as fresh as we were at forty!”
    This afternoon Urbino had climbed the ladder to be alone with the fresco for a few moments. The small areas that Lubonski had worked on glowed with vitality. Several people, including the photographer Porfirio said that some of the paint was being taken off, that the colors originally hadn’t been so bright. From what he had learned and what he knew about the restoration of the Sistine frescoes, however, Urbino disagreed.
    He went down the ladder. He should stop by to see Lubonski before going to Florian’s to meet the Contessa.
    The English photographer staying at the Casa Crispina was standing near the foot of the ladder looking up at him as he descended the last few rungs. The photographer was burdened with several cameras. Behind him was Paolo, the sexton.
    Urbino had met Val Gibbon several times. Because he was lodging in the Casa Crispina and taking some photographs for the sisters, Sister Teresa had pressed the Contessa to have him take the photographs of the fresco for the church records. The Contessa, always easily swayed by Sister Teresa, had agreed, not taking into consideration Porfirio’s air of proprietorship about all things Venetian.
    Val Gibbon was a handsome man in his late thirties, Urbino’s own age, with short, curly dark hair and dark eyes and almost-dead-white skin. The first time Urbino had met him he had been reminded of Caesar’s words about Cassius but he was fairly certain that Gibbon’s lean and hungry look usually evoked thoughts other than those of danger in the minds of impressionable women.
    â€œFinished dabbling for the day?” Gibbon said with an even, innocent gaze.
    â€œJust having a look. I only ‘dabble’ when Lubonski is here.”
    â€œThat might be a while. He was looking like death yesterday. You’d think a Pole would be more hardy. I can’t say I mind having him out of the way for a time though. It makes my work easier.”
    â€œI thought you were finished with the fresco.”
    â€œNot quite. There are still a few things I want to do. I’m also photographing a few of the other frescoes and paintings as a favor to Sister Teresa—although I think I’d do it just to rile that pompous fool Porfirio. He doesn’t like the idea of my poaching in his territory—and by that I don’t mean only the church but the whole damn city.” He looked around the dark Gothic building. His eye rested on a statue of the Virgin to the left of the altar. One of the old women of the parish was arranging a fresh urn of flowers. “I’m also