Farewell to the Flesh Read Online Free PDF Page B

Arab sheikh passed by with the women of his harem dressed in blue veils that revealed considerably more than they concealed. One of them blew Urbino a kiss. Two children, dressed as an angel and a devil, were guided through the crowd by their father wearing a broad, smiling mask. Behind them three figures strolled along with red and purple feathered jackets, sequin-covered leggings, huge gauze fans, and black oval masks. They were followed by five purple-turbaned figures with gold-painted faces who were draped in shiny black material and sported saillike purple wings. They walked haughtily, as if they were royalty, and stopped every few minutes to assume frozen poses. A group of nuns passed by with bawdy laughter and suggestive gestures.
    Amid all this clamor five figures in long funereal capes, black capelets with hoods, severe white masks, and black tricorn hats walked in a silent cluster. Dressed in the bautta disguise worn by noblemen in the eighteenth century and seen in many Venetian paintings, they seemed to censure the madness around them, to be reminding the other revelers that although Carnevale might, by its very name, encourage a wanton farewell to the flesh, that the flesh wasn’t forever.
    Urbino rejoined the flow of people and soon entered the Piazza through one of the passages across from the mosquelike Basilica. Here the revelers spread out into the square, where pools of water from an acqua alta had seeped up through the paving stones. Raised planks provided dry passage over the deeper puddles in front of the Basilica.
    A temporary stage, its curtains drawn, faced the Basilica. Outside the café Quadri a covered deck had been set up with tables, chairs, and an area for the house orchestra. The orchestra wasn’t playing, but loudspeakers blared “Mack the Knife” so loudly that Urbino could feel it through his whole body. A raised wooden runway dominated the space in front of the stage. People sauntered up and down its ramps, posing, singing, waving, and shouting, while others sat on its edges, fortified against the cold with wine, beer, and their enthusiasm. A group of costumed men and women was dancing wildly to the music around two boys on stilts, dressed as crows. Above all this activity, a huge chandelier hung in the middle of the Piazza, waiting to be lighted the last evening of Carnevale , when the square would become an open ballroom.
    Photographers were everywhere in their high boots, posing the masqueraders who were only too eager to please someone other than themselves after hours in front of their mirrors. Sometimes one of them would seduce a photographer away from someone he was about to shoot. Fights erupted between the abandoned masquerader and the photographer’s new subject but they were usually short-lived. The maskers returned to their strolling and posing, seeking another opportunity to be the center of attention.
    Surely it would soon come their way. Wasn’t something new, something different and unexpected supposed to happen at Carnevale? Wasn’t it when anything could happen? When you could do anything you wanted?
    As Urbino sidestepped the fake Gucci purses, belts, and wallets spread out on a blanket at the feet of a glum-looking Senegalese, shouts farther down the arcade caught his attention. A group was gathered around a brightly costumed figure and a woman in a long dark cloak with a knit cap pulled low over her ears and forehead. A red-bearded man in a bridal dress stood next to the woman and mimicked her movements. She seemed unaware of what he was doing and of the amusement of the group around them. She was shouting shrilly in a rapid Italian at the blue-and-green-robed figure in a high headdress with silver baubles. This figure—whether a man or a woman Urbino couldn’t tell because of the turquoise and silver mask with Oriental features—held a large black feathered fan inset with tiny mirrors.
    â€œYou should be ashamed of yourself!