To my astonishment, however, she concentrated her account of the past fortnight on the appearance of the necromancer. She became so emotional that Father begged her to sit and sip slowly at a glass of brandy. I was surprised by the fuss, because Mama and I had both heard that the villain had left Porto for Lisbon. I had all but forgotten his threats against me and my family.
Later that day, Papa gave me only a mild reprimand. He hoped that I had learned my lesson, which I dutifully said I had, though I secretly knew I would do it all over again if given half the chance.
That evening, after a visit from Luna and Graca Olive Tree, my parents — to my great delight — granted permission for me to take art lessons from them on Friday afternoons. On my request, Daniel was welcomed as well.
After one of our first lessons, Father accompanied Daniel and me to the lad’s home, where he poked his nose into every corner. The next day, a sturdy washerwoman arrived to scrub it free of mildew and filth. While she was working away, two painters came and gave all the walls, inside and out, a fresh coat of whitewash. A splendid mattress was delivered for Daniel’s bed that evening, and Mother bought him a new shirt and a pair of breeches.
My friend went pale with embarrassment on entering our home in his new clothes. Papa tousled his black hair, which was lice-free and growing back nicely, and hugged him to his chest. He bid me with his glance to say nothing about the lad’s sniffles of gratitude.
I can vouchsafe that Daniel and Violeta fell in love that summer of 1800, not that this pleased me at the time — quite the contrary. I was jealous of the silly faces they made at each other when they believed no one was looking. I hated their easy complicity, their kinship of secret purpose that excluded me. After all, I had only just met Daniel myself. And I already wished to be Violeta’s knightly protector, since I thought she was the most beautiful lass I had ever seen. Before resigning myself to my secondary role, I occasionally spoke cruelly to her and made her cry. She seemed unaware of how awed I was by her, how unsettled by her very presence.
At the end of July, a month after we had begun to meet every few days for our adventures, she came to my window one morning long before dawn and stood on the street tossing pebbles up at it. Bleary-eyed, I opened my mosquito screens and shutters. “Come down here, John,” she called plaintively.
In the years since, I have often laughed at my ludicrous nine-year-old Romeo to her Juliet on the street below. I cannot deny, however, that having her come to see me pleased me enormously. I wondered if Daniel knew where she was or if he would regard our tryst as a betrayal. A small evil part of me hoped he would.
“Please, John, come with me,” Violeta said softly when I opened the front door. “Let’s go away from the houses, so we can talk.”
It is amusing, I know, but I truly believed that she would seek to beg my forgiveness for coming between me and Daniel. I even thought she might confess that she suffered his companionship only for the opportunity to be near me.
We soon reached the end of the street and stood at the top of the Synagogue Stairs, which wind down toward the riverside district. “Look up,” she said.
A scarf of lights unfurled across the heavens, high above the cathedral perched on a hill to the east.
“It’s the Milky Way,” she explained. “Thousands of stars huddling together. And look there,” she added, pointing toward a bright one. “That’s the North Star. It’s the center of the sky.”
She told me how this celestial body is so perfectly nestled in the heavens that it remains in the same spot as the earth turns on its axis. Then she explained to me something of the constellations and planets. Stars, I discovered, were serious business to Violeta. She didn’t mention Daniel until we walked back to my house. “I want to tell you a secret,” she said. “But you must not reveal it to anyone — even Daniel.”
As I swore to keep silent forever, I felt as though we were about to cross a bridge together. I knew I would do anything for her.
“I want to follow the stars to America,” she declared. “I shall live in the land of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.”
“But why is it that Daniel cannot know that?”
“Because I shall really go. And no one, not even he, will stop me.”
“We would be heartbroken if you were to leave without us, you know.”
She stared into the sky and took a long breath. We sat together on the stoop of my house and she asked me to scratch her head. I hesitated, suspecting that Daniel would clout me if I agreed.
The softness of her hair in my hands made me tremble. We said nothing to each other for a long while and instead let the night noises speak to us of our newfound intimacy. Then she kissed my cheek. “For being my friend,” she said.
“When you go to America, I shall come too,” I promised. And though I wholeheartedly meant it at the time, I was to forget my pledge in the years to come. Like most children, I lived with both feet firmly planted in the present tense and tended to let even the most important conversations fade into the past. Perhaps that was a blessing.
On the first Saturday in October, Daniel disappeared. Violeta and I grew frantic because he had never been late for one of our weekend walks to the tarn before. We ran to his home, but found it empty and so decided to wait at my house.
After about half an hour, Daniel knocked at our door, out of breath.
“Where have you been?” Mama exclaimed. “We’ve been worried.”
“With Senhora Beatriz.”
The lad was bouncing with joy, so electric that he could not stand being touched. We tried in vain to sit him down and have him explain calmly what had transpired. Apparently, Senhora Beatriz had come to his house the day before and told him that there was a bedroom waiting for him at her house.
He beamed with joy as he told us that his new bed had been made with clean sheets. “Smooth as moss,” he declared while performing a jig of delight all around the kitchen.
“Oh, Daniel, I am so pleased for you,” Mama said. “I am sure you will both be very happy.”
I remember thinking,
That evening, my mother confided in me that she had helped wear down Senhora Beatriz’s resistance, and though I should like to say that she was proved immediately right, and that Daniel’s new household became a refuge of calm and contentment, the truth is that he found living under his grandmother’s roof rather too confining. He passed their first couple of months together inventing ever new ways to provoke her. I particularly recall him once setting alight a pushcart of dried flowers in New Square.
Then one day in December, about two and a half months after moving in with her, having come home filthy from an adventure with me down by the river, he tracked dirt all over the house. On purpose, I am quite sure. Senhora Beatriz was equally certain of this, and she raised her hand to strike him for the very first time. But she found herself unable to do so. She collapsed onto her bed and sobbed instead.
Daniel had never seen a woman cry as though her lifeblood were flowing out of her. He vowed aloud to be kind to her, caressing her hair as she wept. And to his credit, he kept his word. He still had his mad adventures, of course, but never again did he do anything on purpose to embarrass or hurt her.
Indeed, he only made her cry once again. And then it was beyond his powers to avoid.
VIII
Fanny, my border collie, arrived one day in December of 1800 on a ship from Glasgow. I soon discovered that she was a kind and noble beast, except when engaged in the serious matter of eating. If disturbed from her bowl, Fanny barked. If further pestered, she would curl back her lip and bare her lethal incisors with a low growl. Upon a
