As for Vuk and Nicola, the only presents their father now gave them were coins of various realms, all fungible; that satisfied them best.
Years after he was gone, Tanya wondered whether he had wished to tell her more about his youth in Serbia. Why she knew so little was mysterious in and of itself. Uncle Stefano’s daughters, for instance, loved to prattle about their high stone house, as if they could remember it. Uncle Alessandro first made friends with her brothers by telling over the Turks he had killed; of the three boys, Nicola especially adored him, and rushed to mend ropes for him or even tar the deck, if only he could be near him. Jovo Cirtovich was, perhaps, shy. On rare occasions Tanya overheard him relating to her proud and breathless brothers some family tale of raid or ambush, in which he never signified. — Remember well, he’d say. There were Cirtovices at Kosovo. — To the daughters he declined to mention such things, and so she did not inquire, a respectfully meant omission which in old age she regretted. Once for no reason he described that same stone house, which had smelled of sausages, tobacco and ancient wheat, and Tanya, a little afraid of being unseemly, inquired about her grandmother. — Much like your mother, he replied. She cared for all of us, without many words. — And Grandfather? Uncle Florio says he died a hero. — Marking the ledger with his forefinger, he looked up to say: He was a great man, praise be to God. Now, Tanyotchka, have you found the mistake in Uncle Massimo’s invoice?
There came the evening when, called urgently to save the church from fire, her father rode there with Petar and all her brothers and uncles, and Tanya found the key left in the lock of his ebony coffer. That time she was a good girl. A week after that, her father was at the warehouse, her mother in the garden caring for the lilies, her most prized flowers; her sisters were weaving and spinning for their dowry chests. Tanya had finished verifying the consignment sheets of a cargo of olive oil. One barrel was unaccounted for. Nicola rushed in, peeped into the looking-glass as earnestly as the helmsman watches the dog vane, then departed, very worked up, yet somehow pleased with himself. Where was Petar? The girl put her ear to the stable door and heard his snoring. Yes, she was safe, and would now accomplish her object. Opening the chest, she saw a hoard of secret books. They were all about death. Her Uncle Florio had once sworn to her that every Turk is as a werewolf who devours children’s flesh — and here was a tract which taught how any man could become just such a monster, by going to a certain island and lifting a certain white stone. What had her father to do with that? Terrified, the girl reclosed the lid and locked it, saying nothing to anyone. The next time they ate together, she watched her father’s teeth. Half reassured, she rendered herself wholly so by promising herself that those books were not what she had believed. She was learning how to keep secrets.
Just for her he once brought a wooden chest all the way from Egypt; within stood tiny blue mummiform servants with their arms folded across their breasts and their kohled eyes staring ahead. She used to march them all around. He said that they must have belonged to some Pharaoh’s sister-wife, who had been entombed with them so that they could do her work for her in the afterlife. Even a queen, so it seemed, was not exempt from agricultural labor.
Well, father, since we have taken away her slaves, will she have to work now?
He laughed and chucked her under the chin. Just then he was unriddling the mystery of the three triangles contained in the Pentangle of Solomon, and her still innocent as he supposed (for he never learned about the episode of the ebony coffer); to him it seemed that this first knowledge she was gathering must merely be as sweetly ancient to her as ears of wheat engraved on a buried Roman pillar; she was not yet armed with the Sword of the Word; the Divine Purpose had not murmured in her ear; but soon, perhaps even this winter, when the ships were in, he would show her the Cabbalistic Secrets of the Master Aptolcater.
Father, where is Captain Vasojevic?
Him? Oh, I’ve sent him back to Egypt.
(The task, he did not tell his daughter, was to expose from beneath the sands of Egypt a certain pyramid whose vertex touched the center of the earth, and copy whatever writing might be engraved therein.)
On another day she asked why Prince Lazar had fallen, and her father, rising, with tears in his eyes, explained that Christ had offered two choices: victory at Kosovo, and then eternal insignificance, or the tragic glory of a defeat which his descendants would unceasingly mourn and seek to avenge.
Trusting her above all others in the household, even his dear wife Marija, he ordered whichever books she wished, even when her mother thought them unsuitable, and while her younger brothers were telling off Dalmatia’s coastal islands to their father’s strictest sea-pilots (for mistakes they now got beaten — she never did), she began to study the ancient Greeks, because next spring he hoped for her help in collating seven fragmentary parchments concerning astral navigation. She chose certain dramas as her primers; he sent away to Rome, paying gold ducats. — He said to her: I’ve prayed to Saint Sava that you’ll find something I’ve overlooked. — At this the girl felt proud, guilty and uncertain. — He used to sit by the hour at his high easel-desk, calculating wages and profits, while she rested with her legs in his lap, reading Euripides. Not until she had children of her own did she realize how much trouble he must have put himself to, conveying the ledgers back and forth in order to be home with her longer. When she got to “Alcestis,” that play about the selfish man who falls out with his old father for declining to die for him, then finally persuades his wearily, tolerantly loving wife, Tanyotchka forgot to reach out and gently stroke her father’s wrist; and he, coming up out of absorption in his ledgers, presently noticed the lack, and saw her lovely face illuminated with tears. Saying nothing, he continued his sums, waiting for her to speak. He had almost come to the time when he must be off to his ships when she said: Now I understand.
Oh, is that so? And what do you understand?
It’s better to die for others than to—
Yes.
But why couldn’t he have won the battle also, and saved our land?
So then you don’t entirely understand. Well, darling, give me a kiss! The Beograd is coming in…
From Montenegro?
Good girl! And your uncle needs me.
Father, why must you do business with the Sultan?
For our advantage, and his disadvantage, silly girl! Now I’m going—
The girl smiled at him.
Father, about Prince Lazar—
Yes, darling, what is it? Be quick.
Would it be better to have hope of heaven, and live in the world trying to improve oneself, or just be born in heaven and never feel the need of anything?
That’s one crucial question, for a fact, said he, caressing her hair, and then as he turned away from her she saw the mysterious affliction settle back upon him, so that all the sudden he was as gnawed down to narrowness as the jackal-haunted Sabbioncello peninsula. Rising dutifully, she went to weave linen before her mother scolded her. Once her father had called for Petar, her mother stood for a long time in the garden, stretching out her hands to the doves.
Mother, mother, please tell me more about Saint Lazar.
What else do you need to know? He’s our holy saint, who gave his life for our glory.
But why couldn’t he—
Her mother sharply said: Whoever weeps for the world loses his eyes.