“Can you conceive of anything more fascinating than a steel bridge that can span a sea, and yet may be folded and carried upon the back of a donkey; or a projectile the shape of an apple which, cast by a small mechanical device, strikes a distant palace and crashes it like a child’s toy?”
“You are an artist, even though you employ metals and motors in place of words. You have a painter’s eye and a poet’s illusion…”
“The illusion of one generation,” the stranger replied affably, “is the commonplace of the next.”
Kotikokura tried to persuade his grasshopper to sing. He stood up and danced. “Sing, sing!” he shouted.
Several people stopped and kept tune to his dancing by clapping and stamping their feet.
“It is useless, my friend,” the stranger said a little sadly. “He never sings when imprisoned.”
Kotikokura reseated himself. The stranger continued to speak for some time on military problems and engineering. “Some day,” he said, “I shall construct a machine that can lift me up to the skies like an eagle…”
He rose. Pressing matters, he explained, compelled his attention. Perhaps his disposition was too restless to permit him to linger. Had he stayed a while longer, I might have confided to him matters that would have changed his life and the history of the human race. However the fateful moment flew away like a careless bird.
“I thank you very much for your hospitality, gentlemen. I would gladly remain longer with you, but I am leaving tomorrow for a long trip, and I must prepare many things.”
“A long trip?” I asked.
“Yes, to Constantinople, perhaps to Asia.”
“You will not regret it.”
“Have you been there?”
“On several occasions.”
“I always refrain from asking questions about places I expect to visit. I prefer to be unbiased and uninformed.”
“An artist– —”
He smiled. “You insist upon considering me an artist, signore.”
“An artist or a philosopher… But will you refresh yourself with another cup before we part?”
Kotikokura filled the cups.
He drained the cup without resuming his seat.
“If I had the time, I should like to make a statue of your friend,” he whispered. “He is the very incarnation of Pan…”
He smiled politely and made a gesture of farewell. I should not have permitted him to go out of my life like a cloud that leaves no trace.
“I hope we shall meet again,” I mumbled politely, instead of startling him into staying. “I am Count de Cartaphile.”
“A descendant of the Crusader?”
“Yes. How well informed you are!”
“I am interested in all things human.”
“And all things mechanical.”
“Yes.”
“And also, I take it, in all things divine?”
“No. The earth is sufficient for me…”
“May I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?”
“I am Leonardo da Vinci.”
Kotikokura was laughing. He had drunk a little beyond measure, and his eyelids looked heavy.
“Human pleasures are pathetic, Kotikokura. Look at those poor people trying to be happy.”
Kotikokura opened his eyes wide and nodded.
“They throw confetti at one another; they sing; they blow horns; they dance; they laugh—but beyond it all, do you not feel a great emptiness, and a great fear, Kotikokura? Do you not hear invisible wings like the winds that whistle through cemeteries…?”
Kotikokura nodded, his eyes closed.
“Can you not see Death, the Giant, riding his Phantom Horse, grinning to himself as he surveys his harvest?”
Kotikokura placed his head upon the table.
“No, no…you must not fall asleep. Come!”
He blinked several times, rose and steadied himself on my arm.
Two youths, dressed in green cloaks, were walking in front of us, arm in arm. Their caps, surmounted by red plumes, were slightly tilted. Their black curls, barely covering half of their napes, were ruffled by a light wind that had just risen. Kotikokura, a little unsteady, was hanging on my arm.
“Do not these youths remind you of exquisite music? I fear to see their faces. I do not want to be disappointed…”
Three men, slightly unsteady on their feet, turned the corner, and approached the youths. The latter tried to avoid the encounter, but the men stopped them.
“You shan’t go any farther, my little chicks,” one of them shouted. The others laughed.
“You will come along with us.”
“Stand aside!” one of the youths commanded. “Let us pass.”
The men looked at him from head to foot, and laughed.
“Just look at him! Why, my little midget, I can swallow you at a gulp,” one man, tall, muscular, and heavy-bearded, shouted gaily.
“It’s a girl,” another said.
“They are both girls…can’t you see?” the third one added, scrutinizing their faces.
“It is fortunate for you that we have left our swords at home…or we should give you proof of our manhood!”
“There are other ways of determining that problem,” one of the three remarked with an obscene leer.
“They are boys!” the first of three exclaimed.
“It does not matter what you are, my little ones. Come with us… !”
“Take your foul hands away! Stand aside, let us pass or tomorrow your bodies shall swing from the gibbet,” exclaimed one of the two, his voice raised in a boyish treble.
“Ha, ha! Ha, ha! The fellow has courage,” cried the bearded roysterer, clumsily embracing the child.
“Tomorrow takes care of itself. When we come across delicious fruit, we pluck it,” shouted the second, a red-faced youth with Spanish mustachios.
“And we pluck it tonight,” added the tallest of the three, a dark, dean-shaven villain.
A little hand descended upon his cheek with enough force to make him hear the angels sing. Fury and desire outstripped his pain. He seized the combative little figure and pressed the humid ardor of drunken kisses upon the child’s mouth.
The other two men grasped the second youth by the arms and pulled him into the thicket.
I approached. “Why do you molest these young people?”
“Mind your own business!”
The youths looked at me. Their faces were almost exactly alike and of singular beauty.
“I shall not interfere with you, if you will not interfere with them.”
“Stand off or– —”
One of them placed his hand upon the hilt of his knife. Kotikokura, who was standing in back of me, jumped at his throat.
The others drew their swords. Kotikokura loosened his grip on the first one who coughed violently, then struck the second roysterer a blow over the face which upset him. I gripped the third, and with one delicate twist which I had learned in the East, dislocated his arm. His sword dropped and he bent in two, howling with pain.
“These drunken ruffians will no longer annoy you,” I said to the youths who were holding each other’s arms, trembling.
“We are grateful to you, signor,” one of them answered manfully.
“May we accompany you to where you desire to go, seeing that it is not safe for two young people like you to be out on such a night unaccompanied and unarmed?”
“We are going home, and if you will be good enough to accompany us, we shall be beholden to you.”
We stopped at the gate of a palace, situated near the Duomo.
“It is here that we live, signore,” one of the youths informed me. “Should you care to come in, our uncle will be delighted to make your acquaintance and thank you for your chivalrous aid.”
I made a few evasive excuses.
“Do come!” he insisted.
“Are you certain that you are not inviting—the Devil and his—valet?”
They laughed.
We accepted.
LXIII: ANTONIO AND ANTONIA—BOY OR GIRL—I BLUSH—I TELL A STORY—BEAUTY IS A FLAME—TWO RINGS FOR ONE