Read Online Daughter of Venice by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page B

show you,” whispers Paolina, squatting beside him. “I’ll come by on my way back up. I’ll even take you up with me, to play.”
    Bortolo peels my hand away from his mouth. “None of you other girls are fun. The only one who plays good is Donata. She’s almost as good as Antonio.”
    I warm with pleasure. Antonio has always been the most fun to play with. It’s an honor to be compared to him.
    Paolina takes a deep breath. “I’ll get Andriana to hold you steady as you stand on our balcony railing.”
    “Andriana won’t agree,” Bortolo whispers. “Only Francesco dares do that.” That child is no fool.
    “Yes she will,” says Paolina.
    “Bortolo!” calls Aunt Angela, from down the corridor. “Where are you?”
    “Nowhere,” calls back Bortolo. He shakes his head at Paolina and leans toward her. “And what if Andriana doesn’t agree?”
    “I’ll bring you a plant from Giulia’s garden,” says Paolina. “A flowering plant.”
    Bortolo wrinkles his nose. “Who cares about plants?”
    Paolina takes a loud breath and I know she’s preparing to argue.
    “I’ll bring you an extra-special treat,” I say quickly.
    “A treasure,” insists Bortolo.
    “Yes, a treasure.”
    Bortolo gets up and runs down the corridor. “I’m coming. I’m coming to get you, Nicola, and turn you into a big fat goose with my big fat goose magic and eat you. Yum,” he screams.
    Nicola shrieks in fear that is only half a game.
    I stifle a laugh, and Paolina and I run the rest of the way down the stairs.
    The ground floor is full of the noise of outside, for the big gates that open onto the Canal Grande have been pulled back completely and all Venice pours in with the unfettered stream of sunlight. The fishing boat already bobs in the water channel that cuts into the central foyer of the ground floor. Cook haggles with the fish vendor, who barks orders at a boy. The boy jumps here and there about the boat, finding exactly the fish the vendor wants to show Cook.
    Paolina and I hunch in the cool, damp shadows and work our way along the wall until we can duck into the first storeroom.
    “Give me those,” Paolina says. “And stay here.”
    I’m not used to taking orders from Paolina. But this is her plan—so I hand her my satchel and her parcel and move a little farther into the storeroom. The strong odor of clean wool thread, the odor I’m familiar with from so many mornings of preparing bobbins for the looms, is at odds with the strangeness of the situation. I slowly wind a strand around my arm from wrist to shoulder. When I can’t stand the suspense any longer, I peek into the foyer.
    Paolina sits on the stone floor behind Cook, perched on the satchel, which lies on top of the brown paper parcel. In that position, she seems tiny and much younger. Not even Father could be upset that she’s not wearing a veil in front of these fishers. Every now and then she says something to Cook. No one suspects her. She could get away with murder, that’s what Mother says. I bet when she finally enters a convent, the nuns will find her so unruly, they’ll try to marry her off even if it means putting up a dowry for her themselves.
    At last Cook leads the fisherman up the stairs and Paolina tosses the parcel and satchel onto the boat. She stands now, with her hands on both hips, imperiously.
    I watch for the boy to hand Paolina a satchel in return. But he opens the one she gave him, says a few words, then strips off his shirt. Right there in front of my sister. We’ve seen shirtless boys and men from our window on occasion, but never up close like this. Except for our brothers, and they don’t count. Though Paolina will never marry and, thus, her reputation doesn’t really matter, she shouldn’t be subjected to this sort of thing. I come out of the storeroom, despite the fact that all I have on is my nightdress. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    The boy throws the shirt on the stone floor and turns his back as he pulls