Read Online What Remains of the Fair Simonetta by Laura T. Emery - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura T. Emery
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drawing?”
“I have designated the appellation of ornitottero to the indicated conception, representing ornithos, a Greek word for avian creature, conjoined with pteron, or ‘wing.’”
“Oh…okay,” I replied as I scratched my head. I could barely understand what he was saying. “How does it work?”
“The navigator must lie in a procumbent position on the indicated pine wood plank. He would henceforth circumvolve the crank with all four of his extremities provoking the pteron to oscillate in an ascending and descending manner.”
“Yeah, I draw stuff like that all the time,” I chuckled.
I noticed there were Italian words—or parts of them—written backwards on the left side of his sketch. I was about to ask him about the odd text, but he spoke first.
“Why is your speech divergent from that of other Florentines?” Leonardo queried. I was surprised he was the first to notice.
“I’m from another place,” I replied.
And time.
“Simonetta is from Genoa, Leonardo,” Sandro answered.
“A land of a different tongue! I wish I had one hundred tongues!” Leonardo enthused.
“You wish for many tongues, Leonardo, and yet you already have more than half of what you need. Instead, you should wish for a brain. That is what you are missing!” Sandro said, with obvious sarcasm.
“Ahh, but I have amassed an exceeding amount of knowledge on how to paint a landscape in comparison to you, my friend!”
“I have little interest in landscapes,” Sandro retorted. “Such studies are in vain, since merely by throwing a sponge soaked in different colors at a wall, a spot is formed in which a beautiful landscape may be discerned.”
The two then laughed together, clearly good friends.
One of the Pollaiolo brothers, I’m not sure which, began talking with Sandro about ultramarine, tempura, and light and shadow effects. While Sandro was distracted, I decided to pick Leonardo’s ample brain. With little time for pleasantries before someone else would inevitably interrupt, I decided to delve right in.
“Leonardo, I must speak with you privately because I feel you might be the only one who would understand my particular…situation.”
“Oh?” he asked quizzically.
“I speak differently because I’m from another place, but I’m also from another time,” I anxiously blurted. “I was born in the twenty-first century in a place called America…I learned the Tuscan language from Sandro’s father, Mariano, after he’d been dead for over six-hundred years…When I also died… in my future life… I was placed in the Chisea di Ognissanti, but then I woke up today in Simonetta’s body.” Out of breath, I smiled demurely, and waited for his sage reply.
He pondered my words for a few moments before drolly saying, “You have evidently spent a superfluous duration with Sandro.”
“What? No! I’m not joking. I came to you because you’re the most open-minded man the world has ever seen!”
Before hallucinogens came along anyway.
“How do you cognize my aforementioned un-shut mind?”
“It is a well-known fact where I come from. Every person on the planet has heard your name and knows of your accomplishments.”
“Really?” His face suddenly brightened. Flattery seemed to have gotten me somewhere. “And you have not overindulged in some form of intoxicating liquid?”
“No, I only had one glass of wine. Look, I’m not drunk. I’m telling you the truth. I really need your help.”
He paused for another painfully long moment. “You would request for me to formulate a time contraption to dispatch you back where you belong?” He said with a grand smile, evidently excited at the prospect.
“No! God no!”
Yeah, please send me back to a place where I’m dead and alone with the spirit of a cantankerous old man.
I really hadn’t fully considered what Leonardo could do for me, other than believe me. My reaction made me realize, rather than going back to my future with Mariano, I really
“I have designated the appellation of ornitottero to the indicated conception, representing ornithos, a Greek word for avian creature, conjoined with pteron, or ‘wing.’”
“Oh…okay,” I replied as I scratched my head. I could barely understand what he was saying. “How does it work?”
“The navigator must lie in a procumbent position on the indicated pine wood plank. He would henceforth circumvolve the crank with all four of his extremities provoking the pteron to oscillate in an ascending and descending manner.”
“Yeah, I draw stuff like that all the time,” I chuckled.
I noticed there were Italian words—or parts of them—written backwards on the left side of his sketch. I was about to ask him about the odd text, but he spoke first.
“Why is your speech divergent from that of other Florentines?” Leonardo queried. I was surprised he was the first to notice.
“I’m from another place,” I replied.
And time.
“Simonetta is from Genoa, Leonardo,” Sandro answered.
“A land of a different tongue! I wish I had one hundred tongues!” Leonardo enthused.
“You wish for many tongues, Leonardo, and yet you already have more than half of what you need. Instead, you should wish for a brain. That is what you are missing!” Sandro said, with obvious sarcasm.
“Ahh, but I have amassed an exceeding amount of knowledge on how to paint a landscape in comparison to you, my friend!”
“I have little interest in landscapes,” Sandro retorted. “Such studies are in vain, since merely by throwing a sponge soaked in different colors at a wall, a spot is formed in which a beautiful landscape may be discerned.”
The two then laughed together, clearly good friends.
One of the Pollaiolo brothers, I’m not sure which, began talking with Sandro about ultramarine, tempura, and light and shadow effects. While Sandro was distracted, I decided to pick Leonardo’s ample brain. With little time for pleasantries before someone else would inevitably interrupt, I decided to delve right in.
“Leonardo, I must speak with you privately because I feel you might be the only one who would understand my particular…situation.”
“Oh?” he asked quizzically.
“I speak differently because I’m from another place, but I’m also from another time,” I anxiously blurted. “I was born in the twenty-first century in a place called America…I learned the Tuscan language from Sandro’s father, Mariano, after he’d been dead for over six-hundred years…When I also died… in my future life… I was placed in the Chisea di Ognissanti, but then I woke up today in Simonetta’s body.” Out of breath, I smiled demurely, and waited for his sage reply.
He pondered my words for a few moments before drolly saying, “You have evidently spent a superfluous duration with Sandro.”
“What? No! I’m not joking. I came to you because you’re the most open-minded man the world has ever seen!”
Before hallucinogens came along anyway.
“How do you cognize my aforementioned un-shut mind?”
“It is a well-known fact where I come from. Every person on the planet has heard your name and knows of your accomplishments.”
“Really?” His face suddenly brightened. Flattery seemed to have gotten me somewhere. “And you have not overindulged in some form of intoxicating liquid?”
“No, I only had one glass of wine. Look, I’m not drunk. I’m telling you the truth. I really need your help.”
He paused for another painfully long moment. “You would request for me to formulate a time contraption to dispatch you back where you belong?” He said with a grand smile, evidently excited at the prospect.
“No! God no!”
Yeah, please send me back to a place where I’m dead and alone with the spirit of a cantankerous old man.
I really hadn’t fully considered what Leonardo could do for me, other than believe me. My reaction made me realize, rather than going back to my future with Mariano, I really
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