Immortal Castrati 4

Part 4 of 7

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-4-

     It was much later in the day.  
     They all sat in the Headmaster's office, the Maestro Lorenzo 
Penzatti and Doctor Paolo Florenti, and Father Carlo Fellini.  
There was not much speaking taking place, only shared looks of fear 
and amazement.  Pietro was back in his room, in bed, unconscious.  
Unknown to the stunned group, the little vampire castrato was still 
UNDER Pietro's bed.
     The only member of the group not too shaken to speak seemed to 
be the doctor, who had not attended the funeral services and seen 
what Pietro had done.  He was bordering on a state of inarticulate 
rage.  "How dare you take that boy to the service and let him sing 
!"  he had shouted, when he had arrived.  His outburst had been cut 
short, however, when Father Carlo had produced a small pouch filled 
with shards of shattered church window glass and had told the 
doctor the story. 
     "I cannot believe it, " the doctor said.
     "Then go and see it for yourself, " the Headmaster whispered, 
"God, how I wish I had not seen it !"
     "What is this boy now, " the Maestro asked of the group, "to 
do this ?  How is it possible ?"
     "By all rights, he should not have been able to walk down the 
stairs by himself, much less sing and sing well enough to blow out 
windows !"  the doctor stated.
     Father Carlo was shaking his head.  "It was not natural, I 
tell you, " he stammered, as if the words were causing him pain, 
"and it is not a gift, that which destroys in the House of the Lord 
!"
     "You think he did it intentionally then ?"  the Maestro asked 
in amazement, "How ?  Can you not understand his pain and loss, 
Father ?  Giovani was like his own brother, and he feels 
responsible."
     "It is not enough, " the priest replied, "there has to be a 
reason.  Surely . . . " but his voice trailed off.
     "What ?" the Headmaster asked.
     Father Carlo was shaking his head and making the sign of the 
cross again.  "What if the boy is doing the devil's work ?"
     Doctor Florenti snorted.  "That boy couldn't be doing anyone's 
work in his condition."
     The Maestro exchanged a quick look with the Headmaster, who 
discretely shook his head.
     They must not mention it, they had agreed, and surely now they 
could not.  Talk of the devil ?  It could begin a witch-hunt, and 
Pietro would be the first one burned at the stake.
     "I don't supposed we could just accept the fact that you all 
witnessed a miracle?"  the doctor asked.
     They all turned to stare at him.
     "We could blame it on wind and structural flaw of the church," 
he offered.
     "Bad glass, poor workmanship, perhaps ?" the Maestro continued.
     "The glass maker of those windows IS dead, " Father Carlo 
agreed, still running his fingers over the well worn rosary he 
clutched tightly in his fist.
     There was a long pause.
     "Then that is what we will do, " stated the Headmaster, "And 
we will circulate this story as quickly as possible.  The inquiries 
have already begun, and the boy is not even awake yet."
     "You'll be lucky if he wakes up at all, judging from the looks 
of what I saw of him," the doctor said.
     Much to his chagrin, the Maestro had vehemently objected to 
the doctor's examining Pietro's wounds.
     Explaining that would be almost as difficult as explaining the 
church's windows.
     Finally, after an intense arguement, the Maestro had convinced 
him that Pietro had no infection and no new bleeding and that his 
bandages were fresh and clean.  The doctor has seen the look in the 
Maestro's eyes and relented.  
     As they all got up to leave, shaking each other's hands, the 
Maestro pulled Father Carlo aside.  "A moment, if you will, Father."
     The priest nodded.
     The doctor and the Headmaster had gone off in search of Marc.
     "I truly believe, " the Maestro stated matter-of-factly, "that 
we have all been witness to a miracle.  We cannot understand the 
Will of God, and Pietro has suffered so much.  Abandonment, 
lonliness, and the loss of his truest friend and companion, not to 
mention his castration.  Can you not accept that, Father, that 
perhaps he is to be truly rewarded with such power ?"
     Father Carlo said nothing.  Instead, he turned and walked 
away.  The rosary was having a rough day.

     The sun was heading on towards evening as Marc drank his glass 
of spiced wine and settled into a very hot bath.  His eyes had just 
closed as, up in Pietro's room, Roberto's eyes opened.  
     Pietro, however, had not stirred.
     Roberto waited patiently, watching the sunlight falling on the 
floor of Pietro's room.  Slowly, the bright patches of light 
receeded towards the wall until, at last, they disappeared.  
Roberto rolled out from his dark shelter and stretched.  He 
yawned.  Then he folded the spare blanket he had taken from 
Pietro's closet and replaced it.  He sat in the chair next to the 
sleeping castrato's bed and watched the eyes moving quickly this 
way and that beneath the closed lids.  Roberto smiled.  Pietro was 
simply asleep now, asleep and dreaming, not unconscious.  Roberto 
smiled.  "From half a world away, " he whispered in Pietro's ear, 
"I would have heard that song !  I could not have sung it better 
myself.  Very well done, my friend."
     Pietro moaned softly in his sleep and rolled over.
     But are we really friends ?  Roberto wondered, and what will 
he say to me when he awakens ?

      Night had fallen over the conservatorio.  The moon was rising 
full in the east, and a gentle breeze was rustling the leaves of 
the huge tree by the stone wall.  A very few of them had begun to 
turn color.  Roberto was still sitting, waiting for Pietro to 
awaken.  The Maestro Lorenzo had gone to bed early that night after 
conferring with doctor Florenti over Marc's condition.  The dark-
skinned boy's operation had gone well, almost as easily as 
Pietro's, and the doctor expected no complications.  He was, 
however, very strict about Marc's physical restrictions.  The boy 
would remain in bed for a week, with absolutely no excuses, funeral 
or not !  The Maestro had seen the doctor off to his carrriage, 
checked in on Marc - who was being observed by Frederico - and 
turned in.  The day's events had left him exhausted, and he was 
asleep in no time.
     The Headmaster had also retired early.
     Father Carlo had tried to do the same, but was awakened by 
bizarre dreams of castrati with fangs that dripped blood destroying 
his church.  Upon awakening, he had instantly given up hope of a 
good night's rest and gone to the church to stare for hours at the 
damage done by Pietro.
     It was a peaceful and almost perfect Autumn night in every 
respect.
     Roberto sighed, still waiting.
     
     It was somewhere around three in the morning when Pietro 
awakened.  He rose towards wakefullness slowly, not sure of where 
he was.  The room was lit only by the full moon, and he saw Roberto 
sitting in the frame of the open window, his legs pulled up to his 
chest and his hands clasped around his knees.  The dull silver 
light of the moon made it look like Roberto was glowing with a 
strange aura.  His hair, pulled back into the long ponytail, was 
almost white in the moonlight and his black robe looked more like 
the abscense of light totally than the color black.  The red sash 
appeared gray.
     Slowly, the little vampire turned to face Pietro.
     The light danced upon his fangs for a moment, and his eyes 
were glowing red.
     Pietro gasped.
     "The funeral is over, my friend, " Roberto began, "and it is 
almost morning of the day after.  You have spent much of this week 
asleep, you know.  The song was beautiful, by the way.  I cried all 
the way through it.  I did not expect such a performance from one 
so young."
     Pietro had gotten out of bed and walked over to stand barefoot 
beside his strange friend.  A part of him still did not want to 
believe it, though.  
     "I had the strangest dream, " Pietro said, "I was at the 
funeral, and when I sang your song all of the windows exploded out 
of the church.  Father . . . .  uh . . . ."
    "Carlo, " Roberto offered.
     "Yes, Father Carlo was there, terrified and staring.  The 
young castrati fainted, and the Maestro carried me off the stage 
when the song was over, " Pietro mused.
     Roberto's eyes stopped glowing.
     "It was no dream, " he stated, "It happened."
     Pietro gasped.
     "Oh, yes.  That priest is screaming witchcraft, the doctor is 
angry but doubtful, and the Maestro and Headmaster are keeping your 
healing a secret.  So far, no one but you knows about me.  We're 
down to only on officer nosing about the grounds now too,"  Almost 
as an afterthought, he added, "and they castrated Marc a few hours 
ago.   That fat eunuch is babysitting him."
     Pietro stared.
     It was real ?  All of it ?  He HAD blown the windows out with 
his voice and Roberto's song ?  How was it possible ?  It was all 
too much to think about, that and the castration and healing, and 
now Marc, and the accussations . . .  Pietro sighed and sat back 
down on the bed.
     "Come, " Roberto offered, extending his thin, pale hand, "come 
with me and go away from this place if only for a few hours.  The 
sun is yet far away, and we may share in this perfect night."
     Pietro shook his head.
     "Please, " Roberto whispered, "please come, if only to talk.  
I promise you, I do not need to eat now."
     "Where will we go ? " Pietro asked.
     "The tree, the church - well, not IN the church, but close so 
you may see it.  Perhaps over the roofs of the buildings in town.  
Who knows ?  The night has much to offer . . . "
     Somehow, to Pietro, the pale castrato did not sound too 
sincere about the night's offerings.  He could feel the desperate 
lonliness once again.  He could understand it.  And suddenly, he 
wanted to eliminate it.
     "What should I wear ?" Pietro asked.
     "It's chilly, " Roberto thought for a moment, "put on your 
heavy black robe over your nightshirt and wear your boots."  There 
was a smile spreading over the vampire's face, but his fangs had 
pulled back in.
     Pietro dressed quickly and headed for the door.
     "Not that way, " Roberto said, gesturing towards the open 
window.
     Pietro nodded and the two castrati sat with their legs 
dangling over the edge of the windowsill.  Roberto put his arm 
around Pietro's shoulders and took a deep breath.  Pietro felt a 
peculiar lurch, and found himself seated on the highest limb of the 
great tree staring down at the conservatorio grounds.  It looked 
almost like day to him now.  Roberto was smiling very openly.
     "That was good, " he stated.
     Pietro yelped and tightened his grip on Roberto.
     The vampire didn't seem to mind, tightening his own grip on 
Pietro as well.  For a moment, Pietro felt that he had no 
intentions of ever letting go.  It was a strange feeling, but 
fleeting.
     They were up so high that the entire roofs of all the 
conservatorio's building were visible.  He had no idea that the 
tree, one of the most talked about things at the conservatorio, was 
so big.  
     "Helps to get a new perspective, " Roberto offered.
     Pietro composed himself and looked around.  He could see for 
so far in every direction, and it felt as if the tree itself were 
aware and welcomed him to its limbs.  The feeling permeated his 
mind, and the tree was suddenly more than a landmark or a 
curiosity.  It was alive, tangible, and something with an 
awareness.  The sensation made him even dizzier.  Suddenly he had 
an image come to his mind of falling off the limb, and of the other 
limbs reaching out to grab him and save him.
     Roberto was laughing softly.  "Welcome to MY world," he said.
     Pietro ran his hand slowly along the rough bark of the tree 
and said nothing.  He stared out over the conservatorio grounds, 
and then up at the moon.  Everything was as bright as noon-day to 
him now.  It was remarkable.  The night was so alive, so full of 
sounds and things to see; things that the daylight would not 
permit.  The young castrato had never felt anything like it.  And 
the tree . . . the tree was - what? - laughing?
     "It's really happy," Roberto said, "and it IS laughing.  You 
remember the day last summer when Marc climbed up to the second 
branch?"
     Pietro nodded.  He had been there and seen it all.  Marc had 
always wanted to climb the tree, and the Maestro and Headmaster and 
all of the other boys were forever trying to keep him from it.  
Pietro remembered it well.  Marc had fallen off that second branch 
and hit the first with open legs.  He had almost become a castrato 
that day by accident.
     "How did you know about that?"
     "The tree told me, " Roberto replied, "it found it very 
amusing."
     Pietro laughed in spite of himself.  Poor little Marc had 
spent two days in bed over that adventure.  Dr. Florenti had NOT 
been impressed, either.
     "Well, he won't have to worry about that anymore, I guess, " 
Pietro said.
     Roberto smiled that inviting smile of his, the one that Pietro 
had seldom seen.  There were no traces of the creature he really 
was on his face; Roberto was simply a boy having fun.  At that 
moment, anyway.
     "Flying is nice, " Roberto stated, "but it takes a lot out of 
you."
     Pietro was still gazing around at the incredible view.  He 
could  understand Marc's desire to climb the tree now.  He could 
almost make it out, the feeling becoming words from the great tree 
itself, He never comes to see me anymore, that dark-toned little 
boy.  Is he alright now?  Why does he not come back ?
     "Just tell it, " Roberto said helpfully, "it will hear you and 
understand.  All things in the night will understand you when you 
are with me."
     Pietro opened his mind to the tree, assuring it that Marc had 
not forgotten.  He explained the accident in detail, and the tree 
seemed to shiver in laughter when it understood.
     "There is more, my friend, if you will come and see it with 
me, " Roberto asked.
     Pietro looked around and nodded.  He still had a few days left 
to play the role of the sick and bedridden child, so the night was 
his and Roberto's to do with as they pleased.  As long as they were 
back by dawn.

     From the tree, they took flight and circled the conservatorio 
once.  Pietro held onto the little vampire for dear life, but his 
fear slowly faded away as Roberto held him with a strength that was 
unsuspected for his thin, weak-looking arms.  The passed over the 
town, stopping to rest and walking across rooftops occassionally.  
Pietro was impressed with some of the artwork incorporated into the 
buildings, and the gargoyles and rain gutterings.  He wondered how 
it was he never noticed such things before.
     "You don't look up," Roberto answered the unspoken question, 
as if reading the thoughts from Pietro's mind, "No one ever looks 
up, lucky for me, I guess."
     And then they arrived at the church.
     Roberto sat them down across the street from it, in the moon-
shadow of an apartment house.  The windows, devoid of the beautiful 
glass, stared a them like eye sockets of an empty and long-dead 
skull.  Pietro shiverred.  "I did that ?" he breathed, crossing the 
street to get a closer look.
     Roberto nodded, but did not follow.
     Then they saw the light.
     It bobbed and moved through the church, slowly.
     "Lantern !"  Pietro gasped.
     Roberto spat out a rancid oath, and grabbed Pietro's arm.  The 
movement was unexpected, and Pietro was jerked off his feet.  When 
he got his bearings again, they were up on the roof the apartment 
house.
     "Damn priest, " Roberto muttered.
     Pietro stared at him.  Roberto was not telling him something.
     The little vampire castrato was paler than usual and shaking.  
He was rubbing his face with his hands, as if trying to dry off 
after washing.  He seemed to be in pain, and Pietro could feel a 
burning sensation on his own face.  "What is it ? " he asked.
     Roberto stared at the light as it came through the church 
door.  Father Carlo was there, looking this way and that, muttering 
prayers.  He moved off down the street, in the opposite direction 
of the castrati hiding in the shadows.
     Roberto let out an explosive breath.
     "That was hard, " he said, "Priests are so hard to 'suggest' 
things to."
     "You made him go the other way? " Pietro asked, hardly 
believing it.
     The vampire nodded.  
     "What else ?" Pietro pushed.
     Roberto sighed and shook his head, still rubbing his cheeks.  
"About 60 years ago, Father Carlo and I had an incident.  He was 
just out of the seminary, looking for his own church to lead.  I 
met him on the road just as the sun was setting.  I had been 
sleeping in an old hollow tree - a very nice tree, I might add - 
when I set off on foot.  I was hungry and moody, and then we met.  
He was leading a scraggly pony behind him, and I really tried to be 
nice.  Really !  What ?!"
     Pietro was shaking his head and smiling.  "Just go on, " he 
said.
     "Anyway, " Roberto continued, "he was nice enough to me when 
we met up at first, but his questions got more and more involved 
and I couldn't answer them.  When he finally wanted to know what 
conservatorio I had run away from, that was it.  I was frightened, 
and well, I sort of 'showed' him what I was.  He didn't take it 
well.  He started praying at me, invoking scripture, and then, THEN 
he threw a vial of holy water in my face !"
     Pietro looked confused.
     "I'm not exactly the angel of the Lord, Pietro.  Have you any 
idea what holy water does to a vampire ?"
     The mortal castrato shook his head.
     The immortal castrato turned his head, and when he turned 
back, his face was raw and steaming.  One of his eyes was swollen 
shut, and his lower lip was split.  He shook his head and the 
damage disappeared.
     "That was an illusion, by the way, but it really happened.  It 
took me three years to heal up from that."
     Pietro was stunned.  "What did you do? " he asked tentatively.
     "I sprang upon him, punched him in the face until he passed 
out, and then ate his pony for breakfast.  Then I went back to the 
tree and cried for days, " the vampire explained, "You cannot know 
the pain."
     There were tears in Pietro's eyes as he felt the emotion, the 
memory, communicating itself from Roberto to him . . . he felt the 
burning, the pain, and finally . . . the lonliness.  It was almost 
too much to bear.
     "How long ?" Pietro asked softly, "How long has it been like 
this for you ?  Not the holy water thing, but all of it ?  ALL of 
it, Roberto?  Tell me."
     The little vampire turned his back on Pietro and shrugged.  "A 
little over a century I think.  Maybe more.  This town was here, 
but much smaller.  I came from the north originally, up near the 
border.  My family moved a great deal, and I don't remember a real 
home.  I hardly remember them.  Hell, I can't even remember my own 
surname.  I can bearly recall the faces of my brothers and sisters, 
and I don't know how many of us there were. 
     "We were poor, but the church was always kind to us.  I 
remember spending hours haunting the shadows when I was a boy, 
listening, humming, and finally singing.  I loved to sing, Pietro, 
as much as you do.  It made me feel so good inside, and to see the 
faces of the people when they listened.  I sang every Sunday, and 
at all the services.  The old priest at the time, long dead now, 
suggested to my father that he enroll me at the conservatorio - 
your conservatorio, Pietro."
     The boy stared at the vampire in disbelief.  Roberto had lived 
here almost a century before !  
     "I was there for about six months, singing and impressing my 
teachers.  I was so good that my father did not have to pay 
tuition.  It wasn't long before the doctor came one day and 
examined me.  I didn't know I was ill, in fact, I was not.  He 
checked me over, and then told me to come to the basement with 
him.  He put me in a hot bath, and had me drink some wine.  You 
know the rest, my friend, you've been there."  Roberto was looking 
deeply into Pietro's eyes now, as if searching for something.  
     "You were a student here !"
     "I just said that, yes, " Roberto replied.
     "A century ?"  Pietro gasped.
     Roberto shook his head and smiled.  "Give or take a few years 
. . . I knew it would be hard to accept.  Try, for my sake."
     Then it dawned on Pietro what Roberto wanted.  The vampire 
castrato had come home.  Driven by lonliness, or perhaps something 
else, Roberto had come home after so many years.
     "Why ?" Pietro asked in a voice so low he wasn't sure that the 
vampire would hear it.
     "I'm not sure now, " Roberto answered in a quavering voice.  
"First, the call of your beautiful voice was what got my 
attention.  As I travelled, I found you were here and I almost did 
not come.  But I had to.  Then, as I drew closer, I started to 
remember the conservatorio and my life here.  I was happy here, 
Pietro, can you understand that ?  I loved to sing, I loved the 
town, and life itself.  It didn't matter that they castrated me 
without telling me.  Back then, the boys were never told.  Oh, 
there were rumors of course, but no one could believe that he would 
someday get his balls cut out !  The castrati always had a story - 
hernias, accidents, diseases, the list goes on and on.
     "I was healthy, I never suspected a thing.  Then I woke up in 
bed the next morning with a bandage between my legs.  But I didn't 
care, Pietro.  My voice was everything to me then."  Roberto had 
tears in his eyes, and the terrible feeling of longing, of 
searching, was there again as well.
     "Please, " he implored, "Not the rest, not tonight."
     Pietro took a step towards the little vampire and put his arm 
around his shoulders.
     "Come, " he offered, "walk with me a ways and show me more of 
YOUR world.  Tell me only what you want, and I promise, I will not 
push you."
     Roberto was leaning heavily on Pietro as they set off down the 
street towards the conservatorio that Pietro did, and that the 
immortal castrato had once, called home.