Immortal Castrati 5

Part 5 of 7

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  IMMORTAL CASTRATI  

 
  
 
    
    -5-

    Pietro was asleep in his bed the next morning when the Maestro 
Lorenzo came in to check on him.  It was more to continue the 
fiction of the young castrato's convalescence than anything else.  
The Maestro knew very well that Pietro was fully healed, but the 
truth had to be kept secret.  The boy would have to stay in bed and 
act suitably ill for the next few days, at least.  The Maestro came 
into the room and bent down to look closer at the sleeping 
castrato's face.  He was pale, the Maestro thought, even though he 
had no reason to be.  The room was somewhat chilly, even with the 
Autumn sun streaming through the windows.  He pulled the blankets 
up close under Pietro's chin, smoothed his hair, and turned to go.  
He did not know that there was another tenant in the room, curled 
up in a blanket UNDER the bed.
     His next stop was Marc's room, and he found the dark-toned boy 
already awake and asking to be let out.  
     "You will get your breakfast here, Marc, " the Maestro 
reprimanded, "and if you so much as sit up, I'll have you tied down 
to the bed for the next six days !"  
     That ended that arguement.
     Marc calmly accepted the fact that Frederico would bring him 
his meals, eat with him, and keep him company in the evenings.  He 
was a little dismayed to learn that the Headmaster would be 
bringing him his lessons to study while he healed.
     Satisfied that everything was well with the two newest 
castrati, the Maestro Lorenzo went for a bit of breakfast and then 
back to his office.  The boys would soon begin their daily lessons, 
filling the halls of the conservatorio with sound.  The Maestro 
sighed.  Some of it was good, some of it alright, but a great deal 
of it was dreadful.  The combination of Giovani and Pietro was gone 
for good now, and the Maestro could not help but remember the song 
in the church.  Where did he learn that ? the teacher kept asking 
himself.  And how could a boy, especially one so recently cut, 
summon such power as to destroy windows ?
     The answers were not there, however, and the Maestro sighed as 
the little boys began their scales in the next room.  Farinelli 
began this way, he kept telling himself over and over again.  But 
he longed to hear Pietro sing again, and yet he feared it.  
Something had changed in his favorite student, his almost-son, and 
he was not sure what it was.  He wondered why the boy had not 
called for breakfast, and why he slept so much during the day.  
Heal quickly, Marc, he thought half aloud.
      Finally, after two hours of five and six-year-olds destroying 
his nerves, he decided to go and wake Pietro and find out some 
things.

     The boy was still asleep when he reached his room.  The 
Maestro felt the chill again, made a mental note to check the 
window seals, and went to Pietro's bedside.  He reached out to 
touch the still-sleeping boy's shoulder to shake him, but flinched 
back when Pietro's eyes popped open.  For a moment, the Maestro 
swore he saw traces of blood red in the pale grayish-blue irises.
     Pietro yawned and stretched.
     "Well, my boy, you certainly can act.  That is good, and will 
help you in your stage career.  A career you will NOT have if you 
do not start moving around within the next two days, " the Maestro 
dug in, "You and I both know you are not ill, that you have been 
somehow healed overnight, but let us not take this to extremes !"
     There was a small sound somewhere in the room, and the Maestro 
turned to look for it.
     Pietro coughed, distracting him.
     "I really don't feel well, Maestro, " the castrato said, "even 
though my wounds are healed.  I am tired, more than I can explain, 
and it is so bright in here !  What time is it ?"
     "Almost lunchtime, are you hungry yet ?  You really need to 
eat more, Pietro.  You are losing weight."
     "But I am not hungry, " the boy replied.
     "Well, you're going to eat anyway - lunch at least.  If it 
makes you sick, I will not force it on you.  I could call doctor 
Florenti to see if you are really ill somewhere else, " the teacher 
suggested, smiling.
     "When do we eat ?" Pietro replied quickly.
     "I will go and see the cook now, " the Maestro replied, 
tousseling the boy's blond hair.
     He left the room quickly, and Pietro rubbed his aching eyes.
     From under the bed, Roberto yawned and stretched as well.  "Is 
it dark yet ?" he asked.
     "Not yet, it's only noon, " Pietro answered.
     "Damn."
     There was a rustle as Roberto turned over, and Pietro could 
tell that the little vampire was again asleep.
     He could hear the sounds of the practicing students from the 
floors below, and the young castrato suddenly felt the need to be 
among them.  His voice wanted to be let out, but he had to wait.  
The Memory of what had happened in the church was becomming clearer 
to him, and the thought of it frightened him.  What was the reason 
?  The ancient song ?  Roberto's presence ?  He did not know.
     He got up and went to the window, opening it.  The tree was 
staring back at him, it seemed, and he smiled.  Last night had been 
quite an experience, and he had no doubt that it was not a dream.  
He bent down and turned to look under the bed, just bearly able to 
make out the sleeping form of Roberto.  He sighed and went back to 
the window, climbing up to sit on the sill as Roberto had done the 
previous night.  The Maestro would be back anytime with lunch, and 
all he could do was wait.
     The silence alerted him to the fact that the time for lunch 
had come.  The music and singing, if one could call some of it 
that, stopped abruptly.  There would be a break after the meal, and 
most of the students would go outside to enjoy the day.  Pietro 
found himself hoping that someone would go and visit the tree.
     Maestro Lorenzo arrived a few moments later with two trays of 
food.  It looked to be some sort of meat in gravy over potatoes 
with bread.  Pietro felt his stomach lurch, and was surprised by 
how good it smelled.  It had indeed been a long time since he had 
eaten that meager breakfast before the funeral.  He smiled at the 
Maestro and hopped down from the windowsill.  
     "Don't sit up there like that, " he said flatly, "it scares 
me.  You'll fall and break your neck !"
     Pietro smiled and assualted his lunch with vigor.  The Maestro 
seemed to approve.
     Then the questions started.
     The Maestro was asking the same questions Pietro was asking 
himself.  He found he could not answer them.  When he had finished 
his meal, he sat back with his hands in his lap staring at his 
teacher.
     "So you have no idea how you did it, then ?  And you expect me 
to believe that this fantastic song just 'came to you' ?  I am 
sorry, Pietro, but I need more than that, " the Maestro argued, 
"The stories about the windows of the church being defective and 
shabby workmanship are starting to be accepted, but Father Carlo is 
not doing all he could for us.  There could be trouble, you know."
     Pietro nodded and stared back out the window.  "If you choose 
not to believe me, Maestro, then that is your prerogative.  But I 
have never lied to you, and I never will.  Something IS changing in 
me, I can feel it.  The death of Giovani, the guilt, perhaps - yet 
something more.  Blame it on the castration if you like, but we 
both know that is not the reason.  One does not build up the power 
of voice overnight, it takes years.  And I expected to be cut, 
remember."
     "Then what ?" the Maestro groped, "There has to be something.  
We cannot simply write it all off to a gift, or natural talent.  No 
nine-year-old boy could do what you did, Pietro, no matter how 
smart you are.  For God's sake, boy, I have castratos twice your 
age who cannot do that !   Hell, no one can do that !   One just 
does not go about blowing out windows with his voice.  The 
Headmaster and I cannot keep up this charade.  Even some of the 
students here are afraid of you now.  Did you know that some of the 
younger ones already don't want to sing with you in the same room ?"
     Pietro gasped.  The memory was clearer now, but he had not 
intended to do any harm.  They were afraid of him ?  Did no one 
understand him, or what he had lost, or simply what he had wanted 
to do ?
Yes, the young castrato thought, there is one person who does 
understand, and he left this conservatorio over a century ago.  
Suddenly, Pietro longed for the cold night, the insulating 
darkness, the sounds and sights that no one ever saw.  It was only 
midday though, and the students were coming back in from their 
break.  Already, the sounds of tuning up were drifting up the 
stairs to Pietro's ears.
     "I must go now, " the Maestro said calmly, "Think of what you 
have done, Pietro, and what will come of it.  We do not know how 
this will turn out."
     The Maestro Lorenzo closed the door and Pietro returned to the 
windowsill.  Thankfully, a large cloud had covered the sun.  The 
young castrato still found the day much too bright, however.

     He spent the rest of the day in bed, sending for Frederico 
only once to simply ask how Marc was and to refuse dinner.  The 
chubby eunuch replied that Marc was healing fine, with only a bit 
of residual pain and intermittent fever.  
     "Keeping him still and in bed is the biggest problem though, " 
Frederico had said, "did you know that the doctor had to tie his 
ankles to keep him there ?"  Frederico had laughed at that.  "I 
remember when they did me, I was more than happy to just sleep it 
off."
     Pietro had been polite, despite his contempt.  Frederico had a 
voice that would never bring him fame or a following, and Pietro 
felt that the castration had been carried out upon the heavy boy 
simply because the possibility was there.  He could not help but 
wonder if Frederico had been tested before he had been cut.
It was no secret that many boys, a few of them at this 
conservatorio, should never have been cut in the first place; the 
talent simply was NOT there.  What becomes of a eunuch who can't 
sing ?
     The thought came unexpectedly, and just on the heels of it was 
another : What happens to a eunuch who sings so well that he is 
feared of his voice, and driven out ?  Roberto came to mind, and 
Pietro sat on the windowsill for the rest of the day pondering all 
of it : boys with no talent castrated simply because it was done, 
eunuchs who could not sing, the suffering and pain of the orphaned 
boys there, and the fear of being sent away.  It seemed an eternity 
before the sun went down and Roberto awoke.
     The sky was once again on fire with the beauty of the sunset 
as Pietro heard the rustling of the blanket and the sounds of bare 
feet on the hardwood floor.  He did not need to turn and look - he 
could feel Roberto's presence behind him, waiting, wondering.
     "You are upset, " Roberto stated.
     Pietro nodded.
     "The Maestro ?" the little vampire asked.
     Pietro nodded again.  "And not just that, there is more.  I 
have been deep in thought all day over it, Roberto.  Frederico made 
me think of it, you know.  He really is not talented at all, yet he 
is a eunuch."
     Roberto was staring at him now, and past him, out into the 
deepening night.  The sounds were coming alive again, and the call 
was irresistable.  "Pietro, thousands of boys are gelded every year 
for the sakes of their voices, some even for the possibility of 
their voices.  Some because their parents are greedy or simply need 
the money and have too many sons.  Boys are literally sold into 
musical slavery, others are contracted out to Maestros that are 
nothing like the loving one you have.  Few, a very few, choose to 
undergo the operation of their own desire.  And, believe it or not, 
a fewer still actually do HAVE to have it done for health reasons.  
But there is more, is there not ?  Remember, I am a vampire, my 
friend - I can read the thoughts of mortals."
     Pietro smiled and climbed down from the windowsill.  He 
embraced Roberto, not caring about the sudden wave of coldness that 
enveloped him.  The young, overly intelligent castrato was feeling 
terribly lonely at the moment, and Roberto would understand.  As 
the hugged the strange, pale boy closer, he let all of his concerns 
and worry flow out of him and into Roberto.  A great weight seemed 
to fall from his shoulders, and Roberto sighed.
     "I know, " he said finally, pulling away but still holding 
Pietro by the shoulders, "I know too well."
     Roberto's voice was shaking now, and his eyes were glowing 
red.  His incisors had appeared, just protruding over his lower 
lip.  "You are correct, you know.  If the story about the windows 
is not accepted, and when they hear you, they will do to you what 
they did to me."
     "Tell me, " Pietro whispered, "I have to know."
     Roberto turned to stare out at the dusk.  "We will go, " he 
announced, "and I will tell you about it somewhere other than 
here.  I had so dearly hoped it would not be like this."
     
     They waited a for about an hour, and when the conservatorio 
had fallen to almost total silence, Roberto took Pietro's hand and 
led him to the window once again.  They did not stop at the tree 
this time, instead going farther out past the town and deep into 
the forest beyond.

    They sat high in a huge and ancient oak tree, far older than 
the one at the conservatorio.  Pietro could feel  the age of the 
great tree as he sat on an impossibly wide limb and leaned against 
the trunk.  The limb upon which he was perched was larger than most 
of the other trees in the forest.  It was a quiet, relaxing place.  
Roberto had promised to return shortly, citing the fact that he HAD 
to eat.  He had promised, however, to limit his hunting to non-
human prey.
     Pietro waited patiently, his eyes adapted totally to the 
darkness that seemed like daylight to him.  Roberto returned after 
a few moments, looking quite pleased with himself.  "I had a turn 
of luck, " he said gaily, "it seems that some farmer let one of his 
cows stray a bit.  OH, " the little vampire interjected, "I had a 
VERY interesting talk with a very upset horse at that farm too when 
I passed over."
     "And . . .  ?" Pietro demanded.
     "It seems a priest we know had been to the farm yesterday to 
visit the sickly wife.  He had some things to say to the farmer out 
in the barnyard, leaning on the fence.  The horse spilled it all in 
exchange for his life, I guess.  He was very chatty."  Roberto 
explained.
     "WILL you get on with it !"  Pietro said impatiently.
     Roberto tried to look hurt and failed miserably.  His toothy 
grin was far too much.
     "Well, it seems that our dear Father Carlo was telling this 
farmer, and his horse, all about the funeral services and what you 
did to his windows.  It also seems that our dear Father is having 
some bad dreams.  He thinks the devil is loose in our quaint little 
town."  Roberto laughed.  "I am sooo flattered !"
     "Am I going to have to drag this story out of you piece by 
piece ?" Pietro demanded.
     Roberto laughed, and the sound was like nothing Pietro had 
ever heard before.  There was actually a sound of hope and 
expectation to Roberto's usually dismal and sad outlook.  Then the 
look on his face turned serious.  "You have two more days, at the 
most, before your 'convalescence' is technically over, you know.  
They are going to expect you return to practice and singing.  
Father Carlo loved your voice before, but now you scare him.  He 
isn't supporting the story at all, Pietro.  He thinks you're a 
witch or something worse."
     Pietro felt his stomach roll.  Somehow he had to tell this to 
the Maestro and Headmaster, but how ?  They would never believe him 
!  His worries had come true, it seemed, and soon he would have to 
do some serious explaining.  It did not look good.
     "I'm sorry, " Roberto said, "This is my fault.  I should never 
have come."
     The fire was still in the little vampire castrato's eyes, 
however, and Pietro could see a plan forming.
     "What are you about ?" Pietro asked.
     "I thought we would go and see the good Father and explain it 
to him, " Roberto answered, his teeth shining despite the darkness.
     Pietro waited for the rest, and Roberto seemed to sense this.
     "Alright, " he began, "the rest of it.  As I told you, I was 
enrolled in your conservatorio about a century ago.  I loved it, as 
I told you, and music was everything to me.  I didn't expect the 
castration, but I accepted it and realized it would keep my voice 
high and beautiful for all time.  I just didn't know then how much 
TIME that would be !  The years weigh heavily upon me, Pietro, and 
when I heard your voice, it was just too much.  I haven't had a 
friend in so long, and that was really all I wanted."  Roberto's 
smile had totally disappeared, and there were tears standing in his 
red eyes once again.  Yet he went on . . . 
     "It was so hard, you know.  You had the school and the Maestro 
and Giovani.  You looked like a little family, something that I can 
bearly recall now.  I really didn't want to harm that, Pietro, 
really I didn't.  But when Giovani was murdered and I could do 
nothing for him because of my own failings, my own weaknesses, I 
felt I had to repay you for it somehow.  
     "Instead, I have ruined your life and your future.  I healed 
you, gave you the song and the power to sing it, that wonderful 
song which had not been heard in so very long.  Perhaps I was after 
vengeance after all, I don't know.  It really isn't his fault, 
Father Carlo's, but he's acting just like the rest of them . . . "
     Roberto's voice trailed off as his thoughts crossed the passed 
century to recall something that had happened to him when he was a 
real boy, not a vampire.  Something terrible that he had pondered 
for that same past century.  It was becomming clear to Pietro now 
as he seemed to lose himself in Roberto's mind.  Their thoughts 
were merging, becomming one, and the idea forming in Roberto's mind 
was monstrous.  Roberto had said that he had come home out of 
lonliness, but that had not been the entire truth.  The little 
vampire had a hidden agenda as well.
     He continued his story, but the light was fading from his eyes.
     "When I first began to sing in the church,  and after my 
castration, the priest there was totally enraptured by the castrati 
singers.  He took a liking to me especially.  After all, he and the 
Maestro and Headmaster of my day had planned it all, you know.  I 
don't really blame them for making me a eunuch, in fact, at the 
time, I was glad of it.  What I do blame them for came later.
     "I was singing privately for the priest, his name was Father 
Alfonso Fellini.  Sound familiar?  He was Father Carlo's uncle and 
roll model, the pride of the family - the first priest in their 
line.  It was a night much like the one when you and Giovani sang 
for the Maestro.  After a few hours, whatever was bothering him 
seemed to have been soothed away by my voice and he was taking me 
back to the conservatorio."  Roberto paused and drew in a great 
breath.  
     Pietro could feel the anger and sadness coming off of the 
little vampire in waves.
     "On our way back, Father Alfonso was telling me of what 
weighed so heavily upon him.  He felt guilt over what he had had 
done to so many boys for the sake of the music, and that surely the 
Lord was repaying his sins by laying a hard task upon him at such a 
young age.   He said he could feel an evil lurking in the town, 
waiting, and that he felt compelled to find it and destroy it.  
There had been a few murders, which was odd for the day - here - 
and he thought he knew something.
     "I was young and still a child at the time, so I didn't 
understand all of it.  I just walked along and held his hand and 
listened.  I nodded from time to time and smiled up at him.  I 
really loved that man, and I loved the life I had.  How was I to 
know that because of him and his stupid guilt that I would be 
condemned to an eternity of lonely darkness ? "
     Pietro stared at the vampire castrato and understood, he 
thought.  Father Carlo was out to condemn him now, driven by the 
same obsession as his uncle Alfonso.  Father Alfonso, it seemed, 
had worked closely with the conservatorio and was responsible for 
suggesting the castrations of so many boys.  How many of them, 
Pietro wondered, had proven failures and gone on as eunuchs without 
voices ?  Was that it?  The thoughts coming from Roberto were 
scattered, fragmented, as his anger mounted.  It did not all make 
sense yet, but Pietro was sure it would.  Still Roberto spoke.
       "We were almost home, to my home, when the Father stopped 
and pulled me close to him.  He said he could feel an evil nearby.  
Then there was a man in the road ahead of us, an outline in the 
night.  He was staring at us, even I could feel it then.  He moved 
closer, and Father Alfonso told me to run, run back to the church 
as fast as I could and stay there.  I remember crying, and 
running.  I could hear a struggle, and thunder.  It was a clear 
night, though, Pietro.  It was so clear even the stars weren't 
twinkling, and I could hear shouts, thunder, and then screams of 
terror.  Those screams turned to rage, and then I heard Father 
Alfonso cry out to God . . . ."  Roberto choked on the last word, 
collapsing into Pietro's arms as the image of branches catching 
their fall filled his mind.  They were on the ground now, and the 
tree was relieved.  Roberto, however, was sobbing uncontrollably, 
his frail looking body racked by terrible spasms.
     It seemed like hours before Roberto was able to go on.  Pietro 
held him close and the terrible sadness filled his own mind as the 
vampire castrato let go of something that he alone had known for so 
long.  There was more though, and Pietro had to hear it.  He had to 
know what to say when they went to see Father Carlo about his 
rumoring.
     Composing himself with a great effort, Roberto continued his 
story.