Escape (10 page)

He dropped my hand.

'Well,' I said, 'I'd better go or I'll lose my class. Do you know if the
theatre is still open? I have to check something.'

Guido's dark eyes glittered in the sparkly light of the dressing
room. 'Look in your coat pocket. Maybe is this you are looking for.'

My hand reached in and closed over the familiar shape. My wallet.
'Oh!' A rush of warm relief flooded me. 'How did you . . . where?'

He tapped his nose. 'Magician's secret. I was thinking it was
yours.'

'That was brilliant – god, you saved me, thank you so much!'

Guido shrugged. 'Is nothing. I am 'appy you are 'appy,' and he
beamed at me. 'We 'ave known ourselves for five minutes but I see you
'ave the gift for teaching. Not all the people can relate to children in
this way. You 'ave patience and imagination.'

'Oh, no,' I protested, 'I've only just started really, I never know
what I'm doing, you should see them alone with me, they're all so
noisy—'

Guido waved his hand at me. 'Your children, they ask me
intelligent questions. You are inspiring, I think. No other class 'as been
so prepared. You are
molto brava
, Rachel Lambert.'

I could feel my smile widening. No one had said such a thing to me
before. Certainly no one like Guido.
Brava, Rachel
. A dreadful bubble
of excitement was rising up in my throat.
Brava
came with centuries
of experience; it was a word to describe someone like Michelangelo,
Galileo.

I stood there smiling at the lovely man who had made me feel so
'appy
and alive. I looked down at the lovely dusty wooden floor. I hope
I said thank you but I can't be sure. I loved the floorboards and the
deep rose chair and the plastic scars and the velvet jacket hanging on
the hook by the door and the wallet safe in my pocket and the children
who had worn their best beautiful selves all day and made me proud. I
loved the little chip on Guido's tooth and the fine hairs on his wrist.

When I looked up again he was grinning at me. There was such
silence. Up on stage, he'd seemed removed from earthly life. To be so
close now, to see the shadow of beard on his chin, only magnified his
aura. He was a powerful being. It was like, oh, like being inches away
from a lion. I shift ed my weight to the other foot and toppled slightly.
Idiot
. The silence lengthened.

He reached out and touched my cheek. The current lying just
under my skin flared. His face relaxed, his mouth opening a little. He
cleared his throat as if to say something, then stopped. The thread was
so tight it was going to snap. I could feel electrons buzzing around
protons, charged and ready between us. His fingers hovered on my
cheek, those same fingers that had unlocked trunks and manacles on
famous stages on the other side of the world. My skin tingled beneath
them.

'You are very beautiful, Rachel Lambert,' he murmured. His voice
was softer, hardly there.

'What?'

He grinned. 'You are
bella
. You know this word?'

'Yes, but no, but look at all this rain my hair goes so curly—'

'Why you protest? This is Anglo-Saxon modesty? In my country
women show off their beauty. You must know you are beautiful and
enjoy it.
I
am enjoying you. I can see you are a very passionate woman.'
His hand moved down to my neck, lightly stroking it. He flicked my
hair back over my shoulder. My breasts felt exposed. 'I see the passion
in your teaching. I see it in your eyes.'

I held my breath. As Guido looked at me, I was sure he could see
right down into my soul.

He took hold of my hand. His fingers feathered across my palm.
We gazed at each other. I wanted to take the tension and crack it like a
stick.

'You are a very passionate woman,' he whispered again.

'The class must be downstairs by now,' I whispered back. 'How
will I ever find them?'

He traced the line of my collar bone. So gentle, so lovely.
Bella
.

'We'll miss the bus,' I breathed.

'I knew it the first moment I saw you. But maybe you do not find
the right man to unlock you. You will see, Rachel, I will set you free.'

His careful English lent every sentence a peculiar gravity. I heard
his words as pronouncements, laws that only he had the wisdom
to perceive. And yes, who had ever held me like this, made me feel
like this? Guido was like no one I'd ever met. I felt recognised, in
my deepest self. A beautiful self. I wanted to float in this moment,
suspended forever.

'
Sempre fortunato!
' a voice behind me boomed.

I sprang from Guido as if I'd been burnt.

A man in a black tuxedo with a white silk scarf stood in the
doorway. I recognised him from the Cafe Vesuvio. He was taller than
I'd imagined, more imposing. He leant against the doorway, shaking
his head slightly with an amused expression on his face. I couldn't
remember why I'd ever felt sorry for him. His chest was solid as a beer
keg, but as he stood watching us, stroking his neatly trimmed beard, I
saw his hands were as finely manicured as a model's. I'd never seen a
man's hands so delicate. Such a strange afternoon, I thought dazedly,
as if I've strayed into a foreign movie and had the good fortune to meet
the actors.

'Do you forget, my boy, this is my dressing room, too?' He strode
forward, grinning, and put out his hand for me to shake.

'This is Maurizio Montesanti,' said Guido. 'Rachel Lambert.'

The crimson was rising on my cheeks again, I could feel them
giving off light and heat like twin suns. How embarrassing, him finding
us like this. And what did '
sempre
' mean?

I shook his hand and he raised it to his lips, like Rudolph Valentino
or that other one, Alain Delon. There should be a tinny piano in the
corner, subtitles, the scene in black and white . . . Suddenly everything
in the room seemed too large, the man kissing my hand, the mirror
above the dressing table reflecting the wild disarray of my hair. I had
a moment of panic, of utter loss of context, not knowing what to do
next. Then Guido moved beside me and put a hand on my waist. His
body gave mine an outline, and I came back into myself.

'You're Maurizio the Magic Master,' I stammered. 'On the
poster!'

'Yes,' said Maurizio. 'And you are the lovely teacher of that noisy
class in the foyer. Did you enjoy the show?'

'Oh, absolutely, it was wonderful. And, um, congratulations. Has
the class already finished the tour, do you think?'

Maurizio smiled. 'Yes, I imagine so. A boy with a stopwatch
was reporting they had been waiting sixteen minutes and forty-five
seconds.'

'Oh,
Billy
,' I wailed. 'Well, um, thank you for everything, sorry I
have to go . . .' I looked around frantically for my bag. Guido picked
it up from the floor where I'd dropped it, together with a couple of
lipsticks that had fallen out and an old spencer, holey under the arms,
that I'd brought in case the theatre was cold. I'm often too cold. His
eyebrow lift ed in puzzlement.

'For the air conditioning,' I muttered. 'Well, goodbye!'

I hurried out of the room. Guido followed me. 'Come for the
Saturday matinee,' he whispered, his breath hot on my cheek. 'We will
see then!'

See what? I took off my high heels and ran like the wind up the
corridor. Glancing at my watch I fled down the carpeted stairs. God
almighty, we'll have missed the bus. I couldn't believe myself. As I ran
something flapped in the little breast pocket of my blouse. My fingers
delved in and I found a silver coin. I stopped for one second to examine
it. One hundred lira. How did he
do
that? My heart was racing. Fancy,
how exotic, Italian money! As I flung out into the lobby twenty-seven
pairs of eyes turned towards me.

'Miss, where
were
you?' whined Joselyn Teeney. 'The bus driver
says he can't wait any longer. He's got a
schedule
.'

She said schedule the way you'd say cancer.

In all my life on earth I had never done anything like this. Now
these eight-year-olds, who had behaved so well all day, who were
my sole responsibility, had been left stranded in the dark. And it was
raining. It was shameful.
Disgusting
, said the voice.
Irredeemable
.

But as I apologised to the furious driver, the hundred lira coin lay
in my palm like a promise. I couldn't wait till Saturday.

I asked Maria Tripoli to come shopping with me on Saturday
morning, to buy a new dress. Maria, who was my age and taught
grade one at Wanganella, had aunties somewhere in Naples. She
had invited me to various events over the last two years – concerts,
singing workshops, acting classes – but I'd usually declined. I felt shy.
A few times we'd had coffee in a hippy cafe near her flat, where there
were crushed velvet cushions you could sink into while reading the
newspapers. Maria was a loud kind of person, always telling everyone
exactly what was going on in her head, and her body. She was like a
fauve painting, all clashing primary colours with nothing muted in
between. Sometimes when you were in the same room with her you
wished you had some kind of barrier, like sunglasses. I liked her, but
it was easy to feel flooded and often I'd get so lost in her outpourings
I'd have to make some excuse like the bathroom and dash away before
I drowned. The principal, who was very uptight, always waited until
Maria was seated before he chose his own seat at the opposite end of
the staffroom.

But after I met Guido, I suddenly felt braver. Or more in need.
And Maria might teach me a few Italian words. I'm ashamed to admit
it, but that was the real reason I invited her shopping.

Maria was enthusiastic about the idea. She encouraged me to
choose a dress more stylish than usual, and more expensive. It was the
kind of dress that looked as if you were trying. 'In Europe everyone
tries
,' she said confidently. 'They
all
dress up, even just to go and buy
the bread. If you don't, you're a freak show.' She said the little black
number suited me and showed off my figure. The neckline was low,
plunging in a dramatic V. It was absolutely gorgeous for the theatre,
she said, or passionate sex.

Afterward, I came straight home. I washed my hair and applied
make-up. When you have practically no eyebrows and pale lashes like
a rabbit, you need a lot of time for mascara and eyeliner. As I worked
I remembered Guido saying
bella
, even though he had been standing
very close. And that was comforting.

I caught the bus back into the city for the two o'clock matinee. It
was so strange and exciting to sit by myself in the velvet armchairs,
watching the dark coming down like evening. The sudden hush of the
audience was reverent. When Guido strolled onto the stage, the world
became his and no one else existed. Coins swam out of the dark into
his hand, glasses floated past filled with wine that never ceased flowing.
Treasure, scarves, cards, knives – they all appeared and disappeared
like symbols in a dream. I let my mind wander among the starry
phosphorescence on stage as if I were an explorer in an underwater
jungle.

He performed the whole show without assistance. His wry,
minimal commentary seemed a natural accompaniment to his act,
his occasional expressions of humour sparkling as he pulled a burning
cigar from the air or slipped his hands from linking rings. He didn't
appear to be acting – he seemed entirely at one with the miracles he
was performing on stage.

His concentration was extraordinary, like sunlight trained through
glass. You couldn't look anywhere else; it was like being under the
spell of a shaman, a wizard. As I watched him escape from the Table of
Death, vanish in purple smoke from the Crystal Box, the knowledge
that I would see him
personally
in one hour, in twenty minutes, ten, lay
at the back of my mind like the magic props waiting their turn in the
dark corners of the stage. I had only to think of him with his hand on
my neck and something in my belly turned over.

Guido had given my name at the door, so after the show on
Saturday I went backstage and knocked at his dressing-room. He
kissed me on both cheeks before I'd even had a chance to say hello. I
would learn that Italians always did this, even men kissing men. I liked
this tradition because beginnings and endings are often awkward. His
lips brushed dry on my cheeks. Then he held me away from himself
and looked at me, his eyes travelling slowly over my new black dress.

'Is cut well, this dress. But a colour not so dramatic is suiting you
better. This makes you too pale. If I am dressing you, I would choose
emerald green which is good with your red 'air.'

I bit my lip. There
had
been green, and a pearly grey too, but I'd
thought black was sophisticated and much more wicked.
Trust you to
get it wrong
, said the voice.

Guido sat down at the dresser and began wiping the foundation
from his face.

'So, when we met last time,' I began brightly, trying to overcome
my disappointment, 'there were so many things I wanted to ask you.
Like, whereabouts in Italy do you come from? I have this friend,
Maria, whose dad comes from a village in Naples. Do you come from
anywhere near there? It says on the poster that both you and Maurizio
are from the same town.'

Guido frowned in the mirror. He rubbed his forehead where the
two faint lines were, closing his eyes for a moment.

'Have you got a headache? I've got a Panadol in my bag.'

Guido shook his head. 'Is nothing. I am tired.' He turned around
and smiled at me. It was like the sun coming out. 'I change now.' He
pointed to the Japanese screen behind me. 'Maurizio said 'e would like
to meet us for a drink at the Lobster Bar, is at the quay.' He shrugged,
making a quizzical face.

While Guido changed, I looked around the room. The spotlights
framing the mirror were dazzling, like those in old movies. On the
dresser was a small sculpture of a boy, his thin arms reaching out as
if to catch something he'd just lost. Next to the boy was a photo of an
elderly woman with sharp black eyes.

'Who is the woman in the photo?' I heard a sigh from behind the
screen. 'She's very . . . striking.'

Guido was silent. Maybe he didn't hear. I looked down at my dress,
smoothing it over my thighs. No man in my life had ever commented
on what colour or style suited me. If I'd worn anything more formal
than jeans when I went out with Michael Jeffries, who I'd dated in high
school, he'd frown and ask what was the big occasion? Guido must
care if he had taken the trouble to look at me so thoroughly. And he
must know a lot about women.

When he emerged, he took my arm. His olive skin glowed against
the pink fabric of his shirt. 'Maurizio will be waiting,' he said. 'We will
talk later.' No Australian man I knew would dare to wear a pink shirt. A
thin gold chain lay under it, glinting like a wink.

At the bar, Maurizio was waiting at a table with a view over the harbour.
He looked entirely at home, his jacket slung over the back of the seat,
his hand cradling a startling drink as he gazed out at the water. When
he saw us he waved in greeting, inviting us to sit down. The water
lapped against the seawall, the drink with its festive umbrella perched
like a circus tent over the white tablecloth, the sun sparkled on the
glass. Everything was so bright, you could almost hear the tinkle of
light striking the earth. For just a moment I had that strange shiver of
unreality again, as if I were the tourist in this city. Certainly I had never
drunk at a bar like this. But maybe the shiver was happiness.

'Sit down, come, what will you have?' cried Maurizio, pulling out
a chair for me.

'One of those, please,' I said, pointing at his vermilion drink.

'Campari and soda for the
bella ragazza
,' he told the waiter with a
dazzling smile.

Guido asked for something I hadn't heard of and a bowl of olives.
There was a silence after the flurry of ordering. I didn't know where to
begin. All these
bellas
in the last week had an intoxicating effect. Guido
looked out at the water. Maurizio leant across and put his hand on my
arm. It was surprisingly warm and heavy.

'You know I met this young man just two years ago when I was
on tour. He was performing in the piazza, for small coins. And look at
him now!' He pinched Guido's cheek.

Maurizio didn't need much prodding to tell the story of his life.
He liked to talk, he said, and to meet new people. That was one of
the enjoyable things about touring. At the cafe where I'd first seen
him, he'd seemed weak, ineffective – or possibly, too demanding, his
over-eager shoulders leaning too far forward on the table. But within
minutes I knew that he was fifteen years older than Guido, he'd lived
in America for a decade, and every impression I'd previously had of
him was wrong.

He was a big hairy man with fur sprouting from his cuffs and a
beard as thick as a bathmat. When he threw an arm around me and
laughed in my ear, I felt swamped and thrilled at the same time.
After another Campari he called me
carissima
in a deep rich tone,
as if he could hardly control himself – and I felt taller and a little bit
magical beside him, as if I possessed secret powers myself inside
my dress.

Maurizio had always worked six days a week during an
engagement, and now for the first time in his career he had Guido
performing matinees and Saturday evenings. He could afford to
wander the Botanic Gardens, lie on the sand at Bondi with a book.

'And what luck for you,' I whispered to Guido as my plate of
oysters arrived. I prodded one warily with my fork. Oysters had never
appeared on the table at my parents' house. 'You're so young, after all,'
I told him, 'and imagine, having the chance to be double-billed with a
man like Maurizio, with his reputation and experience.'

A dark crease sprang up between Guido's eyebrows like a ruled
margin. 'You must not talk of good luck,' he whispered. 'Is bad luck to
do so.'

'What do you mean, like tempting fate?'

Guido just shrugged, and pointed at a piece of parsley lodged
between my two front teeth.

I fiddled, ashamed, behind my napkin. Suddenly I didn't feel very
magical any more.

'So where did you two meet?' I asked, taking a swig of Campari.
Everything was far too quiet.

'Assisi,' replied Maurizio, when Guido didn't. 'I was performing in
a theatre near the church of San Francesco. Such a beautiful church,
overlooking the piazza. There are frescoes of Giotto on the walls.'

'So it was Maurizio who introduced you to magic?' I asked Guido.
'But surely you've been practising for longer? You're too good!'

'Oh, yes, he has, but not professionally.' Maurizio glanced at
Guido. 'It all began with your aunt,
la zia
Clara, wouldn't you say,
Guido? She was good to you, eh?
Completamente pazza
, but good in
her heart,' Maurizio smiled. 'I got to know her in Assisi, when I met
Guido.'

'She was not mad. Not
pazza
.' Guido looked up. 'Just a little, 'ow
do you say, original.'

'Eccentric?' I asked. 'Is she the woman in the photo in the dressing-room?'

'Yes.' Guido sighed.

'I liked her eyes. They're so alive.'

'She is dead.'

'Oh.' I spluttered on my wine. 'I'm so sorry.'

Guido waved his hand. 'I went to live with her. But that was later.
After my father died I was sent to boarding school with the priests
in the mountains.' He snorted. 'My father had already put my name
down. I was not, 'ow do you call it, a good student. No one is knowing
what else to do with me. In fact, there was no one else.'

'But what about your mother?'

'She passed away when I was six.'

'Oh!' I wanted to touch him, say something, but what? His face
was blank, almost plastic.

'It is a difficult life with those priests.' Maurizio looked up, shaking
his head. 'You wake at dawn to say prayers and study, go to classes,
then you return to your room again at five in the afternoon for more
study. I did the same for my last two years of school, up in Torino.'

Guido nodded. 'I was planning to run away, just before
la zia
arrived. I could not make the life those priests expect of me. I even
packed the bag. I was going to escape.'

'Why didn't you?'

Guido lift ed his hands into the air. 'Where was I to go? In Italy,
is not easy to live on the street. I 'ad little money. And
la zia
, she
interested me. She was my only living relative, and she tells me is very
very important that I change my life now. "Seventeen is a dangerous
number," she says. "It 'as the devil in it, but if you use it well, you can
turn the dark into light." She was persuasive. And see,' Guido flung
out a hand in a gesture that embraced me, Maurizio and the lilting sea
slapping against the sea wall, 'see 'ow my life 'as changed!'

When Guido started at the local school in Assisi, Clara introduced
him to magic. She was drawn to the theatre of magic as well as its
more secret mysteries and in his first month there, on his seventeenth
birthday, she took him to a magic show in Perugia, the big university
town near Assisi. She'd even bought him a magician's cape.

'
La zia
, she was so glad when the music came on,' Guido said.
'The coloured smoke, the 'andsome magicians with the oil on their
'air.
Uffa
, the smell of the oil was suffocating backstage. But Clara,
she loved it all. She smiled from beginning to end,
incantata
. I think
she forgot 'erself, where she was. She liked what she could not see in
the magic, the little silence where she falls into 'er imagination.
Beh
,
I learnt some magic tricks, just to make 'er smile – I put the cape on
like so, and wave the wand, do tricks in the apartment. Next thing, she
wants me to set up in the square, so I did this thing, just to see that
smile of 'ers.'

'The pretty girls in the square smiled at you too, no?' Maurizio
grinned at him. 'Once, you know, Rachel, I came to find him but it
was impossible – the girls were crowded around so thick, like bees on
honey!'

I looked at Guido. He was smiling too, and his face was soft ,
unguarded, his cheekbones losing their sharpness. I asked Guido
about his first magic tricks, how did he know where to begin?