The Girl with the Painted Face Page 11

  Agostino has agreed to this and – after the next few performances – this is where he says they will go.

  Everyone has congratulated Sofia on bringing them luck.

  Sofia has watched every one of the eleven performances, entranced by the magic the troupe always seems to conjure, and she is slowly starting to unravel the web of complexity that lies at the heart of each show. Each character is becoming more familiar to her by the day. She knows now, for instance, that Agostino’s white-faced Pedrolino is almost always sad, often tired and frequently falling asleep; time and again he is on the point of dissolving with remorse at what he perceives to be his many failings. She has learned that Cosima, in her guise of the beautiful inamorata, will always walk and talk with elegance and poise, will move like the most delicate of dancers, will never, ever look ridiculous, however much inanity is erupting all around her. Dear Giovanni Battista (in reality, she has discovered, a sweet old man of gentle humour and great affection), once he has been well padded and wool-stuffed around the belly, will portray Il Dottore on the stage: a fat, pompous, arrogant fool in long black clothes and a black skull-cap. His normally lilting voice will parp out like a trombone, he will strut and posture and preen, and will – almost inevitably – fall foul of the machinations of Beppe’s mischievous, agile and utterly amoral Arlecchino.

  Beppe.

  Sofia chews on her thumb. She cannot stop thinking about Beppe.

  She dare not make her feelings clear to him. Or to anyone else – though on several occasions she has thought that perhaps she should confide in Cosima or Lidia. What if she were to do so, though, and then discover that her fears are justified – that Beppe cares no more for her than any other of his acquaintance? How could she stay with the troupe if he came to know of her partiality but did not return it? To see him every day after such a revelation would be torture. The others might laugh at her – no, that’s probably not true, she admits; but they would almost certainly pity her. She imagines the looks on their faces. She’d have to leave – and even after these short weeks, Sofia feels a dreadful pang at even the prospect of leaving the Coraggiosi. They have been more of a family to her than she can remember having since the death of her mother.

  A tinny fanfare from Vico’s battered old trumpet sounds outside the wagon, startling Sofia out of her reverie. She climbs back out of the wagon.

  Angelo, she is glad to see, has disappeared, as has Lidia.

  Beppe is now practising a complicated little piece of nonsense with Vico, with the newly made six-rung ladder. Vico has his trumpet to his lips again and, as Beppe tumbles off the ladder with a startled shout, and rolls neatly to one side, Vico makes a farting noise through the mouthpiece.

  Sofia bites her lip, smiling.

  Beppe rubs his forehead where he has just banged it on the edge of the ladder. The lazzo almost worked that time; he has been wanting the little set of steps to seem as though it is fixed to the floor as he goes up and down, up and over, never reaching the place he is supposed to reach – and he almost managed it that last time. Almost. It is far harder than he thought it would be.

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ he says to Vico, who is nearly helpless with laughter. ‘I’d like to see you do it any better.’

  ‘Ah, but, Beppe, my boy, I don’t need to, do I? I don’t even try to make the claims to acrobatic prowess that you do, so, luckily for me, no one expects such things of me.’

  ‘That’s unfair. I don’t make claims.’

  Vico’s mocking expression softens. ‘No – no more you do,’ he says, holding a hand out and pulling Beppe to his feet. ‘But the claims are made, amico, the claims are made, and the expectations are there.’ He pauses; then, suddenly still, he adds in little more than a murmured whisper, ‘Don’t look round, but I think you’re being watched.’

  Beppe holds his breath. Without moving, or turning his head, he says, ‘Who by?’

  ‘Our little newcomer.’

  Beppe looks up at the sky for a second, then slowly, casually, as though it just happens to be the way he needs to move, he picks up the ladder and repositions it in such a way that he can affect to see Sofia as if by surprise. He smiles at her. She returns the smile, but looks away quickly, leaning down to fiddle with the fastening of her shoe. Bent double like this, her wild hair obscures much of her face, but Beppe thinks he has seen the colour rise – very prettily – in her cheeks, and wonders if Sofia’s apparent discomposure signifies what he hopes it might.

  ‘Gone quite pink, hasn’t she?’ Vico mutters, grinning. ‘You might be in luck there, amico.’

  Trying to look unconcerned, Beppe raises an eyebrow. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Would make a bit of a change for you, wouldn’t it? It’s been a long time since you… though mind you,’ Vico says now, interrupting himself and pointing at Beppe, ‘she was colouring up nicely for Angelo just now, too, now I come to think about it.’

  Beppe, who had also seen Sofia in conversation with Angelo, and wished he had not, makes no reply. He too saw Sofia flush at Angelo’s appearance and the thought of what that might imply is now making him feel slightly sick. Deciding that he should make the most of Angelo’s absence and take this opportunity of talking to Sofia, to try to ascertain… how the land might lie, he puts down the ladder and, turning to Vico, says, ‘I’m just going to —’ when Cosima sticks her head out of the largest wagon and calls to Sofia, who stands quickly and hurries away.

  ‘Just going to what?’ Vico says.

  Beppe stares over at where Sofia has just disappeared into Cosima’s wagon. ‘Just going to try the business with the ladder one more time,’ he says, picking it up again.

  11

  A fortnight later

  The wagons – the largest painted yellow, two of faded blue and one so shabby and paint-peeled that its colour could only be described as ‘indeterminate’ – are clustered together in an open space near a clump of trees outside the little town of Malalbergo. The horses have been unhitched and tethered to a hastily erected post; they are eating placidly from sacking nose-bags, heads drooping, each with its weight heavily on one leg, rump tilted, the other back foot resting on its tip, like a collection of weary dancers.

  Cosima is leaning against one of the wheels of the yellow cart, reading and scribbling notes into a small wood-backed book. Nearby, Agostino and Lidia are deep in conversation on the back step of the smallest wagon.

  ‘Have you asked her yet?’ Lidia says.

  Agostino shakes his head. ‘No, of course not. I wouldn’t have done that without talking to you first, cara. I have to admit that the thought has been sitting at the back of my mind for a little while, but there has been no potential solution at hand up until now. This idea flittered through my mind the moment Niccolò introduced her to us, though I kept it to myself at that point. I do believe she could do it, with a little help. She looks the part, in any case, don’t you think?’

  Lidia glances over her shoulder to where Sofia is squatting on her heels beside the yellow wagon, sorting through a large basket of costumes. ‘Will we be able to adapt the material we already have, to include this new character of mine?’ she says. ‘Or am I going to end up being thrown out with the rubbish?’

  ‘Oh, Lidia, cara, don’t say that! It’ll be easy to adapt the scenarios. Rosaura – that’s who I think you should be playing now – is very like Colombina, only… only…’ Agostino hesitates, but Lidia grins at him.

  ‘What? Only older? Spit it out, Ago – I’m not stupid!’

  Agostino pulls a face. ‘It’s not just that she’s older, Lidia. She’s… well…’ He circles his hands, rotating them at shoulder height, trying to summon the word he seeks. ‘… more experienced, shall we say?’

  ‘What – older and a slut?’

  Throwing back his head, Agostino laughs. ‘This is exactly why you will be a delightful Rosaura, cara. Rosaura is always very funny, and so are you. So are you.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Ago. Can we talk to Vico about it fi
rst? See what he thinks?’

  ‘Of course.’ Agostino lifts his chin and calls across to where Vico and Beppe are working together to mend a table. The two men are bent over a trestle, across which has been laid the long table-top: Vico is chiselling, while Beppe leans his weight onto the whole to keep it all still.

  Beppe’s dog is sitting nearby, watching every movement Beppe makes; its hairy eyebrows twitch continually and its tail thumps in the dust every time Beppe speaks.

  Hearing Agostino’s call, Vico runs a hand through his hair and puts down his chisel. He mutters something to Beppe, before crossing to where Agostino and Lidia are sitting side by side on the steps of the largest wagon. ‘Is there a problem?’ he says cheerfully.

  There is a moment’s pause, then: ‘Ago believes I’ve outgrown Colombina,’ Lidia says simply.

  Vico says nothing, just watches Agostino, who, holding his gaze, draws in a long breath.

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ Lidia says, shrugging. ‘I shall be thirty-seven in November, shall I not? And it is getting ever harder to disguise the fact. Beppe’s only – what? Twenty-two? Twenty- three? When I play up against him, there’s no denying that I’m starting to look more like his mother than his paramour.’ Lidia speaks lightly and smiles, but somewhat to her surprise, she can feel tears behind her eyes. She says, ‘Ago’s been thinking that Sofia might be able to take over Colombina. He wants me to start playing Rosaura. She’s like Colombina, he says, but older. And ruder.’

  Vico raises his eyebrows and whistles softly as he considers this. ‘Does she know about this – Sofia?’ he says, jerking his head in Sofia’s direction.

  Agostino and Lidia both shake their heads.

  ‘What if she doesn’t want to do it, or if she’s no good?’

  ‘We won’t know until we ask her, and until she tries, will we?’

  Vico looks at Lidia. ‘What about you, cara? What do you think?’

  A shrug. Lidia sighs. ‘It’s not something I wanted to face, but, looking at her now…’ She glances at Sofia. ‘… I can just see her playing the part, and doing it well. And… a new character will be a new challenge, won’t it?’

  ‘Call her over, then,’ Vico says.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Sofia says, frowning slightly as she sees the three of them looking so intently at her. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Agostino pats a wooden chest next to the wagon, inviting Sofia to sit down upon it. ‘We’ve just had an idea, that’s all.’

  Sofia looks at him enquiringly.

  ‘Well, we thought… that is to say… we were wondering… how you might feel about… acting.’

  ‘Acting? Me? But —’

  Agostino says, ‘I’ve been talking to Lidia, and we’re wondering if you might like to consider… consider learning how to play Colombina?’ He breaks off, watching Sofia for a reaction. She sits without speaking for several seconds. Twice she opens her mouth as though to say something, but closes it again without a word.

  ‘Agostino thinks you might be able to…’ Lidia swallows. ‘… to take my place as Colombina.’

  Sofia gasps. ‘What? Take your place? I couldn’t do that! You’re a wonderful Colombina, and —’

  Lidia leans forward and hugs her. ‘And you are a dear,’ she says. ‘But look at me!’ She hunches her shoulders and stoops, as if elderly and fatigued. When she speaks, her voice quavers. ‘I’m just getting too old.’ Bobbing into a quick curtsy, she bows her head to right and left, as if accepting applause.

  ‘I don’t think you are.’

  ‘Ah, but Agostino does.’

  Anxiety begins to flutter inside Sofia’s head. ‘But I don’t know how – I’ve never acted before. I don’t have the smallest idea how to do it…’ she says, ‘… and —’

  ‘We’ll teach you everything you need to know.’

  Sofia looks at Lidia, who is lifting her eyebrows in smiling encouragement, but, suddenly fearful, she searches the older woman’s face for… for what? Hidden resentment? Jealousy? Bitterness? She supposes that her future with the Coraggiosi is going to depend upon the answer she gives Agostino now – and the implications of that thought frightens her. What if she agrees to learn to act, and then Lidia decides that – having considered the matter more carefully – she thinks her rightful place in the company has been stolen from her, and turns against Sofia? Or, worse, what if she, Sofia, agrees to learn to act, but simply does not have the capability? Will Agostino allow her to revert to the role of costume mistress, which she has only just begun to fulfil? Or might he just be angry that his time has been wasted, and… and ask her to leave?

  ‘What about the costumes?’ she says, finding herself unable to put her other fears into words.

  ‘Oh, we all do what we can in and around our acting, don’t we? You’ll manage perfectly, as we all do,’ Agostino says warmly. ‘Vico manages the carpentry, Cosima cooks for us all…’ He glances over to the yellow cart and coughs. ‘Beppe handles all the bits and pieces – the properties – and he and Federico deal with the horses, do they not?’

  ‘Yes… but…’

  ‘The important thing is: do you want to do it?’ Lidia says.

  Agostino nods vigorously, reinforcing the question.

  Sofia bites her lip, looking from person to person as she thinks about this. Does she? She says to Lidia, avoiding answering the question, ‘What about you? Will you mind me taking this from you?’

  ‘No, cara. No, I really won’t.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘I’m a practical person, Sofia, and I know Agostino’s right. But you’re a dear to be worried about it.’

  ‘How soon would I have to be ready to perform?’

  Agostino considers. ‘We can easily stay here for a week or ten days – you can practise your skills with the others and we’ll work up one of the plays where Colombina only plays a small part, so that you can try out what you’ve learned in one of the little towns without it being too much for you to manage.’

  Sofia nods, but then another thought occurs to her – one which makes her heartbeat quicken. ‘Does Beppe know about this?’ she says. ‘Will he mind, do you think? He’s the one who has most scenes with Colombina, isn’t he?’ She glances across to where Beppe, who is now cross-legged on the trestle, is fiddling inexpertly with the chisel and a mallet, his face crumpled with concentration.

  Lidia laughs. Taking both of Sofia’s hands in hers, she says, ‘I can promise you two things. One, I’m very happy about the thought of you playing Colombina – Ago says I’m to be given another character to play; and two, Beppe… well… no, he doesn’t know, but I’m sure he’ll be… delighted.’

  Vico snorts his amusement and shouts over to Beppe, flapping a beckoning hand.

  Uncrossing his legs, Beppe swings himself off the trestle. The dog scrambles to its feet. ‘What? What is it?’ he says as he arrives, the dog at his heels. ‘A problem?’

  ‘Why does everyone think that the only things I ever have to talk to them about are problems?’ Agostino says irritably.

  Beppe leans back, his fingers laced behind his head, elbows winged wide. He looks serious for a moment, then his face splits in a wide smile. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s what we think,’ Agostino says, ‘but Sofia doesn’t seem sure she wants to do it.’

  Beppe frowns quizzically at Sofia, and sees the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘You don’t want to? Why not?’

  ‘I do want to… very much. It’s just that… that…’

  ‘That what?’ His voice is soft, encouraging.

  ‘What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not very good?’

  ‘Then it’ll be our fault for not having taught you properly. But you’ll be wonderful – don’t forget how easily you invented a verse for our scelta poem.’

  Beaming, Agostino says, ‘Exactly – exactly so! Just what I was thinking, Beppe, you are so right. A natural improviser. Sofia? What’s your answer?’
>
  Beppe watches Sofia’s gaze move from Agostino to Lidia, to Vico and finally to him.

  She nods.

  As Beppe smiles at her, the pink spots in her cheeks deepen.