Excerpt from The Innamorati: Erminia and Two Poets

This is was fun scene to write as it provided me a chance to get back at that wretched Orpheus after reading all the mythological shenanigans he did to harm the Sirens and get away with it. Well, only to a certain extent. There was that unfortunate incident with the maenads, but even from that Orpheus managed to bounce -- at least his head did, as it was placed on a pedestal and given the power of speech. Orpheus was to serve a long time as an oracle of sorts. Erminia arrives at the maze with the purpose of trying to convince the head of Orpheus to give the Sirens back their voices, even though she failed to remain silent for ten years. She finds herself escorted by Orpheus' servant Ipnos -- a bratty piece of work with three faces that all seem to talk at once. Ipnos has dragged the poet Lorenzo into the maze, very much against his will to meet with Orpheus. Lorenzo, once a brilliant poet, has turned to the law, rejecting all forms of metaphorical language because of the guilt he feels for having possibly murdered his beloved wife. I laughed through this whole scene. I couldn't help myself. Lorenzo is a stammering wreck trying to deny the existence of his fantastic companions, Orpheus the great poet is crude and rude, and Erminia for once knows how to hold her tongue and strike a bargain.

  

 Ever since Ipnos had pulled him over the wall of the maze, Lorenzo had been trying to choose which face to confront when he spoke to the querulous servant. But it had been impossible. Whenever Lorenzo spoke to one face, it gazed elsewhere while the other two faces regarded him keenly. And when Lorenzo switched his attention to a different face, then that face would ignore him and he would discover that the first face was now taking an interest in the conversation. Ipnos was one man, Lorenzo told himself firmly. All Lorenzo had to do was figure out which face was the real one.

But Ipnos hadn't disturbed Lorenzo's peace of mind half as much as Erminia. She should not have captured his attention at all. After all, she was ugly, a single black brow across her forehead shading her eyes, her hair an unwashed mat of snarls.

But there was something in the scent of her that made Lorenzo light¬headed, something in the glance of her piercing blue eyes that made him feel vulnerable. Every time she spoke, his throat constricted with an unbearable sadness. Her voice tore through the seams of the lawyer's facade, threatening to expose the poet beneath.

No. It was not a facade. It was the truth! He had studied law in Bologna. He was no longer a poet. That conceit had been drummed out of him seven years ago. He had no use for metaphor. Poetry had died with Cecilia and the lie she had made of their marriage. He stole a glance at the heavy-bodied woman beside him. If only he didn't have to hear her voice or travel in the wake of her scent, it would be easier.

"Was she beautiful?" asked Erminia, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes.

"Who?" Lorenzo asked, staring at the ground beneath his feet as they walked in an effort to ignore the discomfort she caused him.

"Whoever she was that brought you to this state," answered Erminia. "It had to be a woman."

"It usually is," scoffed Ipnos.

"Signora, I have no idea what you are talking about," Lorenzo answered, now studying a tear in the fabric of his sleeve.

"That's Signorina, and you do know what I am talking about. You're just being disagreeable. Do you know what happens when you're disagreeable about such things?"

Lorenzo looked up, hoping once more to see the woman beside him as ordinary. But those eyes, they terrified him.

She sighed and a mist filtered through her tangled hair. "Do you know the story of Orpheus?"

"The poet who went to the underworld to bring his wife back from the dead," Lorenzo said. "A fairy tale told by the Greeks."

"More than a fairy tale, my pretty poet."

"I'm a lawyer."

Erminia shrugged. "As you wish. There isn't one of us who hasn't worn a mask for some reason. Look at me. I, too, am not what I seem. But we were speaking of Orpheus. Do you remember what happened?"

Lorenzo tore his gaze away from Erminia's stabbing blue eyes. His head hurt from trying not to see them. "Something about losing his wife after all."

"Yes," Erminia said. "After being instructed not to look back as he led her out of the underworld, Orpheus turned around at the last moment to reassure himself that she had followed faithfully behind him. With that glance, he banished his wife back to the underworld for good."

"Doesn't this duckling know anything?" piped Ipnos irritably. "How can you not know the tragedy of Orpheus?"

"Hmmm, sad isn't it?" said Erminia. "But what came after was much worse, dear poet—oh excuse me, lawyer. Orpheus grieved for a while. But wearying of grief, he decided to pretend that he didn't care that he had lost Eurydice. He banished his wife from his heart. He invented a dull religion, turned his back on women, and gave up music, poetry, and pleasure of all kinds. He did just about anything he could think of that would erase forever the love that he had once felt for his wife and his shame at losing her. Twice murdered was Eurydice — first by a snake and then by Orpheus. To deny one's true nature and the gifts given you by the gods is to tempt disaster. You cannot hide behind the mask forever."

Lorenzo coughed, trying to clear the thickening in his throat. Memories of Cecilia flashed across his eyes. Her golden hair, the blushing skin of her breasts, the deep pink of her nipples. He had once written sonnets to the smooth skin of her belly. He shuddered.

"What happened to Orpheus?" he asked.

"Orpheus came to believe so strongly in his own stern mask that he ignored that god who required pleasure as a form of worship. Insulted, Bacchus grew angry and sent the maenads to teach him a lesson. With their bare hands, they tore Orpheus' body from limb to limb and cast the severed pieces in different places. His head drifted downriver, until it was fished out, stuck on a pedestal, and Orpheus, never one to keep quiet for long, started to hand out judgments and prophecies to anyone with a coin."

"Until that scumbag Apollo grew jealous, of course, and shut us down," groused Ipnos. "We were doing a great business until then! Now here we are in this maze, just scraping by with miserable pilgrims. Oh, for the glory days!"

"Signorina," Lorenzo said, "I don't see what any of this has to do with me. I am here to find my servant Giano and then return to my office of law. I'm really pressed for time. I thank you both for your combined interest in my affairs, but I assure you I am in no need of assistance. Now, perhaps we may amiably part company and I can be on my way once more. Good day to you."

Lorenzo scarcely realized that he had begun speaking faster and faster, trying to shove the strange pair and their tales away, trying to remember the simple, real reason he had entered the maze. The path split just in front of him and he was convinced that if he could just keep talking until he reached the fork, he'd be able to escape.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," warned Ipnos.

"Do what?" Lorenzo asked brusquely.

"Go down that path. You'd find it very unpleasant. Can't you hear the dragon bellowing? Probably gobbling up some poor noddle of a pilgrim. You'd best stick it out with us," finished Ipnos the fool with a wild bob of his head.

Lorenzo pulled nervously on the lock of white hair over his forehead. He heard a distinct rumbling that might have been thunder or growling. The breeze brought a whiff of peppery smoke. He strained his ears. Was that some¬one screaming? There were no dragons, he told himself sternly. Just as there were no sirens or three-faced men. But still, he hesitated at the fork.

"Come, come, poet, accept your punishment like a man," cajoled Ipnos.

"Punishment?" asked Lorenzo. "Punishment for what? I've done nothing wrong."

"Seven years ago, you committed a crime!" exclaimed Ipnos the wicked.

"You lie in your throat," Lorenzo retorted angrily. He fumbled for a sword that wasn't there. "I killed Giampaolo Vittuci in a fair duel. Who could have known that Cecilia would throw herself between our swords? The tribunal deemed it was an accident and my honor was restored."

"Cock's dung on that!" snorted Ipnos. "I don't care about your duels and sluts! Your crime was to fall silent!"

"She wasn't a slut, Lorenzo snapped. "She was my wife."

"You killed your wife?" Erminia asked in amazement.

"There is no one who can state that with certainty," Lorenzo said, raking his fingers through the lock of white hair. "I found Cecilia in our bed with Giampaolo, my closest friend. Honor demanded that I call him out to duel. While we were fighting, she ran between the blades. His sword struck her first. Mine was the second blow. I never intended to hurt her. She died, but from which of our two swords, it was never known."

"Twice murdered," murmured Erminia. "First by the snake, then by the husband."

"Ah, here we are!" announced Ipnos cheerfully. "My master's home at last."

They had reached a stone grotto surrounded by verdant ferns. Small sculptures of fauns and satyrs stood in carved niches all around the rim of the grotto's opening, lit from within by a flickering green light that washed over the rough wall like the sun's rays wavering beneath the surface of the sea. Here and there, nestled in the crannies of the grotto s roof, glimmered tiny, phosphorescent mushrooms. As they stepped into the entrance of the grotto, Lorenzo looked down at his hands and saw that his skin was a watery green.

"Remember your promise." Erminia nudged Ipnos. "I will do this task for Orpheus, but my sisters and I must have the use of our voices."

"Only if you succeed with this dried fig," snapped Ipnos. "But first, you've got to take your tongue-lashing."

"What other injury can a man with no arms do me?" Erminia asked.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Siren, or you'll lose it forever," Ipnos warned, wagging a finger.

Erminia rolled her eyes, but remained silent.

They walked quietly into the deeper recesses of the grotto.The air turned cold and clammy and smelled of salt and fish. Lorenzo heard Orpheus before he could see him. The light tenor voice echoed through the cavernous grotto, rising and falling with the cadence of sung poetry. Lorenzo felt a flutter of panic as the seductive voice reached into his heart, pulling at his soul, threatening to unravel his dignity. He struggled against the voice, training his eyes to study the details of his surroundings as he labored to ignore the power of Orpheus' song.

The head of Orpheus rested on a tall pedestal of white marble mottled with blue veins and rust-colored molds. The head was surprisingly large and commanding, the neck forming a thick, powerful base draped with a linen cloth. The cheeks were long, smooth planes, the forehead was broad beneath the heavy, oiled tresses. The nose was formidable, jutting proudly over a pair of thick, sardonic lips. The eyebrows were combed upward, accentuating almond eyes that at the moment were closed as Orpheus sang.

Placed in smaller rough-hewn niches in the roof of the cavern were other heads, their eyes closed as though listening. Lorenzo stared up at these busts reconizing that not all of them were carved in the style of antiquity. Some were curiously familiar. Wasn't that head up there his old friend Moreto Romaneti? He had been a great poet once, gregarious to a fault, expansive in all his gestures. He had lost everything in a mad passion for gambling and drink. The last Lorenzo had heard, Moreto had disappeared, fleeing angry creditors.

Ipnos and Erminia waited at Lorenzo's side until Orpheus finished his singing. As the last echoes of his voice died away, Orpheus snapped open his eyes, revealing golden pupils. The eyes slid sideways to Lorenzo, whose heart pounded in a burst of panic at the fiery gold stare. The lips formed a sneer.

"Hah! What have you caught in your net, Ipnos? Two stinking herrings! A babbling poet and a slip-tongued siren! By Hermes, Leucosia, you couldn't have made yourself any more ugly. What a fat donkey's behind you've got there! Whoa, I'll bet you were ridden to town often enough!"

"Ever gracious, Orpheus," Erminia said. "A pleasure as always to kneel before you." She bowed low to hide her fury.

"And what about you, sniveling poet?" The eyes swiveled to Lorenzo's face. "Some unripe plum stuck up your ass, eh? Bunging up the plumbing? And where then does the shit go?"

Lorenzo stood speechless, blood draining from his face. Surely he was dreaming. He could hardly bear to meet the golden stare.

"It all goes to your head, you ... you ..." The eyes swiveled to find Ipnos. "What do the Italians call it again?"

"Testa di merda!" Ipnos crowed.

"Shithead! That's what you've become," snapped Orpheus. "A head full of shit! You shut off the words like a man closing the gate of his ass-hole, but they're festering in your head and every time you exhale there's the stench of feces! What do you think about that?"

"I am at a loss for words," Lorenzo replied.

"No! By Hermes, you will answer me!" ordered Orpheus. "What am I?

"A construct of stone—"

"No! The truth now, poet!"

"A mask—"

"Try again. Pluck the cork!"

"A puppet—"

"Puppet!" shrieked Orpheus. "He calls me a puppet! A crude toy with some peasant's hand up my rear!" The gold eyes narrowed into gleaming slits of malice.

"Listen, you wretch, I am the poet Orpheus, son of Calliope, creator of music. When I sing, the world turns as I please, wild animals become meek and even the damned shades are so charmed they cease their endless wailing. You are a stuck-up piece of dried fruit, ignorant from the neck down. Better your head should rest here and I make use of what you squander! Oh to have back those simple bodily functions, to feel the stirring of pleasure even in the relief of one's bowels. I ask you again, poet, and this time answer with your whole self. What am I?"

Words twitched in Lorenzo's mouth, banged against the gate of his clenched teeth. Speak! Speak! a voice whispered in his ear. He touched the smooth velvet of his doublet and remembered the sensation of Cecilia's thighs beneath his palms. He snapped his fist closed, the nails digging into his palms, gripped by a different memory. Cecilia wearing a ribbon of blood around her neck. The unspoken words crawled back into the empty cavity of his heart. He must speak only the truth.

"I am not a poet. I'm a lawyer. And you are a thing such as I have seen on the stage at Carnevale," Lorenzo said. "A hollow thing of paper and wood, a voice piped in from behind a screen. You are a mask intended to frighten and amuse the unlettered."

"And what think you of the heads above me that sit in silent judgment of your follies?" asked Orpheus. "Do you not know some of them?"

Lorenzo glanced up quickly and then away. "No."

"No?" said Orpheus with a sneer. "Can it be that you have uttered your first lie?"

"There is one that resembles a man I once knew," Lorenzo admitted. "Moreto Romaneti. But the likeness is a poor one and so I cannot claim in all honesty to know the face."

"And I tell you, in all honesty," Orpheus said, "that it is indeed the head of your friend Moreto. And your head will join him in these ranks of speechless poets unless you remember what it is to give honor to me and to the art we both serve."

"It would be such a waste to join his noble head to that silent lot" Erminia interrupted. "Perhaps, gracious Orpheus, it would be far better to rescue an admirer than to cut off his head. Haven't you had enough of this dreary lot?"

"Better than having to listen to the cries of their stillborn poetry." Orpheus snorted. "I have some sympathy for those who strangled their work with excess. In the grip of demons, they pickled their verses in wine, or sold them to whores, to gamblers, and, even worse, to publishers. But this one! This one has no vices except to chew on a dried turd he calls truth. Ipnos, come here and use your finger to scratch my ears," Orpheus shouted. "Even now this mute poet torments me with his thoughts."

Ipnos scuttled across the room and wiggled his fingers in Orpheus' ears. Orpheus closed his eyes and sighed with relief.

"Allow me the opportunity to restore this man's poetic voice," Erminia said.

"What? Speak up, I can't hear you!" Orpheus bellowed and Ipnos hastily removed his fingers.

"I said, allow me the chance to restore the poet's voice. After all, a siren can be very persuasive!"

"He's deaf, I tell you," Orpheus insisted. "Dried shit instead of beeswax stuck in his ears. Better to let the maenads finish him off! I'll put his head up there, next to his friend."

"But, Orpheus, if the man is truly a gifted poet, his voice must be heard. How long has it been since there was one to sing your praises?" said Ipnos. "Why not let the siren try and make of him a believer again?"

"What's in it for you?" Orpheus asked, turning his golden glaze on Erminia.

Erminia bowed her head. "Pax, oh noble head. The sirens' voices restored and permission to return to our home."

"You screwed it up last time!"

"Because I was asked to remain silent. A siren's skill is in her voice, Let me use it now to free us both. I will give you back your poet, and you will give us back our songs."

Orpheus chewed his lower lip, considering.

Erminia turned to Lorenzo. "Poet, let me save you!" she urged. "Say yes, and we may both walk away from the maze free! Don't become one of these dried-up heads!"

Lorenzo looked up and found Moreto Romaneti's impassive face. The lids lifted, and dull eyes gazed down at Lorenzo. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Lorenzo shuddered and lowered his gaze.

"Speak, poet!" Erminia begged him. "Say yes!"

"How did Moreto die?" Lorenzo asked Orpheus, refusing to look at the siren.

Orpheus glared at the man before him. "He gambled, and thinking his art of no great worth, put it up as a stake. He lost to the maenads. They tore him apart and tossed the head up there where you see it. They will find you in this maze and do no less to you."

Lorenzo's joints ached as though he could already feel the deadly pull of maenads.

"Let me try and free his voice, Orpheus!" Erminia urged.

"Who better to teach truth to a poet than the mistress of lies?" said Ipnos. "Aren't you getting tired of these dead heads? They're so depressing, not to mention creepy! Even a dirty epigram or two would help to liven up the place."

Orpheus pursed his lips and made annoyed smacking noises. "Oh, all right! You know it's hard for me to refuse you, Ipnos, when you scratch my ears so nicely. But you have only two days, Leucosia. If you fail this time, you will not only lose your voice, but your life. I'll stick your head up there along with the rest of the losers!"

Erminia touched her neck and then slid her hand up to brush back her tangled hair.

"I am a siren, Orpheus. My voice will be heard, even if it is only by one man."

"Just hope he doesn't drown first!"

"I will see to it!" Erminia said.

"Then take him away, for the babbling of his thoughts is driving me mad! Ipnos, my ears! Give me your fingers to scratch!"

Ipnos the fool winked at Erminia as he wiggled his index fingers into Orpheus'ears. "Good luck," he whispered.

Erminia shrugged. She didn't need anything so capricious as luck. She grabbed Lorenzo's hand and, jerking the sullen man into motion, dragged him out of the grotto.

They stood again on the wooded path between the cedars. The yellow sunlight was nearly blinding after the wavering green shade of the grotto. Erminia released him and raised her head as she caught the scent of something on the wind. Lorenzo saw her inhale deeply, her hands pressed first to her heart, then her cheeks. She grinned.

"The sea.' It is here! Come, poet, follow me, and I will be the cause of your rebirth. In the salt of your mother's womb, you were made poet. You died to yourself seven years ago. But through me and sea's embrace, I swear on the siren's song, your poetry will live again!"

Lorenzo moved toward her on wooden legs. His face, his chest, his arms felt encased in a brittle hard shell, but something soft and aching yielded in his breast. Blood gushed from invisible wounds newly opened, and a flood of rusty words clotted on his tongue. He broke out in a drenching sweat.

Erminia stretched out her hand to take his. "Have courage, my poet," she said, and a pale wreath of golden light encircled his brow.

His hand clasped firmly in her own, Erminia led Lorenzo down the path through the trees to where the sea beckoned her.