The Water Mirror (6 page)

“Are you afraid of Eft?” Junipa asked.

Merle thought about it briefly. “No. But you must admit that
she's strange.”

“Perhaps we all would be, if we had to wear a mask.”

“And why does she wear it, anyhow? No one except Arcimboldo seems to
know. I even asked Dario.”

“Maybe you should just ask her sometime.”

“That wouldn't be polite, if it really is an
illness.”

“What else would it be?”

Merle said nothing. She'd been asking herself these questions. She
had a suspicion, only a very vague one; since it had come into her mind, she
couldn't get it out of her head. Nevertheless, she thought it was better not to
tell Junipa about it.

Merle and Junipa hadn't spoken about Eft again since that evening.
There were so many other things to talk about, so many new impressions, discoveries,
challenges. Every day was a new adventure, especially for Junipa, whose vision was fast
improving. Merle envied her a little for how easily she became enthusiastic about the
smallest things; but at the same time she rejoiced with her over the unexpected
cure.

The morning after Merle saw Eft climb down into the
well the second time, something happened that once again turned her thoughts from
the housekeeper's secret activities: the first meeting with the apprentices on the
other bank of the canal, the apprentices of Master Weaver Umberto.

Merle had almost forgotten about the weaving workshop during the eleven
days that she'd been living in the mirror maker's house. There'd been
no trace of the well-known quarrel between the two masters, which had once been the talk
of all Venice. Merle hadn't left the house at all during this period. Her entire
day was spent mainly in the workshop, the adjoining storerooms, the dining room, and her
room. Now and again one of the apprentices had to accompany Eft when she went to the
vegetable market on Rio San Barnaba, but so far the housekeeper's choice had
always fallen on one of the boys; they were bigger and could carry the heavy crates
without any difficulty.

So Merle was caught completely unprepared when the students from the other
side brought the quarrel forcefully to mind. As she later learned, it had been a
tradition for years among the apprentices of both houses to play tricks on each other,
which not infrequently ended with broken glass, cursing masters, bruises, and abrasions.
The last of these attacks had been three weeks before and was credited to Dario, Boro,
and Tiziano. The weaver boys' retaliation was long overdue after that.

Merle didn't find out why they'd chosen this morning,
and she was also not sure how they'd succeeded in getting
inside the house—although later it was suspected they'd laid a board across
the canal from one balcony railing to the other and so had balanced their way to the
mirror maker's side. That they did all this in broad daylight, and during working
hours, was a sign that it had been done with Umberto's blessing, just as earlier
trespasses by Dario and the others had taken place with Arcimboldo's
agreement.

Merle was just about to begin gluing the wooden frame of a mirror when
there was a clatter at the entrance to the workshop. Alarmed, she looked up. She was
afraid Junipa had stumbled over a tool.

But it wasn't Junipa. A small figure had slipped on a screwdriver
and was staggering, fighting for balance. Its face was hidden behind a bear mask of
enameled paper. With one hand it flailed wildly in the air, while the bag of paint it
had held in the other burst on the tiles in a blue star.

“Weavers!”
Tiziano bellowed,
dropping his work and jumping up.

“Weavers! Weavers!” Boro, in another corner of the workshop,
took up his friend's cry, and soon Dario also thundered in.

Merle got up from her place in irritation. Her eyes traveled uncertainly
around the room. She didn't understand what was going on, ignorant of the
competition among the apprentices.

The masked boy at the entrance slipped on his own
paint and crashed on the seat of his pants. Before Dario and the others could laugh at
him or even go for him, three other boys appeared in the corridor, all wearing colorful
paper masks. One in particular caught Merle's eye: It was the visage of a splendid
fabulous beast, half man, half bird. The long, curving beak was lacquered golden, and
tiny glass gems glittered in the painted eyebrows.

Merle didn't have a chance to look at the other masks, for already a
whole squadron of paint bags was flying in her direction. One burst at her feet and
sprayed sticky red, another hit her shoulder and bounced off without bursting. It rolled
away, over to Junipa, who'd been standing there with a gigantic broom in her hand,
not quite knowing what was happening all around her. But now she grasped the situation
and quickly bent, grabbed the paint bag, and flung it back at the invaders. The boy with
the bear mask sprang to one side, and the missile hit the bird face behind him. The bag
burst on the point of the bill and covered its owner with green paint.

Dario cheered, and Tiziano thumped Junipa encouragingly on the shoulder.
Then the second wave of attacks followed. This time they didn't get off so
lightly. Boro, Tiziano, and Merle were hit and spotted over and over with paint. Out of
the corner of her eye, Merle saw Arcimboldo, cursing, close the door of the mirror
storeroom and bar it
from inside. His students might break heads, so
long as the finished mirrors remained unharmed.

The apprentices were left to their own devices. Four against four. Really
even five against four, if you counted Junipa—after all, in spite of her weak
eyes, she'd scored the first hit for the mirror makers.

“It's the student weavers from the other bank,” Boro
called to Merle as he grabbed a broom, wielding it like a sword with both hands.
“No matter what happens, we have to defend the workshop.”

Typical boy,
thought Merle, as she patted a
little helplessly at the paint on her dress. But why did they constantly have to prove
themselves with such nonsense?

She looked up—and was hit on the forehead with another paint bag.
Viscous yellow poured over her face and her shoulders.

That did it! With an angry cry she grabbed up the glue bottle, whose
contents she'd been using to glue the mirror frame, and hurled herself at the
first available weaver boy. It was the one with the bear mask. He saw her coming and
tried to grab another paint bag from his shoulder bag. Too late! Merle was already
there. She hurled him over backward with a blow, fell on him with her knees on his
chest, and shoved the narrow end of the glue bottle into the left eye opening.

“Close your eyes!” she warned and pumped a strong jet of glue
under the mask. The boy swore, then his words
were lost in a
blubber, followed by a long drawn-out “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

She saw that her opponent was out of action for the moment, pushed herself
off him, and leaped back up. She now was holding the glue bottle like a pistol, even if
it didn't make much sense, for most of the contents had been sprayed out. Out of
the corner of her eye she saw Boro and Tiziano scuffling with two weaver boys, a wild
fight. The mask of one of the boys was already demolished. Instead of joining in,
however, Merle ran over to Junipa, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her behind one of
the workbenches.

“Don't move from that spot,” she whispered to her.

Junipa protested. “I'm not as helpless as you
think.”

“No, certainly not.” Merle glanced at the boy with the bird
mask. His upper body was green from Junipa's paint bag. “Nevertheless,
better stay under cover. This can't last much longer.”

As she sprang up, she saw that her triumph had been too early.
Tiziano's opponent had gained the upper hand again. And there was no sign of Dario
anywhere. Merle first discovered him when suddenly he was standing in the doorway. In
his hand gleamed one of the knives Arcimboldo used to trim the whisper-thin silver
sheets for the backs of the mirrors. The blade wasn't long, but it was razor
sharp.

“Serafin!” called Dario to the boy with the bird mask.
“Come on, if you dare.”

The weaver's boy saw the knife in Dario's
hand and took up the challenge. His three companions retreated to the entrance. Boro
helped Tiziano to his feet and then pushed Merle to the edge of the workshop.

“Have they gone crazy?” she gasped breathlessly.
“They're going to kill each other.”

Boro's frown betrayed that he shared her concern. “Dario and
Serafin have hated each other since they first laid eyes on each other. Serafin's
the leader of the weavers. He cooked up this whole thing.”

“That's no reason to go at him with a knife.”

While they were speaking, Dario and Serafin had met in the center of the
room. Merle noticed that Serafin moved with light feet, like a dancer. He skillfully
avoided the clumsy attacks of Dario, whose knife cut silvery traces in the air. Before
Dario realized it, the weaver boy had extracted the knife from his fingers. With a cry
of fury, Dario rushed at his opponent and landed a treacherous punch on his Adam's
apple. The yellow bird face flew to one side and revealed Serafin's face. His
cheekbones were finely cut, a few freckles sprinkled the bridge of his nose. He had
blond hair, not so light as Junipa's; the green paint had clumped it into
strings.

The weaver's bright blue eyes were squinting angrily. Before Dario
could avoid it, Serafin landed a punch that flung the student mirror maker against the
workbench behind which Junipa had taken shelter. Dario made one
leap
over the bench to put it between himself and his opponent. Junipa moved back a step in
fear. But Serafin followed Dario around the bench and was about to grab him again.
Dario's nose was bleeding; the last blow had weakened him. Instead of facing his
antagonist, he whirled around, grabbed the surprised Junipa by the shoulders with both
hands, pulled her roughly in front of him, and gave her a powerful push, which sent her
stumbling in Serafin's direction.

Merle uttered a scream of rage. “That coward!”

The weaver boy saw Junipa flying toward him and saw Dario as well, just
behind her, ready to use his chance. Serafin had a choice: He could catch Junipa to keep
her from plunging into a rack of glass bottles—or he could sidestep her and attack
his archfoe.

Serafin made a quick grab. He caught Junipa and held her for a moment in
an embrace that was intended to protect her as well as to reassure her.
“It's all right,” he whispered to her, “nothing happened to
you.”

He'd scarcely spoken the words when Dario rammed his fist over
Junipa's shoulder into Serafin's face.

“No!” bellowed Merle furiously. She leaped past Boro and
Tiziano, ran to the workbench, and pulled Dario away from Junipa and Serafin.

“What are you doing?” yelped the older boy, but she'd
already pulled him over backward to the floor.

Very briefly she caught Serafin's look as he carefully
pushed Junipa to one side. He smiled through green paint and blood,
then hurried back to his friends at the entrance.

“We're clearing out,” he said, and a moment later the
weavers were gone.

Merle paid no attention to Dario but turned to Junipa, who was standing,
dazed, in front of the bottle rack.

“Everything all right?”

Junipa nodded. “Yes . . . thanks. All
right.”

Behind Merle's back Dario began to curse and scold; she could sense
that he was approaching her threateningly. She abruptly whirled around, looked deep into
his small eyes, and gave him a box on the ear as hard as she could.

Before Dario could rush at her, Eft was suddenly between them. Merle felt
the powerful grip when the housekeeper grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her away
from Dario. But she didn't hear what Eft said, didn't hear the crude raging
of Dario, which couldn't touch her. She was looking pensively out into the
corridor into which Serafin had vanished with his friends.

“A
ND WHAT, PRAY, AM
I S
UPPOSED TO DO WITH
YOU NOW?
”

The master's voice sounded more disappointed than angry. Arcimboldo
was sitting behind his study desk in the library. The walls of the room were covered
with leather book spines. Merle wondered whether he'd actually read all those
books.

“The damage the weaver's apprentices have caused with their
paint is hardly worth mentioning, in light of what the two of you have done,”
Arcimboldo continued, letting his eyes travel from Dario to Merle and back again. The
two were standing in front of the desk and looking
sheepishly at the
floor. Their anger at each other was in no way cooled, but even Dario seemed to
understand that it was appropriate to restrain himself.