Free The Mascherari: A Novel of Venice by Laura Rahme

cruel. They put her off guard from the start.  He told her she was wearing too much perfume and that her bleached hair stank of urine. 
    Avogadore , I will explain to you why I thought this was out of character. Giacomo loved his daughter and I had never once heard him speak to her this way. I had my own grudge toward him, we all did. But the Canal brothers–Ubertino and Guido–they were not betrothed to Giovanna. I was. I took Giacomo’s tirades as an insult to me. Never once had I heard him disgrace his own daughter in public, and now the man... I hardly knew him!
    About midnight, Guido had consumed too much wine and was beginning to feel ill. I jested that he ought to retch into the canal and spare us the spectacle of his diseased liver. He fumbled outside, belting out disgusting couplets to all who had the ill luck to pass him. I never saw him again.
    But Giovanna’s disquiet troubled me.  Of course I could not know if she was crying, the poor signorina, because her face lay hidden behind that gold mask.  But I saw, in the way she ceased dancing and the bitter pout on her lower lip, that she was close to tears.  And all the while, Giacomo ranted.
    “It’s no use,” he said. “I can still see your freckles. On your neck, also. Si , even with all that white powder make up. That is the price you pay for staying so long under the sun. What is wrong with brown hair? So much time spent in getting yourself ready when all you end up doing is looking like a puttana from the Ponte delle Tette!”
    Such is the coarseness of the Venetians, you Florentines would say. But Giacomo had gone too far. It was wrong of him.  Giovanna soon began to feel out of place. And she was not the only one. The more Giacomo taunted her with his denigrating tirades and the more he scorned her before their hosts, the more I felt the anger rise inside me.
    I began to fume. The last week’s events churned in my mind. I had not once forgotten that Giacomo owed me a considerable sum of money and now his behavior was deplorable. I was torn. Was I to step in to protect Giovanna’s pride and shield my future bride from her ill-tempered father, or was I to remain the stoic partner and let a father speak his mind? And then...
    Avogadore , I told you before that I did not like to be played for a fool. And Giacomo behaved so strangely that night that I thought he was playing with me. Playing with me by hurting his own daughter. But I was wrong.
    No sooner had Guido staggered outside than I saw Giovanna storm out to one of the balconies. She had removed those atrocious zoccoli and was bare-footed on the tiles.  Giacomo said nothing. He stood. Without a word, he followed after her. Now they were both on the balcony and I eyed Ubertino who had somehow managed a fifth serve of roasted meats. I was nervous. I had had enough of this.  I rose from my couch and pursued father and daughter onto the balcony.
    And then I saw it. Under the bright moon. I saw the anger flashing behind Giacomo’s mask. His monstrous hands were upon my Zanetta who wept and squirmed.
    What tragedy on a night such as this! I saw a father setting out to strangle his own daughter. But you see, it was not his daughter. Giacomo was mad that night. He had lost all reason. 
    There stood his own angel, his own precious daughter, but Giacomo–I swear–he could not see her. All he saw... All he saw was... I still do not understand.
    She was pleading with him.
    “Father, Father, it is I! It is I! Rolandino, make him see! Make him see!”
    But Giacomo, he could not. He would not listen. I yelled at him. I menaced him with my dagger. I pretended to take a swipe at him. Not once, did he notice me. For a split second I had managed to loosen his grip on her but he seemed possessed by a demonic will and shoved me brutally aside.  Then he lunged toward her.
    “I will kill that witch! I will kill her!”
    My heart thumped in my chest. I realized that he meant it. There was no stopping