Free The Volcano Lover by Susan Sontag Page A

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    Closing the deck, she held it out for him to pick a card.
    Is it not customary to lay out a spread?
    This is Efrosina’s way, my lord.
    He pulled out one card and returned it. Ah, she exclaimed, His Excellency has picked himself.
    The Cavaliere, smiling: And what do you learn about me from the card?
    She looked down at the card, hesitated, then said in a singsong tone: That you are … a patron of the arts and sciences … adept at diverting the tides of fortune into channels that suit your ends … ambitious for power … preferring to work behind the scenes … reluctant to take others into your confidence … I could go on—she looked up—but tell Efrosina, am I right, my lord?
    You say this because you know who I am.
    My lord, this is the meaning of the card. I inven nothing.
    And I, I learn nothing. Let me see.
    On the card she passed him between her second and third fingers was a crude drawing of a man dressed in elegant ropes, holding a large cup or vase in his right hand, his left arm resting negligently on the side of his throne. No.
    But it is His Excellency. The King of Cups. It could be no other.
    She upturned the deck and spread the cards on the large silk square to show him that each was different, that he might have given her any card of the seventy-eight. But he had picked this one.
    All right. The next card.
    Efrosina shuffled the deck and held it out to him. This time, he looked at the card he selected before giving it to her. A woman holding a large cup or vase in her left hand, a woman in a long flowing dress, on a more modestly proportioned throne.
    She nodded. His Excellency’s wife.
    Why? he said irritably.
    The Queen of Cups is very artistically gifted, Efrosina said. Yes, and affectionate … and romantic … something otherworldly about her, you feel that … and unusually perceptive … with an inner beauty that does not depend on external aids … and without any—
    Enough, said the Cavaliere.
    Do I describe His Excellency’s wife or do I not?
    You describe the way all women wish to be described.
    Perhaps. But not as all women are. Tell Efrosina if she has described truly or not.
    There is a resemblance, said the Cavaliere grudgingly.
    Is His Excellency prepared for another card?
    Why not, thought the Cavaliere, with the next card we shall at least leave my family. He picked another card.
    Ah …
    What?
    Enthusiastic … amiable … a bringer of ideas, offers, and opportunities … artistic and refined … often bored, in need of constant stimulation … with high principles, but easily led … That is the Knight of Cups!
    Efrosina studied the cards a moment. A person capable of great duplicity, my lord.
    She looked at him. His Excellency recognizes the man I describe, I can see it on his face. Someone to whom he is closely related. Not a son. Not a brother. Perhaps—
    Let me see the card, said the Cavaliere.
    The card showed Charles as a young man on horseback, bareheaded, with long hair falling around his shoulders, dressed in a simple tunic and short cloak, who holds a cup or vase before him as if offering it to someone ahead. The Cavaliere handed it back to Efrosina.
    I cannot imagine who it could be, he said.
    She looked at him quizzically. Shall we try one more? You do not believe Efrosina. But the cards do not lie. Watch while I shuffle them thoroughly.
    Another card, another young man, it seemed.
    But this is astounding, cried Efrosina. Never in a lifetime of reading the cards has someone drawn four consecutive cards in the same suit.
    The card he had picked showed a young man who walks along a path, staring fixedly at the large vessel he grasps with his left hand and supports with the palm of his right. The top of the cup is covered by a fold of his cloak, as if to hide its contents. He wears a short tunic that shows his hips and the bulge of his