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as well。
Venice already had dozens of small print shops and publishers where the presses were hard at work producing books in Greek as well as Latin； and in the vernacular tongue…the soft singing tongue… which the apprentices spoke amongst themselves。
They let me stop to glut my eyes on these wonders； these machines that made pages for books。
But they did have their chores； Riccardo and the others…they were to scoop up the prints and engravings of the German painters for our Master； pictures made by the new printing presses of old wonders by Memling； Van Eyck； or Hieronymus Bosch。 Our Master was always in the market for them。 Such drawings brought the north to the south。 Our Master was a champion of such wonders。 Our Master was pleased that over one hundred printing presses filled our city； that he could throw away his coarse inaccurate copies of Livy and Virgil and have now corrected printed texts。
Oh； it was such a load of information。
And no less important than the literature or paintings of the universe was the matter of my clothes。 We had to get the tailors to stop everything to dress me properly according to small chalk drawings which the Master had made。
Handwritten letters of credit had to be taken to the banks。 I was to have money。 Everyone was to have money。 I had never touched such a thing as money。
Money was pretty…Florentine gold or silver； German florins； Bohemian groschens； fancy old coins minted under the rulers of Venice who were called the Doges； exotic coins from the Constantinople of old。 I was given a little sack of my own clinking clanking money。 We tied our 〃purses〃 to our belts。
One of the boys bought me a small wonder because I stared at it。 It was a ticking watch。 I couldn't grasp the theory of it； this tiny ticking thing； all encrusted with jewels； and not all the hands pointed at the sky would teach me。 At last with a shock I realized： It was； beneath its filigree and paint； its strange glass and bejeweled frame； a tiny clock！
I closed my hand on it and felt dizzy。 I had never known clocks to be anything but great venerable things in bell towers or on walls。
〃I carry time now；〃 I whispered in Greek； looking to my friends。
〃Amadeo；〃 said Riccardo。 〃Count the hours for me。〃
I wanted to say that this prodigious discovery meant something； something personal。 It was a message to me from some other too hastily and perilously forgotten world。 Time was not time anymore and never would be。 The day was not the day； nor the night the night。 I couldn't articulate it； not in Greek； nor any tongue； nor even in my feverish thoughts。 I wiped the sweat from my forehead。 I squinted into the brilliant sun of Italy。 My eyes clapped upon the birds who flew in great flocks across the sky； like tiny pen strokes made to flap in unison。 I think I whispered foolishly； 〃We are in the world。〃
〃We are in the center of it； the greatest city of it！〃 Riccardo cried； urging me on into the crowds。 〃We shall see it before we get locked up in the tailor's； that's for damned sure。〃
But first it was time for the sweetshop； for the miracle of chocolate with sugar； for syrupy concoctions of unnameable but bright red and yellow sweets。
One of the boys showed to me his little book of the most frightening printed pictures； men and women embraced in carnality。 It was the stories of Boccaccio。 Riccardo said he would read them to me； that it was in fact an excellent book to teach me Italian。 And that he would teach me Dante too。
Boccaccio and Dante were Florentines； said one of the other boys； but all in all the two weren't so bad。
Our Master loved all kinds of books； I was told； you couldn't go wrong spending your money on them； he was always pleased with that。 I'd e to see that the teachers who came to the house would drive me crazy with their lessons。 It was the studia humanitatis that we must all learn； and it included history； grammar； rhetoric； philosophy and ancient authors 。。。 all of this so much dazzling words that only revealed its meaning to me as it was often repeated and demonstrated in the days to e。
We could not look too good for our Master either； that was another lesson I must learn。 Gold and silver chains； necklaces with medallions and other such trinkets were bought for me and laid over my neck。 I needed rings； jeweled rings。 We had to bargain fiercely with the jewelers for these； and I came out of it wearing a real emerald from the new world； and two ruby rings carved with silver inscriptions which I couldn't read。
I couldn't get over the sight of my hand with a ring。 To this very night of my life； some five hundred years after； you see； I have a weakness for jeweled rings。 Only during those centuries in Paris when I was a penitent； one of Satan's discalced Children of the Night； during that long slumber only； did I give up my rings。 But we'll e to that nightmare soon enough。
For now； this was Venice； I was Marius's child and romped with his other children in a manner that would be repeated for years ahead。
On to the tailor。
As I was measured and pinned and dressed； the boys told me stories of all those rich Venetians who came to our Master seeking to have even the smallest piece of his work。 As for our Master； he； claiming that he was too wretched； sold almost nothing but occasionally did a portrait of a woman or man who struck his eye。 These portraits almost always worked the person into a mythological subject…gods； goddesses； angels； saints。 Names I knew and names I'd never heard of tripped off the boys' tongues。 It seemed here all echoes of sacred things were swept up in a new tide。
Memory would jolt me only to release me。 Saints and gods； they were one and the same？ Wasn't there a code to which I should remain faithful that somehow dictated these were but artful lies？ I couldn't get it clear in my head； and all around me was such happiness； yes； happiness。 It seemed impossible that these simple shining faces could mask wickedness。 I didn't believe it。 Yet all pleasure to me was suspect。 I was dazzled when I could not give in； and overe when I did surrender； and as the days followed I surrendered with ever greater ease all the time。
This day of initiation was only one of hundreds； nay； thousands that were to follow； and I don't know when I started to understand with any preciseness what my boy panions said。 That time came； however； and rather quickly。 I do not remember being the naive one very long。
On this first excursion； it was magic。 And high above the sky was the perfect blue of cobalt； and the breeze from the sea was fresh and moist and cool。 There above were massed the scudding clouds I had seen so wondrously rendered in the paintings of the palazzo； and there came my first hint that the paintings of my Master were no lie。
Indeed when we entered； by special permission； the Doges' chapel； San Marco； I was caught by the throat by its splendor…its walls of gleaming tessellated gold。 But another shock followed hard upon my finding myself virtually entombed in light and in riches。 Here were stark； somber figures； figures of saints I knew。