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own around in a glorious hood of rippling gold。 Her forehead was smooth and high。
〃Botticelli made you；〃 I whispered。 I often said this to her； because she was so like his beauties。 Indeed everyone thought so； and they would bring her small copies of this famous Florentine's paintings from time to time。
I thought on it； I thought on Venice and this world in which I lived。 I thought on her； a courtesan； receiving those chaste yet lascivious paintings as if she were a saint。
Some echo came to me of old words that I had been told long ago； when I knelt in the presence of old and burnished beauty； and thought myself at the pinnacle； that I must take up my brush and I must paint only 〃what represented the world of God。〃
There was no tumult in me； only a great mixing of currents； as I watched her braid her hair again； stringing the fine ropes of pearls in with it； and the pale green ribbons； the ribbons themselves sewn with the same pretty little flowers that decorated her gown。 Her breasts were blushing； half…covered beneath the press of her bodice。 I wanted to rip it open again。
〃Pretty Bianca； what makes you say this； that I'm his lover？〃
〃Everyone knows it；〃 she whispered。 〃You are his favorite。 Do you think you've made him angry？〃
〃Oh； if only I could；〃 I said。 I sat up。 〃You don't know my Master。 Nothing makes him lift his hand to me。 Nothing makes him even raise his voice。 He sent me forth to learn all things； to know what men can know。〃
She smiled and nodded。 〃So you came and hid under the bed。〃
〃I was sad。〃
〃I'm sure；〃 she said。 〃Well； sleep now； and when I e back； if you're still here； I'll keep you warm。 But need I tell you； my rambunctious one； that you will never utter one careless word of what happened here？ Are you so young that I have to tell you this？〃 She bent down to kiss me。
〃No； my pearl； my beauty； you needn't tell me。 I won't even tell him。〃
She stood and gathered up her broken pearls and wrinkled ribbons； the remnants of the rape。 She smoothed the bed。 She looked as lovely as a human swan； a match for the gilded swans of her boatlike bed。
〃Your Master will know；〃 she said。 〃He's a great magician。〃
〃Are you afraid of him？ I mean in general； Bianca； I don't mean on account of me？〃
〃No；〃 she said。 〃Why should I fear him？ Everyone knows not to anger him or offend him or break his solitude or question him； but it's not fear。 Why do you cry； Amadeo； what's wrong？〃
〃I don't know； Bianca。〃
〃I'll tell you then；〃 she said。 〃He has bee the world to you as only such a great being can。 And you are out of it now arid longing to return to it。 A man such as that bees all things to you； and his wise voice bees the law by which everything is measured。 All that lies beyond has no value because he doesn't see it； and he doesn't declare that it is valuable。 And so you have no choice but to leave the wastes that lie outside his light and return to it。 You must go home。〃
She went out； closing the doors。 I slept； refusing to go home。
The next morning； I breakfasted with her； and spent all day with her。 Our intimacy had given me a radiant sense of her。 No matter how much she talked of my Master； I had eyes only for her just now； in these quarters of hers which were perfumed with her and full of all her private and special things。
I will never forget Bianca。 Never。
I told her； as one can do with a courtesan； all about the brothels to which I'd been。 Perhaps I remember them in such detail because I told her。 I told her with delicate words； of course。 But I told her。 I told her how my Master wanted me to learn everything and had taken me to these splendid academies himself。
〃Well； that's fine； but you can't linger here； Amadeo。 He's taken you to places where you'll have the pleasure of much pany。 He may not want you to remain in the pany of one。〃
I didn't want to go。 But when nightfall came； and the house filled with her English and French poets； and the music started； and the dancing； I didn't want to share her with all the admiring world。
For a while I watched her； confusingly conscious that I had had her in her secret chamber as none of these； her admirers； had or might have； but it gave me no solace。
I wanted something from my Master； something final and conclusive and obliterating； and maddened by this desire； suddenly fully aware of it； I got drunk in a tavern； drunk enough to be nervy and nasty； and I went blundering home。
I felt bold and defiant and very independent for having stayed away from my Master and all his mysteries for so long。
He was painting furiously when I returned。 He was high on the scaffold； and I figured he was attending to the faces of his Greek philosophers； working the alchemy by which vivid countenances came out of his brush； as though uncovered rather than applied。
He wore a bedraggled gray tunic that hung down to his feet。 He didn't turn to look at me when I came in。 Every brazier in the house it seemed had been crammed into the room to give him the light he wanted。
The boys were frightened at the speed with which he covered the canvas。
I soon realized； as I staggered into the studio； that he wasn't painting on his Greek Academy。
He was painting a picture of me。 I knelt in this picture； a boy of our time； with my familiar long locks and a quiet suit of clothing as if I had taken leave of the high…toned world； and seemingly innocent； my hands clasped in prayer。 Around me were gathered angels； gentle…faced and glorious as they always appeared； only these had been graced with black wings。
Black wings。 Great black feathery wings。 Hideous they seemed； the more I looked upon this canvas。 Hideous； and he had almost pleted it。 The auburn…haired boy seemed real as he looked unchallengingly to Heaven； and the angels appeared avid yet sad。
But nothing therein was as monstrous as the spectacle of my Master painting this； of his hand and brush whipping across the picture； realizing sky； clouds； broken pediment； angel wing； sunlight。
The boys clung to one another； certain of his madness or his sorcery。 Which was it？ Why did he so carelessly reveal himself to those whose minds had been at peace？
Why did he flaunt our secret； that he was no more a man than the winged creatures he painted！ Why had he the Lord lost his patience in such a manner as this？
Suddenly in a rage； he threw a pot of paint at the far corner of the room。 A splatter of dark green disfigured the wall。 He cursed and cried in a language none of us knew。
He hurled the pots down； and the paint spilt in great shiny splashes from the wooden scaffold。 He sent the brushes flying like arrows。
〃Get out of here； go to your beds； I don't want to see you； innocents。 Go。 Go。〃
The apprentices ran from him。 Riccardo reached out to gather to him the smaller boys。 All hurried out the door。
High up on the scaffold； he sat down； his legs dangling； and merely looked at me as I stood beneath him； as if he didn't know who I was。
〃e down； Master；〃 I said。
His hair was disheveled and matted h