No. I’m not, am I? Evelyn laughed.
Didn’t women paint as well?
They weren’t allowed to. Actively forbidden from participating in the arts or sciences. Unless, of course, your father was a painter; then you had access to materials and a workshop. But it was only the convent, really, that provided space for self-expression. Creative women from good Florentine families often found their way there for that purpose. Here’s a name for you, kid: Plautilla Nelli. She was the first female Renaissance painter and was very successful. She, in effect, ran a school for female artists. She couldn’t sell her own work, but the convent could. She was a radical and defied the conventions of her time. And no one knows about her.
I do now, though.
Yes, you do now. The bridge that used to be over there? said Evelyn, pointing.
The Ponte alle Grazie?
Well, once upon a time, it had small dwelling places and oratories attached on struts that overlooked the river. Solitary hermitages for worship. Devout nuns known as le Murate – the walled-up ones – used to live their entire lives in tiny rooms in these buildings without ever going outside.
Never? said the kid.
Never. And they prayed for the city. And their food was delivered through small windows that could only be accessed by ladders placed on the riverbed. Holy Communion was received every Sunday in the same manner. Their whole lives imprisoned – or cloistered, depending on your point of view. The bridge was eventually rebuilt and le Murate transferred to a convent in 1424.
That’s a lot to take in.
Isn’t it? said Evelyn. And then the convent became a jail. Which it still is. Symbolic and slightly ironic.
Kid stayed silent, thinking.
Evelyn said, We’ll never know the inner life lived out within those walls. The what-could-have-been. We have so much more freedom than those who went before. And you will have so much more than me.
Evelyn looked once more at her watch. My dear child, I need to get a taxi. My train’s at five.
Shall we shake hands and say goodbye then? said the kid.
Let’s. And Evelyn held out her hand. Oh, here’s another name for you: Artemisia Gentileschi. You’d like her, she said. Full of rage. Thank you, kind Gatekeeper. It’s been so much fun. Till we meet again! and she turned and walked away.
Evelyn! shouted kid.
Evelyn stopped.
Convent or marriage?
Oh, convent! said Evelyn.
Me too!
So long, kid, said Evelyn and she threw her one last wave before heading towards a stationary taxi-cab.
So long, Evelyn, said kid and she held the tube of paper to her eye and watched the taxi disappear from sight.
Ulysses looked up from his week-old English newspaper when he heard the slap slap slap of Alys’s unruly run across the stones. He watched her push past a group of tourists pointing to the parrot on top of the statue of Cosimo R. She was out of breath when she got to him. He pulled her to him and kissed her head. Hair smelt of sweat and sun.
You OK? he said, and she nodded and sat down. The terrace was inching towards shade and he handed her his sweater. She brought it to her nose as she always did. One day she wouldn’t. For now, he was hers and she was his. Michele came out and placed two beers on the table and asked about Cressy. Ulysses said he would be down in a minute.
The kid picked up Ulysses’ beer and brought it to her lips. She still didn’t like it, she just wanted to grow up fast. She tore a piece of bread in half and ate ravenously. She wanted to leave school and beat up the boys who laughed at her. She wanted to speak Italian fluently and get a job and take a train like Evelyn and look back at countless miles of late nights and adventures. She couldn’t imagine herself old, but she could imagine herself no longer young.
She put down the glass and wiped her mouth. Ulysses was watching her as if he could see those thoughts.
What you got there? he said.
She held up the tube of paper and said, I’m going to wait for Cressy before I show you. It’s worth waiting for, she added.
Cressy calling out across the stones. Ulysses pulled out a chair for him and Cressy reached for the beer before he sat down. Fixed it, he said.
Aw, Cressy—
Took me all afternoon, but …
The kid nudged him with her head. She was the one who’d found the old levered espresso machine in the flea market.
And what’s this? said Cressy, tapping the paper tube on Alys’s lap.
She wouldn’t show me till you came down, said Ulysses.
This, she said – untying the string and rolling it out – is me. I didn’t have to pay for it.
Cressy whistled. Well, that is a beauty.