immortal person

It took Giovanni half a day to get to Capulus.When he arrived, the body had been moved into the chapel for burial the next day.

Since moving into the Medici Palace, Giovanni has not returned to his hometown for a full year.And no matter how much he resisted this place deep in his heart, he never thought that when they met again, his father would have become a corpse in a coffin.Long-term drinking had left his father pale, puffy, saggy, and old for his age.His eyes were tightly shut and he looked very calm, almost serene.

"We guess it's gout," Leonardo said. "You know, he's been drinking too much."

Giovanni nodded.

"He walked peacefully," Leonardo said.

"Calm", this word is rare in Ludovico Buonarroti, almost evoking Giovanni's long-ago memory: when his mother was not dead, when he could still be called a gentle Ludovico was often peaceful when he was his father; years ago, they had a good time too.

What turned him into a violent, greedy, idle villain in the years that followed?Giovanni still bears the marks of the whip on his back—only because he insisted on studying sculpture instead of grammar.In the past four years, they have rarely corresponded. Giovanni regularly remits his monthly allowance to him, and Ludovico will go to the bank to withdraw it by himself. This is the last contact between them, nothing more.He once thought that maybe this ice-cold relationship would last forever, until one day in the future, he produced a work that was good enough to make his father admire him... But they couldn't wait for that day .

He felt sad, angry and regretful all at the same time.And death has always been the most successful mediator. In front of his father's corpse, he forgave everything in the past.

He gazed at the peaceful face for a long time, then knelt down and kissed the deceased's cheek.There was faint heat in his eyes, he closed his eyes and stood up.

On the other side of the chapel stood his stepmother, she was holding a boy by the hand, she looked like a hen guarding the young.Those were two half-brothers born after he went to Florence. Giovanni met them very rarely, and they were like strangers to each other.Those two little faces, resembling their mothers, stared at him warily, reminiscent of puppy guarding a territory, baring their teeth at someone they didn't trust.

Giovanni looked away.He knew how his stepmother had introduced him to them—an enemy of the estate, nothing more.

He felt the moisture in his eyes dry.

Giovanni received a rather cold reception.The stepmother and younger brother left in the afternoon, leaving him and Leonardo alone at home.Their supper consisted of stale bread and cold milk, and both lacked appetite, and quickly stopped their knives and forks.The two leaned on the soft chair by the table, looked around the house where they had spent their entire childhood, and did not speak for a long time.After their mother died, "silence" became the rule of life in this family, and they have long been used to it.

Their father has not had a decent job for many years and has lived on the ancestral land for a long time.Giovanni sent a lot of gold coins home over the years, but most of them were used by his father as wine money.The house still uses ancient furniture that has been handed down for several generations. The cotton wool in the chair cushions has long been exposed, and most of the patterned wallpaper has peeled off. The dark and mottled inner walls are exposed, and water seeps out in some places.Everything is too old.

The brass cup on the table was still full of wine, and Giovanni poured it away.There were several unopened bottles of crude wine in the cupboard, Leonardo glanced at them hesitantly, and asked him, "Do you want some?"

Giovanni shook his head: "Wine makes your hands shake."

"Yeah," Leonardo said, "I thought they'd make it easier for you."

Giovanni's heart sank slightly.He guessed the direction of the topic: the problem of inheritance division is inevitable.

"Father didn't leave a will, and the notary asked us to negotiate on our own," Leonardo said, "I've always lived in the monastery and don't need much property, what about you?"

He became a monk in St. Matthew's Abbey last year. "Nor do I," said Giovanni, "leave it to her."

"She" undoubtedly refers to their stepmother.The two brothers looked at each other silently for a while, seeing sadness in each other's eyes.The night wind blows through the windows, but the air in the house is still tight and oppressive.They didn't come up with other ideas.

After the funeral the next morning, Giovanni left all the coins he had brought with him to his stepmother.She finally gave him a mean smile as she held the golden florins.She was a rather shrewd woman, well aware of the value of her stepson—especially after she noticed the red balls embroidered on the lapel of his coat.

She asked, "Are you still working in the Medici Palace?"

Giovanni nodded.

"Carving is hard work," she seemed to sigh thoughtfully, and then asked casually, "How is your relationship with that big man? Can you see him often?"

She was undoubtedly referring to Lorenzo.Giovanni, caught by her sly gaze, realized that it would be unwise to answer honestly at this moment.Fortunately, she quickly interpreted his silence as low self-esteem, and sighed in disappointment: "I knew that the stone-carved boy would not be so easy to get close to the Duke. This is not possible, you'd better show up in front of him a few more times, Let him remember you and take good care of you. Don't believe it, only in this way can you get enough oil and water. I heard that he is very generous..."

She pushed her two sons in front of him: "You are not born to me, but they are your own brothers. They are all very smart. When they grow up, they will all go to grammar school. In the future, they will Serious career—it just doesn't come cheap."

"—you understand?" She stared at him.

As the eldest son Leonardo still had some chores to deal with, Giovanni got on the carriage back to Florence alone.Before leaving, he looked back at his former residence from a distance.The tall house in childhood memories now looks low and dilapidated.It is said that three generations ago, the Buonarrotti family also produced famous and important people, but in just a few decades, the descendants have lost all his glory.In the increasingly bright sunlight in the morning, the low house gradually receded, blending with the surrounding dark buildings, and finally became blurred.

The blocked emotions are stuck in the chest like water-soaked cotton wool, and it is impossible to say whether it is disappointment, sadness, or both.He clearly understood the fact that he would never come back here again.

Not coming back, he thought.But where can he go?

His stepmother's words woke him up in a sense.Artists who enter the Medici Palace are marked with the brand of Medici in the eyes of the world. Some artists will serve the family for life. For example, Donatello in the past completed countless works with the support of Cosimo Medici. A masterpiece, he was buried in the church of San Lorenzo, next to his patron's tomb.When he first entered the Garden of San Marco, he had also dreamed of establishing such an intimate relationship with Lorenzo, the most lavish patron and the most outstanding master of the time, they would cast a legend——

But now he is shaken.Lifelong attachment to Lorenzo, living on a salary paid by the family, such a parasitic relationship suddenly became unthinkable.

Perhaps this is the future that many artists dream of, and he was one of them—what changed his mind?Giovanni found himself unable to answer the question.But he clearly knew that deep down, he didn't want to be Lorenzo's subordinate or vassal.What he longs for is a more equal and more independent relationship, but maybe he can't reach this level with his current ability.But, one day...

Capulus no longer has my home, he thought, will the Medici Palace be the second?In what capacity will I live here?A servant of the family, or a friend?

He desperately wants to see Lorenzo.

It was evening when we returned to Florence.Giovanni got out of the carriage and went to the palace gate.Accompanied by Giuliano Medici, several luxuriously dressed envoys came out and said goodbye to the host at the door.In the past, when Lorenzo was away, few visitors came at this time. This scene probably means that that person has returned.

Holding his breath, he hurried up the stairs, and as expected, he saw Lorenzo.

Standing at the end of the stairs, the young Duke was dressed in black and looked increasingly thin.He saw Giovanni, and for a moment smiled, more sombrely than ever, and looked more mournful than he, who had just returned from the funeral.

"I have heard about your father," he whispered to Giovanni, "and I am sorry."

Giovanni thanked him.

The moment Lorenzo opened his mouth, the stagnant air around him seemed to finally resume its flow.For a moment, he wanted to squeeze Lorenzo's hand that was hanging at his side - but he resisted the urge.

The two stood silently on the two steps of the stairs, equally covered in black, and equally pale.They were supposed to say goodbye to each other after the formalities, and there were many things waiting for them to deal with each other—but it seemed that there was some force that held them in place, and no one took the first step.

Lorenzo stared at him with his head down, his pupils filled with the same emotions as him.Giovanni also looked back quietly.

"Maybe," Lorenzo said after a long time, his voice was hoarse, "would you like to have a drink with me?"

Only the Lord knows why, in just a few moments, he had nodded to Lorenzo, completely setting aside Bertoldo's previous admonition about wine.He followed Lorenzo into his study and sat down on the French sofa under the tapestry.Lorenzo came over with two glasses of wine and handed him one of them.

"Great wine from Cyprus," he said.

Giovanni took a sip, and then drank another half of the glass. The accumulation in his chest seemed to be disintegrating with the washing of the wine.Suddenly, he noticed a letter scattered on the soft chair in front of him. On the envelope was the bull coat of arms of the Sforza family.The letter paper was crumpled and fell on the edge of the corner of the chair.

He looked at Lorenzo's pure black cuffs and suddenly understood.

Perhaps he should have pretended not to know, but Giovanni said: "Sorry."

Lorenzo nodded slightly.Giovanni watched him, seeing clearly the sadness in his eyes.

He clutched the stem of the glass tightly, but didn't take a sip.As if frozen, his eyes stayed on an oil painting on the opposite wall for a long time.The subject of the painting is The Kiss of Judas, a story of betrayal.

The sunset of this day is too fast.The sky outside the window was soon stained with dark blue, and then gradually deepened little by little.Lorenzo did not light the lamp, and the room darkened, cast in the shadows of the antiquities.The effect of the wine was slowly exerted, and Giovanni felt the exhaustion he had suppressed for two whole days surged up, making his head dizzy and his eyes sore.He had already drained the wine in his glass, and when he looked up at Lorenzo, he saw the Duke sitting upright in the dim light with his eyes closed and his body trembling slightly.

So he sat closer to him.

In the thick darkness, their bodies were close to each other, shoulders leaning on each other, hair rubbing hair.The suppressed trembling was passed from one person to another, and it was hard to tell who came from it first.Without words, they felt similar emotions in each other, an unspeakable grief and something more complex and deeper.

They comforted each other, awkwardly and silently.Giovanni finally put his hand over his, and inserted his fingers between Lorenzo's.The action was completely unthinking, so natural, it seemed long overdue.Lorenzo didn't break free, didn't speak, he trembled more and more, and turned around to feel Giovanni's cheek.A few hot tears fell down and landed on his fingers.

Then Giovanni embraced him.