immortal person

He looked at him like he was looking at a light that suddenly came on in the dark.

Giovanni sat down in the armchair beside his bed.On the low cabinet beside it were several cups of different materials, containing frankincense, borage and some shining powder."Sacred Crystal Powder," ground from gemstones, he recognized, a trick of astrologers, an expensive drug that was said to expel "evil spirits that possess the body."The other was a thick, tan liquid that was bubbling and bubbling, giving off an unpleasant smell, like rotting fish that had been left alone for too long.

"Excuse me," said Lorenzo, "pass me the flask over there."

Giovanni did as he was told, and Lorenzo poured every drop of the liquid from the bottle into the cup containing the potion.At first he thought it was some kind of potion, and he smelled the sweet smell before realizing it was honey.Even so, the duke picked up his glass with a frown of embarrassment, which Giovanni guessed he would not have displayed in the face of his most irritating political opponent.He held the silver cup in his hand for a while, and before deciding to drink it suddenly looked up at Giovanni, as if he were something very sweet.

The fireplace in the room was empty, but Giovanni felt as if he was sitting too close to the fire.

He turned his eyes away and looked around.Where there is no candlelight, all the furnishings are dormant in the shadows.This is a room that has been carefully arranged, with everything beautifully placed in its proper place.There are narwhal horns, coral branches with pedestals, and a large number of ivory boxes on the seven-shelf cabinet. In addition to holy cards, rosary beads, and prayer books, he guessed that there are more small collections of the owner, such as shell carvings and ancient coins.The walls are full of tapestries and wood panels, and the one in the middle is a statue of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian. The young saint is tied to a thorn pillar, hunched in pain, and pierced by dozens of slender feather arrows. his body.The edge of the walnut bed is painted with the image of the Assumption of the Virgin, and at the head of the bed is a crucifix. The Savior's head is tilted to one side in pain, and his feet are smoothed.He imagined how Lorenzo had prayed to him thousands of times in confession.

Then he slowly returned his gaze to Lorenzo, as carefully as if not to hurt him.On the large four-poster bed, crimson and gold embroidered curtains and quilts were piled up in one place, and Lorenzo sank into it, as if drowned in the fabric.Giovanni stared at his exposed wrist, so thin and white it reminded one of bones in a reliquary.He shuddered at the thought.

"I brought the sketches."

He said, lowering his eyes: "I thought you might wish to take a look."

Ordinary consignors often make clear requirements on the material, origin and volume of the stone, and set an upper limit for the derived costs, but the contract provided by Lorenzo does not impose any restrictions on him.This is the first time he has signed a formal paperwork with the family, and he cannot be sure whether the Duke is so generous to every artist.According to his experience, it is essential to confirm the opinions with the employer before the official start of construction, which can effectively save a lot of trouble—even if the herald said that it is all up to him.He thought it best to treat Lorenzo as he had treated his former client.

But Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, as if he hadn't expected him to do so. "With pleasure," he said.

Giovanni proceeded to expound on his ideas, without much emotion, as he used to do with his masters.After three weeks of thinking, he initially decided on "Perseus Beheading Medusa", a traditional ancient Greek theme that fits the classical tradition of the academy.He spread the sketch in front of Lorenzo. The hero on the paper held the round shield bestowed by Athena in one hand and Gorgon's hair in the other, staring at the viewer with serious eyes.Thousands of years ago, this theme was often used to express the courage of people to achieve the impossible, and the glory of achievement after great hardship.And what Giovanni was trying to show with it was a deeper meaning.The banshee, who can petrify people with her gaze, symbolizes the things that paralyzed people in the past-they all know it well-the hero beheaded her, which is equivalent to today's scholars who stifled the rigid tradition.Lorenzo looked very focused and nodded from time to time, but his courtesy was the same as when receiving envoys in the living room on weekdays.Giovanni saw that he wasn't interested enough in this - at least not at the moment.Perhaps the illness had sapped his patience and ability to show enthusiasm.

"Great idea," he said after Giovanni finished, sounding like a courtesy admiration.

"If you're not satisfied, I'll try something else."

Lorenzo shook his head.He did like it, Perseus and Medusa, rich but not overly metaphorical.If you can, at another time, maybe they can sit down and discuss it all day.But not now, he thought.

"That's very good, I like it very much," said he, still looking at Giovanni. "That's all?"

"That's all." Giovanni nodded.

He arranged the drawings neatly and put them back in the wooden folder he carried with him.Lorenzo didn't speak, but just looked at him with uneasy eyes.So he put his hands back on his lap and sat up straighter.Lorenzo did not see any superfluous expression on his face.

As stiff as a stranger.Lorenzo thought, with rare irritation, is he waiting for me to call the butler to come in and give him a reward?

Silence reigned between them.After a while Giovanni asked: "Do you wish me to go away?"

"I want you to leave?"

Lorenzo looked up at him and began to use honorifics: "Excuse me, why are you here?"

The fingers on Giovanni's lap moved lightly.

"Come to visit you, Your Highness."

"Visit me," Lorenzo laughed, "to express sympathy, love, loyalty?"

His tone bordered on sharp.Sleekness and poise had once been the duke's armor, but disease made it less impenetrable.The look of pleasure and anticipation was stripped from his eyes.If the younger courtiers were here, they might have jumped up in shock.And Giovanni was just silent.

"Seeing that you are well," he said at last, "is my relief."

Lorenzo said no more.He stared fixedly at Giovanni, and the complex expression on his face reminded one of a long, late night: many years ago, the duke who came unexpectedly sat beside him and asked him, "Why?"

His heart tightened.It seemed that Lorenzo was about to say that sentence: "I thought you wanted to see me."

But the repeated situation did not happen again, just as miracles often do not happen twice.The Duke just stared at him, his lips moved, hesitant to speak, like a wild fox narrowly avoiding a trap.The silence lasted longer than the two had expected, and in the end, Lorenzo just sighed.

"Say something," he ordered, "anything."

Finding the topic was easier than Giovanni imagined: "I met His Highness Giulio earlier."

"Oh." Sure enough, Lorenzo's expression became softer, "Is he all right?—I haven't had time to see him yet after I come back this time."

"He wanted to see you very much. But after being rejected, there was no noise."

"He is a well-behaved good boy who rarely worries people."

"He's a lot like you."

After a pause, Lorenzo said, "Really?"

"Especially the eyes."

"Children are magical." Lorenzo smiled, tapping the bedding unconsciously with his fingertips, like a domestic cat that occasionally stretches its body, "They have blood similar to yours, and they will also have similar characteristics to yours. I look at him like I looked at myself or Giuliano when I was a kid, and it makes you want to give him the best at times. He deserves the best."

Giovanni watched his expression.He looked unsuspecting, languid and relaxed, maybe just looked.He knew it wasn't the best time, and he didn't come here for it, but—

"Is that why you are looking for a new mother for him?" he asked.

He saw Lorenzo's fingers tighten.

The Duke seemed not expecting Giovanni to ask this question, he slowly straightened up. "Where did you hear that?" Lorenzo asked softly.

"The tavern." Giovanni did not avoid his gaze, "forgive me—you know, everyone is talking about it."

"I didn't know you were so curious."

Lorenzo paused for a moment, his eyes briefly glanced at the dancing candles: "So, what do you think?"

"I hope," replied Giovanni, "that she loves your Highness as much as you do."

He looked back at Lorenzo calmly, as if it were not he who was staring at those blue eyes, which were startlingly bright at the moment.But the fingers in his sleeves were trembling slightly, because of nervousness or anticipation.Under the curtain, Lorenzo clenched his left hand silently, the candle flame trembling in his pupils.

The silent gaze was like a taut string, until Lorenzo suddenly turned sideways and coughed violently.

He covered his lips with one hand, arched his back, and the rust-like smell quickly permeated the air—blood was winding down from between his fingers.Giovanni almost lunged forward, trying to grab his wrist, but Lorenzo pushed him away.The servants and maids outside the door heard the abnormal noise, and immediately knocked on the door vigorously: "Your Highness?!"

But Lorenzo couldn't answer for a while.He lay on the bed with his back to Giovanni, panting for a long time, grabbed the handkerchief beside him and wiped it vigorously.Just when the servants were about to push the door open, he finally found his voice and said to the door, "I'm fine."

The voice was almost hoarse: "Don't worry."

He stood up again, leaned against the cushion, and closed his eyes.

Under the crimson bedding, he was like a stone statue stripped of gold leaf and paint. For the first time in many years, exhaustion clearly appeared on this face.Giovanni approached him, but was stopped, and stood stiffly, his hands trembling.Regret bit his soul: "Sorry, I..."

Lorenzo stopped him by raising his left hand.

Silence, or silence.Giovanni said no more, but took another step closer to the bed.Lorenzo buried his face in his hands and did not retreat any further.

"What can I do for you?" he said, "... at least, let me do something for you."

He just stood there motionless, looking like he wasn't going to leave until he got an answer.Lorenzo looked into the gray eyes, then closed them, and sighed silently.

"Read it for me," he conceded, "thank you."

There is a volume of "Idyll" beside his bed.

Giovanni sat down by the bed again, opened the book, and took out the withered iris flower in the page.He took a deep breath, tried his best to focus his gaze on those Latin words, and spoke slowly.He had read to the masters in many wealthy mansions, but he had never felt so tense as he was now.Candlelight flowed on Lorenzo's face. He closed his eyes, as if he was soothed by the poem, and his expression finally relaxed.But when Giovanni paused for a moment, he immediately opened his eyes.So Giovanni went on reading:

"Calling the name of God, she dropped the apple on the branch,

This is because you are far away, even the pines and cypresses,

Clear springs and fruit trees are calling to you.

What can I do?neither exempt from slavery,

And I can't find any gods who can protect me..."

He finished reading this one.The songs among the shepherds could not attract his attention at all. He only listened to Lorenzo's breathing. He heard the soft breathing gradually stabilized. cooked.

Giovanni paused.Then he turned to the next page and slowed down his voice: "Even if wild deer roam the sky and fly in the air; to drink from the river; my heart also..."

He looked at the line of words and didn't read any more.

Lorenzo fell asleep peacefully, not reacting to his stopping.So Giovanni extinguished the candle, and lifted the quilt over his shoulders.As if disturbed, in the darkness, Lorenzo opened and closed his lips, uttering a very light, vague syllable.Giovanni leaned over, guessing he was calling for Giulio.

Sweetness, or sweet sorrow, filled the room.Giovanni gazed at him and found himself wanting far more than he had ever thought possible.When Lorenzo was literally lying beside him, the torrent that had stagnated for many years began to surge, and he imagined how his fingers would land on Lorenzo's forehead, browbones, cheeks, and before he knew it, he had already done so. up.

The moment his fingertips touched Lorenzo, he couldn't help letting out a sigh. Maybe it was because he was satisfied, or maybe it was just because he had waited too long.

"Even if the Parthians in the east and the Germans in the west drink from opposite rivers..."

He stroked Lorenzo's cheek silently and gently, and heard the revived sound of the frozen heart in his chest, like a flowering tree branching.The thirst for a long time has been terminated, guilt and joy filled the heart at the same time, like waves.He thought about the poem.My heart also...

How could I forget, he thought, I never forgot.

His hand rests on the side of Lorenzo's face.Lorenzo twitched uneasily, nestling his cheek into his palm.Softly, his lips brushed against Giovanni's wrist, and he heard Lorenzo call the name again, still with the same vague syllable.

— This time he heard clearly.

"Joe," Lorenzo murmured.

There was only one person breathing in the room.He looked at Lorenzo, frozen still.Lorenzo withdrew his face into the sheets and did not move.He felt himself trembling uncontrollably.The Madonna by the bed still looked kindly, the holy objects in the cupboard were silent, and above, the crucifix looked down at him pitifully, as if watching a lamb slip into the abyss.

But at least at this moment, he can no longer feel the shackles that faith once brought.

He raised his hand and reverently kissed the palm where Lorenzo's lips had brushed.

The author has something to say:

*The quotations are all from Virgil's "Pastoral", and the translation refers to Yang Xianyi's translation.The last sentence is "My heart can't forget that person's face".

*Giulio in English is Giulio, and Giovanni is Giovanni.