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I’ve become so accustomed to wearing my hair shorn like a
boy. But how can you possibly remedy that?”
The tailor gave me a conspiratorial wink and promptly
trudged over to the shelves again. Now I noted the minia­
ture cabinet, crafted of finely finished pale wood, which
stood among the baskets of ribbons. Tall and narrow, the box
might have reached my knee had it been set upon the floor.
With the same delicate care he might have used were he
toting a crate of the finest Venetian glass, Luigi carried the
box back to his worktable. As I watched in growing curios­
ity, he unlatched its narrow door with a flourish.
Portrait of a Lady
127
I peered more closely to see what was within, only to leap
back with a gasp when I realized just what it contained.
The box was filled with hair . . . rows of long braids in
every shade, from the shiniest black to the palest blond.
Each neatly tied hank dangled from a small hook at the top
of the box, just as a butcher’s wares might be hung.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Luigi declared with pride.
I laughed a little at my initial reaction, even as I sup­
pressed a shudder. Indeed, the sight called to mind a nest
of soft serpents, or perhaps a rather gruesome collection of
relics from numerous well-tressed saints. Then my moment
of amusement faded as I abruptly recalled Lidia’s long, black
braid. I wondered in some alarm just where Luigi had har­
vested this most unusual crop. Surely he did not . . .
When I gingerly questioned him as to their source, how­
ever, the tailor wagged a playful finger at me.
“If I told you, you might try to horn in on my business.
But you would be surprised at how many poor women are
willing to shear their sole claim to beauty for a bit of money.”
He paused and shot me a keen look. “I trust that when you
committed similar butchery upon yourself, you received a
pretty sum from some barber or tailor.”
“Actually, I burned my hair before I left my house,” I ad­
mitted in some embarrassment.
Luigi’s expression of pain at my admission was not totally
feigned. “Foolish girl, you must remember that everything
has a value to someone. I do hope if you ever contemplate
such a thing again, you come to me instead of tossing good
coin into the hearth.”
“I promise. But what do you do with so much hair?” I
couldn’t help but wonder.
The tailor gave me a pitying look. “You have seen the
women of the court with their hair bound up, have you
not? Surely you did not think that their maids were able to
create such elaborate plaiting when most of those women
have barely enough locks to cover their scalps? Indeed,
their artistry is possible only because of me.”
128
Diane A. S. Stuckart
Reaching into the small cabinet, he pulled forth a shiny
braid whose color was the rich warm brown of a freshly plowed
field. “The most expensive hair comes from young women,” he
explained, “though I will pay a reasonable bit for a matron’s
tresses if they have been well kept. Of course, the cheapest hair
comes from our equine friends. It is suitable only for elaborate
pieces that obviously belong to a costume.”
With a snort of disdain, he added, “Or for those with
overly tight purse strings who have convinced themselves
that no one will notice the difference.”
Carefully setting aside the first braid, he reached for a
few darker examples. “We are fortunate that your hair, while
lovely, is a common shade. I should readily find a match.”
Frowning, he held each twisted length against my head,
finally deciding upon one. Hanging the remaining hanks of
hair back on their hooks, he latched the cabinet shut again
and returned it to its position on the shelf.
With an impatient gesture, he bade me sit upon a tall
stool near his worktable. I watched from that perch as he
carefully untied the braid and smoothed the hair into a sin­
gle length. Plucking a handful of bone pins from yet an­
other basket, he fastened all but the back portion of my hair
atop my head.
“Now, sit still, my girl,” he commanded, taking up a
needle, which he threaded with a length of dark silk, “and
you shall soon be witness to my remedy.”
I could not see what he was doing, of course, but I was
aware of his needle whipping in and out perilously close to
my scalp, much as it had flown through the fabric. The pile of
hair upon the table slowly vanished, while I could feel a re­
turn of the familiar weight that once tugged at my head.
When the braid vanished entirely, he loosened the pins hold­
ing the rest of my hair. Finally, he took up a broad comb and
gently separated my hair, then began plaiting it into a single
heavy braid intertwined with green ribbon. That accom­
plished, he added a small cap, which he tied beneath my chin.
“Now, you may take a look,” he grandly decreed.
Portrait of a Lady
129
I rose from my seat and made my way to the corner mir­
ror, eager to know what it might reflect. It seemed a lifetime
since I had last seen myself as a young woman. Indeed, I had
grown used to seeing the face of a boy each time I gazed into
a bucket of water or caught a glimpse of myself in a bit of
glass. Could I ever again resemble the girl I had been before
I left my parents’ home one final time?
Taking a deep breath, I stepped before that silvery glass
and stared.
Looking back at me was a familiar, wide-eyed young
woman dressed in a simple yet fashionable gown. She looked
thinner than I recalled, yet her face still had the same soft
curves and her chin the same hint of stubborn firmness it had
known since childhood. Then I twisted to one side and saw her
dark hair trailing down her back in a thick braid, the shiny
tresses looking as if a knife had never marred their glory.
“Signor Luigi, you have given me back myself,” I whis­
pered in awe, embarrassed to realize that tears had risen in
my eyes. Quickly swiping them away, I turned to face him.
“You are indeed a genius.”
“My girl, was there ever any doubt?” he replied in a
mock-offended tone. Then, with a shrug, he added, “Of
course, your master is the only person who will question
your appearance now, so we must make certain to answer
any suspicions that are raised.”
At my questioning look, he clarified, “As you see, I have
given you a high-necked chemise to wear. As there is no
flesh on display, this allows me to explain your female figure
as nothing more than clever padding. As for the fact that
you appear far thinner now, I need only remind your master
that a boy’s tunic will make one look much broader than
will a tightly tied bodice. And, of course, any of my patrons
knows that a striped overskirt can slim figures far plumper
than yours.”
“But, Luigi, you have so thoroughly transformed me,” I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]