Today in La Jolla, while working on my novel, I embedded my story with another story.
An outburst from the corner of the room had broken my concentration. Brick and Carol were sharing a carafe of red wine and getting sloppy in their Scrabble game. Carol had dropped some fallen tiles and was reaching down to pick them up as Brick began to sing a bawdy song about women sailing on the high seas. Carol, giggling over his lyrics, bumped her head on the edge of the table as she was straightening up, which just added to their laughter. My concentration was completely gone, so I got up to stretch. Being able to overhear them better, I was drawn into their revelry, and I wasn’t the only one caught up in their mess. Three elderly British, sitting nearby, were watching but not smiling.
“When she’s twenty, give her plenty!” Brick sang. “When she’s a gramma, give her the hamma! Take thee to a nunnery, and bring me along!”
Carol tried to shush Brick but he paid her no mind.
“I must sing, my lady! Would you prevent the birds above from singing their tales as you do hinder my voice? Do you want to strangle my bird?”
Carol got the innuendo and slapped Brick on the arm. Brick, seeing me watching their game, brought me over to their table.
“Sit down. I was just about to relate to my gentle lady here a tale of a bird who wouldn’t be silenced.”
I pulled up a chair, and Brick called out to the bartender for another glass. When it arrived, Carol poured some wine for me and addressed Brick.
“Listen, dummy!” she said, looking over to the British. “Make it short. And keep it clean!”
“For you, my lady, anything.”
“I’m not your lady.”
“Then I shall relate to you a tale of inspiration. One in which a lady maintains her virtue after succumbing to the flight of a noble young man.”
“Drink up,” Carol said to me. “This oughta be good.”
“It just so happened that in a tiny village in Italy many years ago,” Brick began, “there lived a young virgin of such remarkable grace and beauty that all the youths from miles around would gather just to steal any glimpse she might bestow. A smile. A glance. A wink. They all competed for her attention, but this young virgin, known to her neighbors as Graziella di Pomponi, had eyes only for a certain young cobbler’s apprentice named Galeotto, who had not a cent in his pocket. Whenever Graziella saw the young stud pass by under a window or gallop down the cobblestoned street, Graziella would sigh and imagine a green meadow upon a hill where horses run free and delight in one another.”
“Good grief!” exclaimed Carol.
“But their love was forbidden, owing to a long-lasting feud between the two families.”
“Brick, this is Romeo and Juliet!”
“Not at all, my lady.”
Dr. Olebowski and Finneas had entered the bar and approached our table.
“Sit down, Eileen. Brick’s telling us about Romeo and Juliet.”
The Olebowskis joined us and ordered another carafe for the table.
“As I was saying, this young Galeotto’s affection was so great for Graziella that despite the unfortunate feud which kept them apart, he would often hide away in the bushes underneath her balcony to sing sweet words to his lady. But one day, frustrated from sneaking about, Galeotto decided to speak to Graziella’s father and convince the old man to accept him as a rightful suitor, worthy of the young virgin’s lawful hand in marriage. But Graziella knew her father’s quick rage and his hatred of her lover’s family so she dissuaded Galeotto from exposing himself too soon. So she said, ‘Dearest husband of my dreams, whose life comingles with my own, lay silent for now, for I have a plan that will allow us to publically embrace love’s ecstasies without the threat of your death. Come this night to the garden, as quiet as the cats preparing for night’s promise of furtive love, and await my arrival. I shall take care of the rest.’ No sooner had Graziella spoken these reassuring words to her eager lover, she stole away to her father, who was shining his steel sword as he did every afternoon, and addressed the old man. ‘Father dear, the only man I adore, as is right and proper, relieve me of this terrible heat which plagues us all this summer. I did not sleep at all last night, for the heat in my body keeps me awake. Allow your devoted daughter to sleep on the balcony tonight to cool my fiery restlessness.’ Her father thought this request was amiss and turned to his wife, who now was handling his sword, and said, “Wife, I think our daughter is half-queer, for this is but strange.’ And to this, his wife responded, ‘Husband mine, the heat indeed is unbearable, for I myself tossed and turned all last night as heat enveloped my troubled body. Although I, a mature woman, know means to alleviate my pain, young maidens do not, so let the girl sleep outdoors if she wishes. She is chaste and devoted to the Virgin, so I see no worry.’ With coaxing kisses upon his forehead, the old man hesitantly agreed to the arrangement and ordered his servants to move her bedding out onto the balcony. When he had seen the bed placed outside, the old man said, ‘I do not know how this indulgence will assuage the heat that consumes your body, my child, but make of it as you will.’ His virgin daughter then said, ‘Anything to help me, father. Besides, I am sure that the song of the nightingale will lull me to sleep.’ Her mother, knowing very well the sweet song of the nightingale, replied, ‘She has a point, husband. It is well-known that young girls are drawn to the nightingale.’ ‘So be it,’ replied Messer di Pomponi, who retired to his own chamber to polish his sword as was his afternoon custom. Soon night approached, and Graziella began to stir with a burning deep inside, for summers in Italy can be very coctile. And at last, even though the sun had retreated for the day, the land was left covered in a blanket of unwanted heat, as when a bowl of pastina, removed from the fire, still sustains its scorching appeal until devoured. So the young virgin carefully undressed under the winking of the stars and slipped completely naked underneath the sheets on her bed. No sooner had she sighed quite loudly over the garden then Galeotto, receiving the cue, crept up the trellis, brushed aside the overgrowth of the night-blooming vines, and removing his own clothes, found his lady-love waiting with outstretched arms. Their loud embraces were as triumphant as a choir of angels, for never had the bushes, flowers, and trees of the garden ever heard such an exchange of rejoicing. And forgetting the call to sleep, the couple swore to Love’s delight all night long, causing the nightingale to sing out three, four, and even five times under the moon’s full reign. Finally, worn out from their youthful pleasure and no longer oppressed by the heat, the two lovers retired into dreams, with arms and legs happily intertwined. When morning once again introduced its scorching rays upon the earth, Graziella’s father, eager to know how his daughter’s outdoor remedy for restlessness had soothed her fervid spirit, entered her room and sneaked out onto the balcony. There atop the sheets, he found Graziella and her Galeotto, still asleep and in naked embrace. Taking in more than he could handle, Messer di Pomponi rushed to his own chamber to reach for his polished steel sword, and upon seeing the rage in his face, his good wife asked, ‘Husband, why so frantic? Have you seen how our daughter gets on? Has not the nightingale’s sweet song relieved the girl of her restlessness?’ Her husband, unsheathing his sword, replied, ‘Good wife, come see how your daughter loves the nightingale, for she still has it firmly grasped in her hand!’ Upon distress, Messer di Pomponi and his wife rushed to the balcony whereupon they found the entangled Galeotto and Graziella with the caught nightingale in the girl’s grasp just as her father had reported. Seeing him raising his sword and preparing to strike them both, the girl’s mother quickly grabbed her husband’s arm and whispered, “Husband, dear, do not be so hasty. Why this boy may make a worthy husband for Graziella. Have you forgotten that although he is now merely a cobbler’s apprentice, his own uncle, Messer Boccarossa, is an Uberti, and that family’s favorable influence may secure you a top position within the magistrate and save our mounting debt?’ Considering the wise words of his wife, Messer di Pomponi weighed how a top position just might save the mount, so he tapped the youths with the edge of his sword, thereby awakening the pair of lovers and spoke his mind. ‘Rise, my son, and let not this erect sword chase you from your lover’s garden. Make my daughter a lawful wife, sparing us all from public shame. The girl is yours, for do you not see for yourself how delighted she is to sing the praises of the nightingale and what a faithful wife she shall be?’ Graziella, realizing the impropriety of the situation, quickly released her hold on the nightingale, for it was now morning, the blissful breath of day brought on by the lark. So with all parties dressed and upstanding once again, the young couple exchanged two golden rings borrowed from their seniors’ own joined hands until a more official ceremony could unite their winged love in marital bliss. And as for the nightingale, why, it perched its proper place upon the happy couple and was never too far from their side.”
At the closing of Brick’s tale, all those drinking heavily in the bar that afternoon praised his fine story of clever lovers and their devotion to the song of the nightingale. Finneas ordered a round of drinks for us and we stayed afloat until the dinner hour, in which we continued to honor Brick at a center table by claiming the chicken with capers was really nightingale cordon bleu.
