Stella

Chapter VII

What she remembered most was the pungent cold that morning, so cold it froze the water in the fountains of the square in front of Santissima Annunziata. Sister Paola held her hand and continually advised her to behave well with the people who would welcome her into their house. Until that time she had lived inside the Hospital surrounded by dozens of other children. She was not used to living in a real home. But in almost ten years nobody had come to claim her, and so the nuns had entrusted her to a noble Florentine family where, in exchange for food and lodging, she would take care of the old master of the house, a count, one of most important people in Florence. The nun had stopped in front of a tall three-story building, with large stones and huge windows. She had approached the imposing front door and lifted the heavy iron knocker.

At that moment, Stella wanted to run away. Then the door opened. Elvira was the first to receive her. She looked like a crow: thin as a stick, dressed in black, with an aquiline nose, thin lips and a big hairy mole on the chin. She had glared at her from head to toe with a disgusted grunt and set herself to listing all the tasks to be done in that house. Luckily Sara had arrived to help her, the young cook, slim and smiling, with her beautiful dark hair gathered in a handkerchief, seemed to her the most reassuring image in the whole picture. Then came Vittorina, who had accompanied her to the Count, leading her through the huge hall and up the marble staircase.

"See, my girl, you must know that the master, even though he is now disabled and has not spoken to anyone for months, is still one of the most important and feared people in Florence, so you must always show him the utmost respect," she had explained. "Privately, with the character that he has, it was a blessing that he stopped talking," she whispered in an ear.

And there was the count, lying in his bed. He was old but he looked like a strong man, and even lying down she realized he was very tall. He had mustache and thick white side whiskers and a look that was full of life in contrast to the immobility of his body. He had fixed her with a severe frown for an instant, then looked again into the void without saying a word.

Stella's food and lodging soon proved to be very little compared to the financial potential of the family: she slept in an attic full of knick knacks and almost always ate bread and cheese. Luckily Sara cared a lot about her and offered her some more substantial food. Who could not bear her at all was Elvira. The terrible woman could not wait for her rich husband to die, to have all his possessions. Meanwhile, her only enjoyment was to make life unbearable for everyone, especially Stella, humiliating her and treating her like a foot stool.

Stella could not do anything but resign himself to serving the count as best she could; to take him to something to eat and to feed him, wash him and clean his room with the absolute ban on ever exchanging a word with him. But the fact was that day after day, the master's eyes had become less and less severe, and sometimes she had the impression of glimpsing a slight smile when he saw her arrive. Perhaps he had begun to get used to her presence.

Until one day the Count decided to speak to her. First they were grouchy half sentences, then the sentences had become whole, and in the end they turned into real tales. Hiding this from the countess, Stella liked to listen to the master's adventures and urged him to describe the distant places he had visited and the important characters he had met. She did not have much to tell, and so to fill the silence she sang some famous melody. In tune, to tell the truth, it was not, but the count seemed to endure that distress. The Count had always appreciated music and that little girl made him feel a little bit better every day. Elvira had already begun to worry about that unexpected reawakening of her husband when something inexplicable happened.

It happened one morning that didn't look any different from many others. Stella had awakened early and had gone down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the Count. As she spread the slices of bread with marmalade he asked her to sing a song. She had started singing while she worked. Then she felt a strange feeling. She felt as though someone was watching her. Observed to the depths of her soul. Turning around, she turned towards the Count and saw that he had fallen asleep.

The master would sleep all day. It was not the first time that had happened, and no one was worried. But the next morning at breakfast time he had not awoken. Stella had called Sarah who in turn warned Elvira: at noon they were all around his bed.

"As breathing goes he is breathing, snores like a bear," Elvira mumbled a little disappointed. "Vittorina, wake him up! "The maid approached with extreme caution as if she had to awaken a lion.

"Mr Count? It is midday. "No reaction. "Mr Count? "Nothing doing. Not with pinches, slaps, not with cold water: the count slept. And he had continued to sleep for days and then for weeks. Stella was very worried about him. She could not give him anything to eat while he slept, but at least she could make him drink. The Count did not sleep serenely. His face was contorted and he tossed and turned as if he was having a nightmare.

Elvira had summoned a bunch of priests and expensive doctors who continued to make the sign of the cross, chewing diagnoses and Latin looking upwards and losing themselves distracted by the wonderful frescoes on the ceiling. Nobody had found a plausible explanation. He did not look sick. Simply he just slept. And so it was from then on, no one talked about anything else in Florence, while the countess took advantage of it to mistreat the servants without restraint. Stella worked every day from morning to night, always locked in the house: just Sunday morning she had permission to go out with Sara to go to Mass at the Basilica of Santa Croce.

Stella, however, did anything else but that on her half-day. She went with Sarah to the entrance of the church and then, after a brief prayer in which she explained to God the reasons for her absence, she went out to wander around. She waited for that walk all week, so for a short while she enjoyed her freedom; no one was checking or ordering her to do something. She could choose the road she wanted to follow and always chose a different one, as if each neighborhood was a new world to explore.