Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

“Pray, Father, do not tell me I have changed so much since you last saw me,” I interrupted him, fearful lest he make a misstep and reveal my disguise. “Despite my apprentice’s tunic, I am still your well-loved son Dino.”

“Ah, yes, that you are, my well-loved son,” he agreed with great vigor. “So tell me. . er, Dino. . are you well?”

“Quite well now,” I responded, certain that my wide grin should have been proof enough for him.

And I realized that, at least for the moment, my melancholy had indeed slipped from my shoulders like a discarded cloak. Perhaps the excuse I had given to Vittorio earlier had been the truth, after all. Until that momentous night when I had made my decision to leave home in male guise, I had never in my brief life been away from my family even for a day. Looking back over the recent months, I could see how I had instinctively made Leonardo and my fellow apprentices stand in for the father and brothers I had left behind.

But, here in the presence of my true parent, I realized with a pang that even the most beloved friends could never take their place.

Blinking rapidly so that no tears might mar my carefully boyish facade, I instead asked, “But how can this be, that you are here in Milan? Surely you are not the craftsman that the Master has said is to join him?”

“He is, indeed,” Leonardo spoke up, satisfaction evident in his tone. Then his smile took on a mischievous quirk.

“You do not know how pleased I was to discover that the man whose genius in wood I admired was also the sire of a favored young apprentice,” he told me. “I noted right away that our Signor Angelo had the same family name as you. That was when I recalled you had once told me that your father was an accomplished cabinetmaker from that same part of the province. And as there was some familial resemblance, it was easy to deduce that the two of you were related by blood.”

His grin broadened.

“When I first put the question to Signor Angelo, however, he was reluctant to admit any such connection. Perhaps he feared that your work might reflect poorly upon his name. But once I explained that young Dino was one of my more promising students, he was more than willing to claim you. And he agreed to allow me to make his arrival a fine surprise for you.”

“Please, Signor Leonardo,” my father mildly protested, “my reluctance came from a fear lest some favoritism be shown. I have never doubted young Del-that is, Dino’s-talent with a brush.”

I held my breath, praying the Master had not taken heed of my father’s momentary slip in calling my name. To my relief, he appeared not to have noticed, for he merely nodded. “A talented family, indeed. But let us be off to my workshop. You shall share my quarters for the duration of your stay, Signor Angelo, if that is acceptable to you.”

“I am honored, Signor Leonardo.”

With that, we started back across the quadrangle. Although I had many questions for my father, most could not be asked in the Master’s presence. . most specifically, those concerning my mother. Instead, I contented myself with eager inquiries after my brothers’ welfare.

“Both are well,” my father replied with a proud smile. “Georgio has taken on most of the daily tasks for our workshop, and he is bringing in work of his own.”

I listened, well impressed, as he named some of our town’s more prominent gentlemen who had commissioned Georgio’s services. Then his smile broadened. “As for Carlo, he has found himself a young woman and will be married this summer.”

“Carlo is taking a wife?”

I stared at my father in amazement and burst out laughing. “I must admit I am surprised, for he was always one to duck his head and mumble whenever a likely young woman looked his way. You must tell him how happy I am for him.”

“Ah, but you will be able to do that yourself,” Leonardo interjected, “for I am certain we can spare you from the workshop for a few days to attend that happy occasion.”

“That’s very good of you, Master,” I managed, though I wondered what excuse I could give him for rejecting his kindness when that time came. I met my father’s gaze and saw the same doubt in his eyes. Later, when we had the chance for private conversation, I would hear from his lips whether or not my mother would allow me to return home again.

We reached Leonardo’s private quarters a few moments later. I gazed about with familiar pleasure for, unlike most of the apprentices, I had been privileged to set foot there numerous times in the past. The single main room served as his bedchamber, as well as the place where he took his meals and entertained his guests. The furnishings were modest if practical: a narrow cot and wardrobe, a larger rectangular table flanked by two benches, and a smaller table and two chairs.

Setting this room apart from most, however, were the wooden shelves lining the far wall. . or, rather, the objects displayed upon those rows of rough boards. Mixed among the expected crockery were animal bones and clay models of human feet, along with baskets of fur and feathers, and several rock specimens chosen for their intriguing shapes. On the topmost shelf lay what appeared to be the hand of a gigantic frog but was actually a webbed swimming glove that was one of the Master’s newer inventions. His substantial personal library-perhaps two dozen different books-filled any remaining gaps and overflowed onto a stack on the floor beneath.

Gesturing toward the bed, he grandly pronounced it as Signor Angelo’s for as long as he stayed there. “Do not worry,” he added as my father attempted to protest this hospitality. “I have a pallet made up in my private workshop, where I can sleep in equal comfort.”

The workshop in question lay directly off his quarters, with entrance gained by the single narrow door set into the far wall. Perhaps twice as large as his personal chamber, it was the place where Leonardo conducted many of his experiments and built most of his scale models. His larger projects, I knew, were to be found in one of the locked sheds at the far side of the quadrangle.

Unlike the main workshop where we apprentices toiled, the Master’s private workshop normally was kept locked whenever the Master was not within. Once and almost by accident, however, I’d managed a glance inside that secret chamber.

With most of its space taken up with an immense wooden table, which would take four or five men to move, the place had been an exercise in ordered chaos. Sketches and notes covered fully half of that tabletop, with the remaining space taken up by pens and knives and brushes and paints. From the walls and ceiling hung both wood and paper models of various inventions, some appearing to be weapons, and others far more fanciful devices that I could not identify. I’d spent but a few moments there, but I knew that-had I been given leave-I could have spent hours studying what was in a sense the outer expression of the workings of Leonardo’s brilliant mind.

My father made short work of settling in. . fortunately for him, as the Master’s eagerness to begin their collaboration was obvious. Still, with a gracious nod, he restrained himself and instead played the thoughtful host for a while longer.

“Since you had a bit of a journey this morning, Signor Angelo, perhaps you and Dino would care to stop by the kitchen. I am certain they will accommodate you even this late. I know you two will have much to discuss, and there may be little time for private conversation with him once you and I are well into our project.”

“An excellent plan, signore,” my father agreed with a small smile. “As you say, we have much news to share.”

Turning to me, the Master went on. “Afterward, bring your father back to the main workshop. We will let him make his acquaintance with our other apprentices, and then I shall show him what has brought him here to Milan.”