Da Vinci's Women Part II

"Santiago is a bore," he said to her with the afternoon sun at its still point. It was a calm day. She wanted to take his hand.

"Who is Santiago?"

"He is of the church, but he is also of the illuminated."

"How can he be both?"

"He is."

"And you?"

He let his answer hang in the air with her breath and she did not press the issue. They walked along in silence. A sparrow flew above them. They watched as it darted through the sky. A hawk caught in a draft, was watching it too. Its long wings stretched wide and held it seemingly motionless among the wisps of white clouds spreading thin in the distance.

"You never talk about your work to me."

"I've no need."

"I like to know what you're working on."

"It is not your business."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, yes."

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They sat in a courtyard and ate ham and bread with their hands. The meat was soft and pink, and the skin was warm and brown. He tore at it with his molars and let the crisper flecks fall to the ground where birds and dogs would find it later. A man came and filled their chalices with wine. It was rich and the alcohol was muted and dry.

"We should drink to get drunk tonight," she said.

"Maybe," he said. He caught her looking at him with far away eyes. "You are what's hidden behind her smile."

She smiled a lie of flattery that she had smiled many times before and watched a line of ants move by her feet. "We will make love when we return," he said. "At dusk and then I must work."

"Do you still believe in the divinity of the Christ?" she asked. He was silent. "I spoke with the priest this morning. I spoke with him and told him of my sin."

"What sin?"

She began to cry. The owner of the tavern walked outside and took their plates. Leonardo finished his wine and got up from the table. She watched him walk away and felt the line of ants cross the middle of her foot.

"Leonardo!" she said. Getting up and holding her dress, she ran to him.

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She was about a third of his size. A fragile creature, she laid on his bare stomach. His chest was strong like his father's was, but his stomach was no longer flat. The wine from lunch hung sweet in the air; their love making had been quick. "I love you," she said when they finished. "But you love another."

"I love my work and that is all."

She had been satisfied with his answer and had fallen asleep with the rise and fall of his belly. After a while, he rolled her off and contemplated killing her. He let the thought pass and dipped the brush. Naked, he helped the paint become the woman's hair in the night; thinking about nothing but colors, and motion, and the pressing nature of his calling.