The Colour of Heaven (7 page)

‘And how will we do this?’ asked Paolo.

Simone seemed oddly reluctant to answer.

‘By genius and hard work, of course,’ he replied testily.

But Paolo could see that Simone was looking at him strangely, as if he had suddenly remembered something important.

‘What is it?’ he asked when they were alone.

Simone looked embarrassed. ‘There is something I must confess to you, now that we have secured the commission.’

‘Ah,’ said Paolo.

‘When I was talking to the Consiglio I told them a story.’

There was something about Simone’s apologetic tone that made Paolo uneasy.

‘What was it?’

‘It was of a man who had recently been a prisoner in Genoa.’

‘I have heard the apprentices talk of such a person. The man of a million lies.’

‘Exactly. Only this time I think he was telling the truth.’

‘Continue.’

‘He had travelled the world for many years, and he had seen the most miraculous sights. He had been to Persia, Cathay, and the Indies. He had seen golden men. Wondrous palaces. Horses descended from Bucephalus. Flocks of cranes filling the sky. But when I asked him to tell me the greatest of the wonders, he stopped, as if no one had asked him such a question before. He spoke quickly and secretively; telling of a mountain hidden away on the edge of the world which contained the most perfect blue stone. It was lapis lazuli, the truest blue he had ever seen, and it seemed that the colour would last for all eternity.

‘I asked him if he thought a man could make paint from such a stone, and he told me that if such a thing were possible then it would be as if a man were painting the dome of heaven, so precious and perfect was that colour.

‘This is what I told the Consiglio. That, from the moment I heard this story, I have been determined to acquire that blue. And I will do so. It will be the glory of the city.’

‘But how can we find such a colour?’

‘It has to be gathered from the ends of the earth.’

‘And how will we do that?’

‘This is the awkward moment.’

‘Go on.’

‘I told them that you would go.’

‘What?’

‘Clearly I cannot go myself, because I will be painting; but you, who know, love, and understand colour … think of the joy of such a discovery. A blue that is not fugitive or transitory but permanent and eternal.’

‘But I can hardly see my way out of the door. How could I ever make such a journey?’

‘I will give you a guide.’

‘That’s no use.’

‘He’s very reliable.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Jacopo, a jewel merchant. He’s Venetian like you. I am sure that you will find his company agreeable.’

Paolo was so taken aback that he could only continue the argument. ‘And why is he going?’

‘Because he is obsessed with jade and is determined to go to Cathay to find it. The mountain is almost on the way. In Badakhshan.’

‘But it will be thousands of miles.’

‘Think of the adventure. How few will have made such a journey.’

‘And how few have survived. You are mad.’

‘Jacopo is keen. I told him you had the most extraordinary gift for colour.’

‘How kind of you.’

‘You should be grateful. Such an adventure.’

‘You go then.’

‘Alas, my talent must remain here.’

‘And how long did you say the painting would take?’

‘About a year.’

‘But that is too short.’

Simone reached for more wine. ‘Don’t worry about deadlines. It only encourages them.’

Paolo could not believe Simone’s nerve. ‘Let me understand. You have promised that Jacopo and I will travel to the ends of the earth in search of a colour we do not know exists and return within a year?’

‘Or two. It doesn’t matter too much as long as you do, indeed, return.’

‘And what if I say no?’

‘You won’t. You love me. You love colour. It will make your fortune. And then, in paint, we will enter time itself. The blue will let us penetrate the mystery and understand the nature of God’s creation, our infinite and eternal future. By seeing this perfect blue we will be given a glimpse of everlasting life.’

‘But what if Jacopo will not take me?’

‘He will. You will be his Sabbath Gentile.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I can never remember how it works. You carry things on holy days because they can’t. Something like that. So Saturdays are busy. He is coming to eat with us this evening.’

‘But how will I live?’

‘I will give you some money. And then you must do what the
verixelli
do. Take our glass and trade it as stone. A few real sapphires amidst the glass and you could do well.’ Simone appeared to have thought of everything.

‘I would have to lie.’

‘You have already learned to lie about your sight. It would not be such a big untruth; all merchants exaggerate the worth of their wares.’

‘And if I fail?’

‘You won’t fail. I have seen how obsessed you can be. Think what such a discovery might mean. You wanted excitement in your life. I have given it to you. How else were we supposed to win the commission?’

That night, a small Jewish man arrived at the workshop. He must have been fifty years old, for his beard had greyed, and his back had already begun to show the stoop of age. A yellow circle was fixed to his hat.

‘Jacopo,’ cried Simone, ‘my friend. The man who knows the way.’

‘I am foolish coming here,’ the old man murmured, ‘and I do so only as a favour to your uncle.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Simone, ‘it is you who are being given the blessing.’

‘I have heard that you have a boy who might help me on my travels. Is this the one?’

Simone nodded.

Jacopo looked at Paolo as if he were buying a slave in the market, assessing his size, weight, and strength. ‘I am told that you have a keen eye.’

‘I can tell stone for stone and glass for glass.’

‘Then let us begin.’

‘Already?’ asked Paolo.

‘Why not?’ Jacopo reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch from which he removed four stones. ‘Three of these are false: glass. One is true. Tell me which is which.’

Paolo started with a sapphire.

‘This is not real.’

‘And how would you know?’

‘It is too clear. A sapphire is like the darkest sea …’

‘Go on …’

‘Held up to the light, it changes. The flaws refract. This stone is too good. It needs imperfections, uncertainty. If you mean to deceive, a glass should have a flaw.’

‘When did you last see a sapphire?’ Jacopo asked.

‘When I was a child. My mother had a ring.’

‘You can remember?’

‘I know the blue of stone and the blue of glass.’

Now Paolo held a ruby up to the light. He brought it close to his eye and then moved it away again, at a distance.

‘Like blood,’ he said.

‘What kind of blood?’

‘New sprung.’

‘The great Tartar Emperor once said that he would give a whole city for such a stone.’

‘Why?’ asked Simone.

‘Perhaps he had too much poison in his bones, or too much grief.’

‘Rubies can cure such things?’ asked Simone.

‘Jewels have strange powers,’ Jacopo argued. ‘They say that coral tied to the neck drives away troublesome dreams and the nightly fears of children, and that creeping things fly from the scent of jet.’

‘How reassuring.’

Paolo looked once more at the ruby, close against his eye. ‘This is the true stone.’

‘You are correct,’ said Jacopo, momentarily impressed.

Simone beamed with pride. ‘I told you he would be of benefit to you.’

Jacopo was still uncertain. ‘But I am also told you cannot see into the distance. How will you tell me of dangers?’

‘You will have to tell yourself,’ Paolo replied.

The men were shocked by his directness.

‘Then why should I not take a boy who can see perfectly well?’

‘Because none other has Paolo’s gifts,’ said Simone.

‘And he is of good temperament?’

‘Exemplary …’

‘For a Christian, which does not say very much.’

Simone smiled. ‘There are good Christians.’

‘Then I hope one day you will show one to me …’

Jacopo turned to Paolo. ‘How do you know such things?’

‘Because I see closely it is all I see.’

Jacopo watched the way Paolo still looked at the glass and the jewels. There was a ferocity of concentration in him that he had never seen before. ‘We will make a strange pair of men. I cannot see close, and you cannot see into the distance …’

‘Then you will take him?’ asked Simone.

Jacopo shrugged. ‘My life is risk; and I have never had a son. Let us journey together.’ He seemed to have made the decision on a whim, and began to explain the terms of employment.

Paolo was to be a personal servant during the Sabbath and a companion during the week. He was asked to check that the prayer and festival books were always close by and would have to light fires, hold anything that needed to be carried, convey messages, and, most importantly, keep Jacopo’s purse on the day of delight.

He told Paolo how they would stay in Jewish communities with his family, friends, and trading partners wherever they could: Jacopo de Nathan in Ragusa, Levi di Jacopo in Candia, Domenico Gualdi in Negroponte.

‘You have done this journey before?’ Paolo asked.

‘Many times.’

‘How long will it take?’

‘It depends upon our fortune. Nine or ten months to reach the limit of our journey, if we are quick and the Lord wills it …’

‘And the same to return?’

‘Again, if we are blessed:
The earth of the Lord is full of the goodness of the Lord
.’

‘And you trade in jade?’

‘I do.’

Jacopo pulled out a piece to show him, and Paolo looked at its unusually veined luminosity, as pale as the flesh of a corpse.

‘But this cannot become paint, of course,’ Jacopo concluded, putting the jade back in its velvet pouch.

‘No,’ said Simone. ‘As you know, I have asked Paolo to find a different shade: the blue of the heavens, the colour of eternity.’

‘A modest proposal,’ smiled Jacopo.

‘I will know it when I see it,’ said Paolo.

‘Then I hope we agree when we find it.’

Three weeks later Simone accompanied Paolo as far as Ancona where he would join the boat to take him to Constantinople. Then he would continue overland across Persia to Cathay, completing their journey in Tun-huang where the trade routes met.

The harbour lay on the northeastern shore and was filled with boats that loomed above and sank below, studded with caulkers, carpenters, and cord-makers, metalworkers, shipwrights and blacksmiths all working as if a second flood were about to strike.

‘This ship is insured for three hundred ducats. Imagine,’ Simone explained, pointing at a large merchant galley. ‘And this for two hundred. Venetian, of course.’ He drew Paolo’s attention to a twenty-eight-oar brigantine. ‘Either boat could take you to the edge of the world with good enough men.’

He stopped alongside their trading galley, and waved to the captain as he supervised the loading of salt for ballast, sacks of grain, and bales of woollen cloth.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Paolo.

‘Of course not. But he needs to know that we are important.’

They waited as a small group of sailors passed, singing a hymn to St Phocas for protection.

‘Please.’ Simone gestured, pointing to the walkway.

As Paolo climbed onto the ship, he could hardly believe that he had dared to embark on such a journey. What was he doing? He looked up and tried to make out its highest point, the
gabbia
, and the maintopmast topcastle. It looked higher even than the campanile on Murano. A great web of rope, hemp, hessian, and sail opened up above him. The lines blurred off into the distance, a strange infinity against the sky.

Simone now made the captain’s acquaintance, arranging payments, checking the direction and duration of the journey.

‘Stefano!’ the captain called.

A boy, perhaps eleven years old, with a pockmarked face, raced up from the gangway.

‘Show this boy the ship.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

Stefano took Paolo to the windward side of the mainmast, asking him to look up to the topgallant to see the leonine flag of St Mark fluttering above. The bright blue of the sky was cut by a confusion of rigging: bowlines, ratlines, shrouds, lifts, and stays, and Stefano pointed out the main forecastle, beakhead, and rigging rail; the bowsprit, sprit yard, foremast, mizzen, and bonaventure. He showed Paolo how to look through the blindage, the removable archery screen through which bowmen would fire on any attackers, and told him how important it was to keep out of the way of men working rope and sail. He then took Paolo along a companion ladder down through a hatch into the darkness of the lower decks.