The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (24 page)

I pushed through the door of the shop without knocking. A little bell above my head, newly installed, announced my arrival. No one was in sight. As I waited, I peeled off the fake mustache and wig, placing them on the counter next to a bouquet of gold and silver flowers. Next to it sat a sand bowl full of burning joss sticks.

The hiss of the water kettle on a stove in the corner brought the Chinaman hustling through the curtain. He wore a yellow gown with stripes of black along the sides, and he waved at me to wait as he poured water into a teapot tucked into a basket for insulation. I could hear the scurrying of feet behind the curtain, and the sound of clicking doors, and for the first time I wondered whether the building might also function as a boardinghouse. I’d heard such places often held more than thirty beds in each small room, built in tiers like a ship.

“Is late,” the Chinaman admonished me. “Have party.”

“I do apologize. But time is of the essence.” I pulled out my wallet and slipped a number of bills into his hand, not at all sure what the price might be.

“Late,” the Chinaman said again, tapping two spatula-shaped fingers on the counter.

I added another bill. Seemingly satisfied, he disappeared, tossing a package onto the counter when he returned.

“One other thing,” I said, reddening. “That root you gave me. Do you think I could possibly get another? I’d be glad to pay, of course, as long as the price isn’t too dear.”

The Chinaman slanted forward and flung my jacket open, glaring at my chest.

“No different?” he asked, obviously disappointed.

“Much improved,” I said. “No aches. No pains.”

“No different.” The Chinaman crunched up his forehead. It took a moment, but then he smiled, his hollow cheeks caving in where teeth should have been. “Ah. Before you swallow. Must chew. Chew many, many times.” He demonstrated, his jaw moving up and down, his Adam’s apple dropping as he swallowed. Then he came round the counter and pressed his hand to my ribs, pushing me toward the door. “Makes different. Different thing.”

I made a grab for my disguise on the counter as he shoved me into the street. In a blink, I found myself outside in a sea of revelers. The screeching of their instruments overwhelmed me as I plunged forward, and it took nearly ten minutes to work my way to the carriage. The driver was holding the door open, a stricken look on his face.

During the ride home, I felt a stab of anxiety that the Chinaman hadn’t given me more root. But he had aroused my curiosity. Chew the root, he’d said. Chew it many times. Why not? I pulled the root out and bit off the smallest sliver, grinding it between my back teeth. The revolting taste all but numbed my tongue, and I could only chew a few times before I swallowed. Almost immediately, I felt that familiar surge of potency, but nothing else happened.

I left the carriage up on Broadway and stuffed my wig and mustache into my hat as I made my way down Ann Street. If anyone saw me now, I would say I’d been out for an evening constitutional. I ducked quickly through the Ann Street entrance. Who knew who might be watching from a darkened window or half-opened door? Even with the strength of the root in me, my heart thumped low and hard.

Fortunately, no one seemed to be about. Once I made it to the kitchens, I breathed a bit easier. The bitterness of the root still filled my mouth, so I went in search of something salty to take away the tang. I could not remember the last time I’d eaten anything outside of an obligatory meal, but I picked up a piece of dried beef and chewed until my mouth felt fresh again, thinking that tomorrow I would leave Iell a note letting her know I’d accomplished my task and suggesting she find another carrier for the next trip.

When I pushed open the door to my rooms, Matina sputtered awake on my divan.

“What in the world are you doing here?” I asked, quickly hiding the hat with the wig in it behind my back.

Matina forced herself up, her shawl draping provocatively off one shoulder.

I had to blink. She looked wonderful. Good enough to eat.

“I let myself in to drop off some tea, but when I saw you weren’t here I decided to wait. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s the middle of the night, you know.”

Matina gave me a quizzical look. “Is it? My goodness. I must have fallen asleep.” She frowned. “Help me up, would you? My back is bothering me.”

I peeled off my jacket before she could notice its extra padding, and dropped my hat onto the table behind me. Making certain that there were no other signs of my disguise, I went to her.

Matina’s warm fingers felt marvelous against my arm. She balanced herself against me without applying much weight. “You can lean a bit more on me if you need to,” I said. “I’m not as frail as you think.”

“No one ever said you were frail, Barthy. Of course you aren’t.”
Matina let go of my arm as soon as she stood. “But you scare me, lately, you really do.” As she crossed her arms over her ample chest and gave me an irritated pout, I saw a touch of her old sweetness underneath her expression. Her face glowed. Soft. Appealing.

“I fully expected to find you here, asleep, and then I find you gone again. I used to know you so well, but you’ve become quite capricious of late.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Have you done something to yourself? You look so beautiful tonight, you really do.”

“Maybe worry is good for a girl’s looks,” she said.

“I’m sorry you worried. I really am. I couldn’t sleep so I took a quick walk.”

“A walk? At this hour?”

It was a pitiful lie, and Matina knew it. But rather than press me for the truth, she glanced over at my parlor windows, which were opened to the night sky. “Would you mind terribly if I took a bit of air?”

As Matina walked to the windows, I watched her skirts move across her uncorseted hips. Her weight had not changed. Nor her hair. But something about her attitude was different.

My suspicion was confirmed a moment later when she reached the open window. For as long as I’d known her, Matina had wanted to lean out of my window to look at the view, but despite hundreds of assurances that the frame would hold, she’d never done it. But out went her head, then her shoulders, and the next thing I knew, she’d thrown her full weight against the mantel, her entire upper body outside beneath the stars. Whatever had gotten into her?

“It’s lovely out here,” Matina called. “And you were right, Barthy, I
can
see the harbor if I try. Though I am a bit chilly. Would you be a dear and bring me my cape?”

I gathered up her cape and took it to her, draping it across her
shoulders. Something had definitely shifted between us. The old Matina would have given me a piece of her mind and been gone by now.

“The fire last night,” she said, coming back in long enough for me to place the cape oh-so carefully across her shoulders. “What do you make of it? The police were just terrible to poor Alley, don’t you think!”

“That’s what comes of being built like Alley,” I said. “Why don’t you come sit on the sofa, my dear? You’re making me nervous leaning out the window like that.”

“You’ve been telling me for years not to worry! I think I’ll stay here awhile and enjoy the evening skyline.”

I rearranged her cape, my hands lingering on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and smelled of lavender soap.

“I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately,” I whispered, offering Matina the kind of intimacy I knew she craved. “About how she used to smile at me when I got a lesson right. Or at my father, if he did something unexpectedly kind.”

Matina retreated from me slightly, tilting out the window once again. “Your father was not a kind man?”

“No, but he had his moments. I remember watching him make saddle wax behind one of the barns,” I whispered in her ear. When she didn’t object, I tilted into the back of her, ever so slightly. “He plunked me on top of a hay bale and went about tossing horses’ hooves and shin bones into a caldron of liquid, stirring it with a stick, scaring me silly when the fire spit up and over the pot sides.” I ran my hands down the outside of Matina’s arms.

“And?”

“When he was finished, he scooped a few cups of the oil into a tin pan and added handfuls of rose petals, stirring the potion until he could work it with his fingers into a cream. He spooned the cream into a little yellow jar, and later, when my mother rubbed the cream into her elbows and hands, she gave my father that same smile that you just gave me.”

“They loved each other, your parents?”

“Love? No, I’m not sure I could say that. But when he wanted to, he could please her, and that should count for something.”

“Well, I should think so. Yes.”

My arms encircled Matina’s back, and I rested my chin on her shoulder. Together, we looked out across the New York sky. I pulled Matina close. She stiffened and pushed off my embrace, then turned around to face me.

“What are you doing, Barthy?”

“I can’t seem to help touching you tonight,” I told her, and it was true. Her skin, her hair, the tilt of her chin, everything about her was so seductive. Rather than tell me what a fool I was, Matina left the window and moved into the parlor. I fully expected some show of anger, even tears, but again she surprised me, turning and walking into the bedroom.

“Matina?” I followed her into the other room. When I reached her, she held a finger to my lips to keep me silent, studying me carefully, as if searching for an open door or a way around a problem. She unfastened her cape, letting it fall to the floor. My heart thumped madly, and when Matina’s fingers pried open the top button of her dress, then the next, my body ached with desire.

I hung back, a motionless idiot, as Matina’s dress slipped around her feet in a puddle of silk. Her gauzy undergown barely hid her body, a continent covered in fog. When she let down her hair, it spread wildly behind her. She showed no flirtatiousness—no embarrassment or shame. She simply stepped out of her undergown and stood in front of me in her white chemise. I had no idea what to do until she took my hand and led me to the bed, where she stretched out, passively, and waited for me to act.

“It’s all right, Barthy. Just this once. It’s what we both want.”

Was this what I really wanted? I wasn’t certain, but I knew for sure that whatever happened next, it would change us more than that single kiss ever had. Most likely, it would be the end of our friendship, but I simply could not resist. I moved my hands gently along her body, kissing
her behind her ears, stroking her soft arms. With shaking fingers, I undid the buttons at the bottom of her chemise. Matina stopped me.

“Wait,” she said. “That mirror.”

I moved my hands away from her, not understanding.

“Cover up the mirror.”

By the time I’d thrown my comforter over the mirror and returned to the bed, Matina had closed her eyes and spread her limbs in acceptance. I was utterly beside myself at the sight of her, so flushed, so bountiful. The room filled with the scent of lavender mixed strangely with something else, a mushroom smell. As Matina breathed, her breasts lifted and fell as if the earth had come alive.

Matina proved hungry for the feel of my hands on her skin. She groaned softly as I peeled down her stockings and ran my finger along the insides of her ankles, lingering on the soft under part of her knees. When I brushed aside the edge of her chemise and pressed into her, she accepted my passion openly. Halfway through the act, she sat up, pulling me into the mass of her fulsome bosom.

“Let’s stay here for a while,” she said later, when I started to get up. She rolled onto her back so as not to crush me, and I drifted to sleep on top of her. I found myself dreaming of great oak trees and woodland paths where I kicked dried leaves and covered my eyes against an autumnal sun. But soon the dream twisted. Clouds gathered and blacked out the light. Knowing something terrible was coming, I started to run.

“Barthy?” Martina’s voice called to me.

I flew awake, heart thundering, and the first thing I thought was that she’d discovered Iell’s package in the pocket of my coat.

Ringlets of her blond hair were plastered across her cheek like little question marks. “You were dreaming. It’s all right, now. Hush.” She covered us both with a bedsheet, and I clung to her for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed by my weakness.

“Don’t be silly.”

Matina stroked my cheek to silence me and rolled over to sleep, leaving me to toss and turn on a sliver of mattress. I stared at a
water mark on my ceiling, the heat from Matina’s body a guilty respite from the cold night air. I could not believe what had happened. Had I initiated such an act? Had she somehow seduced me? It took me until nearly dawn to make the connection to the root I’d chewed earlier. What else could have driven me to such a wild, thoughtless act? When the Chinaman said it would awaken my
true
self, he must have meant this: my animal self.

I got up and padded into the parlor, looking for my coat. Listening for the sound of Matina’s even breathing, I reached in the pocket and pulled out the root. I walked to the opened window and swung back my arm with the intention of throwing the root out into the street. Only when I saw that a crow had roosted on my window for the night did I allow my arm to drop back to my side. Grumbling, I tossed the root into the drawer with Iell’s package, hid my costume beneath the sofa, and went back to bed.

In the morning, I woke teetering on the edge of the mattress, full of shame and remorse. Matina lay on her side, still asleep. Careful not to disturb her, I pulled open my bed jacket to survey my ribs in the morning light. My body was unscathed, but for a few fingerprints and a darkening patch on one shoulder where she had unwittingly thumped me. I didn’t hold Matina responsible. Even a normal woman might have damaged me, given a moderate amount of exuberance and an urge to please. Anyway, I deserved a beating. I’d compromised a woman for whom I felt not love but the greatest admiration. And rather than take responsibility for my actions, I’d blamed them on a piece of root. I was a fool. What would become of our friendship? How could we carry on from here?