What Casanova Told Me by Susan Swan

Author:Susan Swan [Swan, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Fiction, General, Historical, Psychological
ISBN: 9780307365972
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2005-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

Last night, very late, I awoke to the sounds of moaning. At first, I thought I was delirious from fatigue and insect bites, and then I understood the noise was coming from myself. Across the moonlit room, a corpse-like figure lay beneath a mosquito curtain.

“Jacob?” I whispered, still uncertain about using his name. At the sound of my voice, Finette leapt onto my stomach and licked my face.

“Come here, Finette! That’s a good girl!” The corpse-like figure shook off a layer of bedclothes and I beheld Jacob Casanova in a long undershirt. A rope of reddish-grey hair hung down beneath his nightcap. I have never seen him without his wigs, and indeed, wig bags of all shapes and sizes lay on the writing desk by his bed. I stood up and the room whirled about me. I fixed my eyes on the desk in an attempt to steady myself. The desk was as fine as any in Mr. Franklin’s formal house in Passy. It was large and curved, with a bronze lip at its edges to prevent papers sliding onto the floor, and he had placed his journal with its packet of scraps and letters on the veneered surface. But it was no use. The room still spun wildly. I sat down quickly and he turned away from me. As he bent over his plate chest, I noticed that his nightshirt was hitched up at the back. I tried not to stare at his pale haunches glowing in the moonlight. Despite his age, Jacob Casanova’s buttocks are manly and firm.

“You drank too much ouzo, Miss Adams,” he said, pulling down his nightshirt and handing me a goblet of water. “If you feel well enough, I can accompany you to your room. I will be no danger to you.”

“You have not harmed me before so there is no reason to think you will do so now.”

He laughed. “Miss Adams, you have an empirical habit of mind, like my friend Monsieur Voltaire. You would get along with him, whereas I had difficulty doing so.”

“You and he did not agree?” I was making conversation to hide my nervousness.

“Voltaire argued that we must be free of superstition. But superstition is linked to faith. And faiths of all kinds—both big and small—are how we understand the mysteries of our lives.”

“I have faith in you, monsieur,” I said.

“And that, Miss Adams, is possibly the very place you should not put faith. I am, as you can see”—he tugged the greying rope on his shoulder—“less than I appear.”

“That is no reason not to trust you.”

“Dear girl, I am honoured. But do not depend too greatly on Giacomo Casanova.” He seated himself next to me and I could feel my heart battering my ribs.

“Do you ever worry what Aimée will look like now?” I asked. “Perhaps—perhaps she has grown fat.”

He startled me with a laugh. “What does it matter, when I am not as I was? Every part of me is crumbling. Look!”

He lifted his hand so I could see his fingers clutching a small ball.

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