Marco Merletti came from a long line of magicians. His mother Talma was a noted mentalist from the old country, capable of convincing the Tuscan villagers of her inscrutable powers of clairvoyance. The moment her searing brown eyes alighted on a young woman’s tearful face or an old man’s trembling white handkerchief, she knew who had been the mistress of whom, who was to give birth and why and countless other secrets the country people thought were their own. She slipped through doorways, sidled along paths in her astute silence, leaving in the sand her minute footprints. Those who viewed her in awe thought she left no footprints at all. When they visited the modest home filled with cooing doves milling about in golden cages, spattering the La Forza tribune, some were even convinced that she was a shapeshifter, or that she might be part bird.

Her husband, Marco’s father, Gabrielo, had been trained from the age of four to become one of Rome’s most famous contortionists, a man of infinite sliding movement. Gabrielo remembered how well the circus performers had selected him from the rest of the Merletti children, noting his tiny earlobes, bad for instruction, but a good indication of subtle intuition and definitely, proof of his waning height. He also recalled how they had made mental notes of every inch of his small body, from the curvature of his foot’s arch to the length of each arm’s span. When the decision was made, the ringmaster asked permission of Gabrielo’s parents. Permission was granted happily. Gabrielo’s parents thought they would hear the ringing of golden coins in their modest, empty coffers, which it did. And thus began his true education.

Gabrielo’s first fond and lasting memory was how Halina the Heavenly took him between her legs and softened his tender limbs with unguent oils made of beeswax and almond oil and then gently rotated his hands and feet in the air before she began the lesson. Beginning with a question mark, Gabrielo quickly learned the shapes a body could make, faster than the drying pen marks on the lagging schoolwork. So that by age ten, he had become one of the lead acts in the circus and decided the way of the scholar was not for him. But like most who master too quickly an improbable art, Gabrielo wanted to learn more and yes, be more. It was with great sadness that the circus players let him have his way and leave the circus ring at the blazingly unripe age of eighteen. Even Halina the Heavenly regretted his absence. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Having a supple mind and keen limbs, he found that his contortionist skills could serve him well in his further metamorphosis in becoming an escape artist or, as a true purveyor of the craft would call it, a self-liberator. Gabrielo was fascinated with the endless shedding of shackles, the suspense of air bubbles emitted from life-threatening water coffins and the bravado that he would rise once again, unopposed from the hands of burly policemen or from the depths of the ocean. Neither the forces of man nor the forces of nature could hold him.

When he finally met Talma the Astounding Mentalist, Sibyl of the Future, his bride to be, he had his own well-publicized act. The Roman papers extolled the sensational acts of the Amazing Merletti. He had been plunged into the Tiber several times in various forms, once in a locked and chained bank vault and emerged a breathtaking twenty minutes later in his black bathing suit, waving to the awaiting crowds on the shore. Another time, he had been shackled in a wine barrel, his own invention. It was a favorite with the country people who loved how Gabrielo always appeared, smelling of seawater, with a bottle of chianti in his hand. In the true Italian tradition, afterwards he always had many invitations to be photographed and many more invitations to dinner. So going to see this new act, Gabrielo thought little of it. Talma the Mentalist might be good. But certainly not great. The black curtain drew back and there on the stage, she stood.

The moment he saw her blazing eyes, the forbidding assurance with which she took the stage and explained in a low, deep voice their inner secrets. The audience, fretful of missing a single word, would lean forward, hungry for every last breathy syllable. She was so masterful, so convincing that Gabrielo forgot to volunteer his services as originally planned. In fact, when Talma took out a watch to mesmerize an elderly gentleman – she was capable of doing this just with her eyes, but it was better not to frighten the audience too much – Gabrielo had already been caught up in her unflinching gaze, and it was with much effort that he managed to break out of it. He called upon all his powers of concentration and looked upon her as another interlocking chain from which he must unfetter himself.

It was then that he noticed the fish-shaped charm dangling from her neck, the color of jade, and how it swam in the midst of her severe black dress, collarless and without ornament. A woman beautiful in spite of herself, he thought. And he wondered about how different she was from the other women he had loved, the acrobatic and the airborne, all spangle and airy costumes, their furious suspended flights in midair, and how well they lay entwined and turning in each other’s arms when they made love with him. He decided against asking her to be his assistant. Too presumptuous. Indeed, he changed all of his previous plans and felt that it was time not to decide anything at all.

So, befuddled and dazed, he returned to his apartment, crossing the Trastevere bridge, watching the swoop of traffic and then crossing to a quieter quarter, far from the hawking wares and the noisy cafes to the old Jewish ghetto where he lived. It seemed a night for dreaming, the stars boldly illuminating the sky, almost imperceptibly so against the sharp city lights. A night for dreaming aloud so he slowed as he neared the fountains near Campodiglio. Once built for pleasure, the untamed seahorses had celebrated victories, the finest red wine had flowed from their nostrils in honor of yet another conquering hero of Rome. They reared their manes in squalid splendor, as the irate scribblings of Rome’s citizens were now posted on the extended arm of a once famous statesman. Here and there a caricature had been posted on the naked figures, declaiming some politician or other, some discussion about the rise of another national leader. On any other night, Gabrielo would have avidly read the latest declaration, but tonight he wished that the water of the fountains would wash all the inky figures away.

When he finally fell asleep, he had a strange dream in which he was a fish entangled in a golden net. A fisherwoman leaned over the boat and he knew, despite her different appearance, she was Talma. For a moment, she caught him and held him in her hands. He knew that he was going to die, being out of water. Yet, when she looked at him so clearly, he felt a great, throbbing, agonizing pleasure and he longed to remain still within her hands. He had no idea why she returned him to the sea, but he slipped through her fingers into the water. He awoke from this dream, gasping for air and in a cold sweat.

Now, any other man might turn tail and run from such a woman. A woman of such strange powers. But Gabrielo was not such a man. He had learned much about life, even his trade, at the hands of a woman. He searched her out with subtlety; inquired at the theater where she performed and asked delicately about her from her fellow magicians. She had a modest reputation, but a sure one. There were rumors that she came from the Romani, the Gypsies who were doomed to wander the world and preferred no roof over their heads. These rumors were often shared by the tellers with sneers on their faces.

Gabrielo knew better than to fall prey to such prejudice. He saw it as petty and mean. Hadn’t they themselves, as magicians, experienced the not-so-subtle remarks from bankers that they were unfavorable risks when they sought loans to buy the newest animated butterfly? How could they afford to be snobs? These hack magicians who tried to convince the bankers that the flaming crematorium, a sure crowd pleaser, would be a financial success, while the clerks looked at them incredulously. The circus and the theater embraced all. Blindly. It was the skill that counted, the sheer artistry of convincing an audience that yes, there was flight, yes, there were transformations, albeit small ones like doves and rabbits, harmless creatures, things that made people believe in something other than themselves, yes, a type of faith, a wrestling with forces that others feared, even if it was heights.

Gabrielo was himself climbing his own emotional heights, when a fellow magician arranged that he and Talma should meet by chance. Talma had a great love of birds. It was her secret passion, keeping doves. She would buy them in the market and be torn between keeping them for herself and setting them free. She knew that once one broke its spirit, trapped in a cage, perhaps it was no longer quite a bird.  So she often let them go. She had been taught this by her gypsy family. Better not to keep. Well, it was arranged that Gabrielo would accidentally meet her while she would make such a purchase.

Gabrielo was already perspiring through his black suit when he saw her. He stood by her, utterly petrified that she would look him in the eyes again. And at the same time, wishing dearly for her to do just that. Talma was staring intently at the birds and the dove keeper was waiting for a sale. Gabrielo, the Amazing Merletti, was so nervous now that when the dove keeper raised his voice in exclamation while remembering Gabrielo’s wine jug, Gabrielo bumped into the bird cages. With a furor of feathers, doves impatiently flying away, a spatter of droppings on himself, and the dove keeper trying madly to catch them, the birds soared towards the cathedral’s steeples. And in the midst of all this, Talma was laughing with the sheer delight of a child. She helped him up, paid for the birds and took him home to wash himself.

He wanted to speak quickly, feverishly about everything to her. He felt monumentally foolish. And alive. As Gabrielo went on, he found himself forgetting where he lived, although he remembered anecdotes from his profession. Gradually, Talma directed him to her home.

When she slipped the spattered jacket off his shoulders, he felt aware of his skin under the jacket. He struggled against an impulse to kiss her. When he stripped in the bathroom, he wished they would one day have a luxurious bath together.  Do everything together. When he dried himself, he kept pressing cold water on his face to convince himself that this was all true. As he exited the bathroom, he noticed a meal was set on a table. Gabrielo thought he heard the voices of children calling him. He kept shaking his head and complaining about a curious ringing in his ears. Talma smiled.

There on the table were some antipasto, crostini and frittata. And a delectable dolce made of almond paste with a scent that reminded him of Halina the Heavenly’s hands and the sweet pleasures of the pillow and the bed. He ate everything. Then Talma told him that he must leave. She had another guest coming, but he was welcome to return.  Gabrielo wondered if Talma had read his thoughts and he left alternately hopeful and despondent.

That night he did not dream, but before he went to bed, he thought he heard the soft sound of cooing and it gave him great peace. The next day, based solely on their first meeting, Gabrielo decided he would make a wedding ring for Talma. He grew superstitious and decided to create it himself.  She was the only woman he suspected who had powers stronger than his own and he did not want to lose her. He took one of the links of his favorite chains, melted it down and had a local ironsmith forge it into a ring to fit her slender finger. It was this iron ring that he brought her. No diamonds. No gold. No fine filigree or inscriptions making promises of his perpetual love.

When Talma saw it in the shockingly red velvet box, she drew back and then reached for it with her hands. Her fingers held it, looking at the small “o.”  He thought he was seeing things when he saw the ring double into a symbol of infinity. He blinked his eyes. She closed it in her tight fist and opened it again and it disappeared. Then she repeated the motion and the ring reappeared. She then took the necklace from around her neck, the small golden fish she had worn when he first saw her, and placed it around his own neck. Not a word was said. She led him to her bedroom apartment and the unspoken marriage was consummated.

The next day, Gabrielo moved Talma’s desk of drawers and her books, her only other possessions, other than her golden dove cages to his apartment in Trastevere with the pomegranate tree spreading its branches above the door. And thus their life began. The rooms where he once heard, filled with voices of doves and over time, Gabrielo heard the voices of children, his and Talma’s. Others would say he was bewitched. But I would call it love. And such was life for the Merlettis.