The Circe Spell

by Joe Andriano


98.





15. The Zero Card

Venice, 1591

 
       Shortly after the dire warning Veronica found for Filippo in her cards, they were summoned to supper by Ancilla. Veronica hardly touched her food, offered it to Filippo after he had finished his. Calamari with pasta and Romano cheese and olive oil and more garlic than he had eaten in years, since he'd been living in Frankfurt, Zurich, Prague, Wittenberg. He told Ancilla the meal made him realize how much he had missed Italy, not just for the body's food but for the soul's. He was thinking of those sibyls in San Samuele church, painted by an artist nobody even remembered, but somehow that nobody had managed to capture the spirit of prophecy in their faces, a certain light he recognized as that of the visionary. A light he saw in Veronica's face as well—even in illness so advanced.

"Try another reading, using all the cards," he said after they were back in the sitting room. "Can you do it that way?"

Veronica sighed. "Certo, but they will say the same, Filippo."

 "If they still suggest a trap, I will reconsider Mocenigo's offer." After he mixed the cards very thoroughly she told him to turn over two cards, then surround them with seven more. Only one of the cards from the previous reading came up: the Tower, but it was paired with the Fool (reversed) in the center of the tableau, and they were surrounded by seven bad omens.



"Normally the Fool augurs the advent of a new chapter of life," said Veronica, "involving a leap into the unknown, but again everything here advises caution. The flames of the Tower point toward Ruin."

"I don't like the looks of that hanging man. Va Bene, va bene, I promise I will make no rash decision concerning the patrician's offer."

"I hope you are in earnest," said Veronica. "Now, are you ready to make some magic for me?"

"Sė signora, but perhaps we should wait until tomorrow. You look exhausted." In the candlelight her eyes were sunken in shadowy pools. Her cold hand covered his.

"Will you share my bed tonight, Filippo?"

"Certo, Veronica."

            She grinned. "And so I ask you again, are you ready to make magic?"



99.

He said he was, but he had not lain with a woman in years, not since Paris (with not only “Her Majesty”). Veronica was too enervated and he was too nervous, he was worried that she was much too fragile. The only magic they made that night was the bond between two bodies embracing until they fell asleep.

The next morning she was unable to get out of bed unassisted. Ancilla, glaring at Filippo, thought her mistress should stay in bed, avoiding any more excitement, but Veronica insisted on the wheelchair. As Filippo helped the old servant with her burden the dying courtesan, he asked Ancilla whether she should go find a doctor. "No more leeches," said Veronica. "I would be dead by now if I had continued letting those charlatans near me." She clutched Filippo's arm as he wheeled her into the sitting room across the hall from her chamber. "Here's my doctor. You're my last hope, Filippo." Ancilla shook her head and left the room.

"I am not a healer, signora," he finally admitted, sitting now across from her. "Or rather, my magic does not heal the body. Only the soul."

"You have no incantation that might keep death away from my door a little longer? Say until my son Achiletto returns in a few months?"

"Mi dispiace, Signora Veronica. I am sorry if I misled you. My magic does not violate the laws of Nature. It only makes use of laws no man has yet to discover. What I offer is much greater than a few months more of painful life in your ailing body."

"What is it, then, that you offer, signore?"

"I have found a way to ensure upward metempsychosis. What I can do is enchant you into acceptance of death, the chant ensuring that your spirit will stay bonded to your soul."

"You're playing with words, Filippo. Spirit and soul are the same."

"No, the spirit is the soul's animating force, pure energy. The soul consists of this anima and the pneuma, the material component, the part that is formed out of atoms. You see, the Epicureans thought the soul is made of matter, while the Platonists considered it immaterial. Well, both were right."

"Please, Filippo, no lectures now."

"Dispiace tanto." He continued nonetheless. "The fear of death is so strong it can easily rip the spirit from the soul, resulting in doom for both—for the spirit the unbearable fate of remaining and waning on earth, now a hapless ghost; and for the soul without a guiding spirit, a haphazard rather than an upward migration."

"These are mere wild speculations, Filippo."

"I know for a fact that when a person dies the soul, no longer conscious, leaves the body and displaces to celestial space, where it obeys certain metaphysical laws. These depend on how the person lived his life."

"You speak of karma, then."

"Yes, but there is a complication not mentioned in any scriptures Hindu, Buddhist, Christian or Muslim. Certain failures in life can lead to a soul/spirit split. If the soul exits the corpse without a spirit—"

             "Isn't your theory as fanciful as the Christian belief in resurrection?"



100.

"Isn't it rather ironic, signora, that the rabble are terrified of ghosts, when it is only the fear of death that has brought the goblins into actual existence? But if you accept the reality that death is merely natural transition, mutation, change—that there really is no death, only rearrangement of the soul's atoms—then your spirit will stay attached to your soul, migrating upward united. Whatever good works benefitting humanity you have done in your life—and I know there have been many—become crucial here, for they are what has fed your spirit and given it the direction it will need to guide your soul. A spiritless soul founders and flounders in the darkness of space among worlds, tending ever downward to bind with lower forms. But with my incantation you will be assured of a firm bond between spirit and soul when the moment comes for you to breathe your last breath. The next body you inhabit, in another world perhaps, will bring you closer to merging with the infinite, the ultimate goal, no longer requiring incarnation."

She was laughing now. "How I love you, Filippo, because you can make a dying woman laugh."

"I am in earnest, signora."

"What kind of immortality is that? I would rather be remembered for my poems, and for my benevolence. You know I was instrumental in getting the Council to approve the Casa del Soccorso for wayward women, and I was just starting to help at the new hospice they opened in March, when I got too weak to work anymore. But when I was healthy I worked long and hard on that project. Surely I will be remembered for showing how a woman can make a mark, even in Venice. Don't mistake me, I love the Serenissima, just read my poems. But a woman is not supposed to make a mark. Except a courtesan, of course. But seriously, Filippo, I want to be remembered as a woman who beat the Inquisition. What do I care about future incarnations?"

"They will continue what you have begun. Or what you have inherited and continued from your previous avatars, Sappho perhaps, or Hypatia of Alexandria. She was torn apart for being ahead of her time. You have escaped such a cruel fate, although you could have been burned as a witch. Your spirit was strong. It has weakened since then, signora. I am here to restore it."

"And you have restored it, Filippo, you have."

"I don't mean merely your mood. Listen, regardless of whether you believe in reincarnation, you certainly don't want your spirit to linger and eventually dissipate on earth, do you? Ghosts are never happy, you know."

"I'm not afraid to die, Filippo. My spirit is still strong."

"Then why do you want me to ward off death?"

"I told you. I want to see my son again."

"Then you are still bound to this plane, signora. Until you are ready to let go, I can do nothing for you."

She suddenly grew angry at him. "Yes, you have done nothing! Il matto, that's what you are—the Fool, the zero card. Wild, but impotent. That's Filippo Nolano, not the magus at all. Not One, but Zero."

           "If you don't believe in me, signora, there is no point in even trying." He rose to his feet. "Me ne vado."



101.

"Yes, go to Palazzo Mocenigo. Let the rich ass dote on the poor fool, let him fatten you for the slaughter."

"I am sorry I have displeased you, Signora." He turned to go.

"No, please stay. I need a priest, remember? I'm dying."

He couldn't resist a smile. "I'm defrocked, you know. The Last Rites I offer are extremely unorthodox. But if you have no faith in my power, I am indeed useless."

"Let me try my spell first. It hasn't worked before, but maybe with your help it will. See, Filippo? I do believe in you. Then I will let you do yours."

"D'accordo. How does yours work?"

"Wheel me over to the table." He obeyed her and sat on the ottoman across from her. Once again, Circe was there to leap upon his lap. But not in the mood for her demanding nudges, he put her next to him. Veronica had the trumps in their own separate deck again. She was slowly mixing the cards. "This time we will use only trumps. A concentration of power. And I'll alter my usual method to reflect your metaphysics." She dealt one card face-down. "This is my soul." Then another to its left, making sure there was no space between the cards: "This is my body." She carefully laid the third card down on the other side of the body card. "And, using your schema now, this is my spirit."

She turned over the card on the left. "La Morte. That is indeed the present issue with this body, isn't it Filippo?"

Standing now over the table, he was stunned to see the Death card. He caught himself suspecting that she had rigged the deck. One chance in twenty-two that Death would come up right there where it made the most sense. A poorly mummified corpse with bandaged head and a grin that brought a chill into this warm chamber, the body rotting away before their eyes, and yet standing on the grass holding a snakelike staff shaped like a bow. "A dying body, sė, signora, but we already know that. Let us see the state of your soul."

Veronica smiled when she saw the next card, the Empress. "What do you see in this image, Filippo?"

He studied the card for a moment. "What you are, Signora Veronica, and always have been. A nurturing soul with a passion for life. The green gloves suggest fecundity and growth. And what is it you are holding? An escutcheon? With the image of a black bird. The raven! You have conquered, tamed, and expelled the triumphant beast, signora. The card bodes only well, and is the perfect image to anticipate my incantation, depending on the spirit card of course. Let's see it now."

She turned over the third card. "La Papessa!"


"Perfetto! The raven has become a holy book, and in your other hand a staff. Perfect symbol of a guiding spirit. These images suggest you do indeed have a strong bond between soul and spirit."

           "I told you so." She cleared the table of all cards but one, La Morte. "Now for my spell." She shuffled the twenty-one remaining trumps. "Only one card can trump my Death, Filippo. If I deal the right one on top of the Death card, I will get a reprieve."



102.


       "Let me guess. Il Bagatto. The Magician."

 "I'm hoping for the Chariot. Not only to take Death for a little ride, but as you'll see, a powerful triumphant queen rides the chariot borne by two white winged horses. Only she can distract Death." She held the cards now in a deck, ready to deal the top one. She placed it face down on the Death card, rubbed it a little with her forefinger in circular motions, then quickly turned it over. The card depicted a woman, certainly not a queen, dressed in modest plain clothes. She held the crescent moon in her right hand. "La Luna." Veronica sighed.  "Not strong enough, Filippo. Borrowed light. Borrowed time. The crescent wanes. The moon dies within a month. I die within a month. I will never see my son again."


"Dispiace, signora." He took her hand. "Let me try my magic now. Or let me add it to the tableau you had before. Body, soul, and spirit."

She shrugged resignedly and found the three cards, which she put in place as before.

"Look only at me and listen," said Filippo. He held both her cold hands now, making sure her left elbow was on the soul/Empress card, her right elbow on the spirit/Papessa, the joined hands of Filippo and Veronica directly over the body/Death card. He spoke softly.

"This is how the dead renew themselves,

returned to life on a new path;

for nothing dies, there is only shuffling of atoms and change of form,

 as the wisdom of Solomon and Pythagoras confirm.

The strength of your principles, your spirit will guide you

as you ascend and look back to see spinning Earth shrink.

You will not be tossed about to flounder among a million stars

or to scatter in the empty winds of unknown worlds,

for this bond keeps you strong and one, empress and priestess,

and when you return wearing a different face, unknown to us,

you will continue ascending, until your soul, always approaching,

finally merges with the infinite. Amen."





103.

She seemed deeply moved, her gaze still fixed on his, her hands no longer cold. "Grazie, Filippo."

"Some of my spirit's fire has warmed you, signora."

"Let's see your trinity now. Per favore, reshuffle the remaining trumps and deal your three above mine, making sure there is no space between any of the three cards. That's your body, soul, and spirit." She turned over the first card—the Hermit, with a staff in one hand and an hourglass in the other.

"More evidence, Filippo, that you should spend more time alone, withdraw, meditate in the wilderness like St. Jerome. No palazzo for you."

"I think not, Signora Veronica. The issue here is not Mocenigo, but the fate of my body and soul."

"But you are still thinking of putting your fate in his hands."

"Look how burdened the hermit seems with his knowledge. The hourglass tells me time is running out; I need to make my move. Mocenigo happens to be the only means available to me. Look how lavish the scholar's Schaube appears to be, with its gold fringes, and his hat is not that of a poor vagabond scholar. Mocenigo will take care of my material needs."

Shaking her head, Veronica turned over the middle card. "The World. Almost always auspicious. Your soul is one with the universe—anima mundi."

            Filippo was slowly shaking his head. "I don't think so. Turn over the spirit card."

"O, dea mia, Filippo. Fortuna."

After a full minute studying the card, Filippo said, "My spirit is under the wheel? How can that be?" What looked like the same old man from the Hermit card was now crawling, crushed beneath the burden of Fortune’s wheel.  "My fortune may be out of my hands."

"Only if you accept the offer of the ass, signore, making his palace that castle you see there."


"I should never have touched these cards. It has nothing to do with Mocenigo. If your cards tell true, my soul will be doomed to haphazard, nay downward metempsychosis confined to this world, never rising toward the infinite. And my spirit will linger," pointing at the world, "locked in this bubble." He touched the crawling man, "doomed to wander as a ghost, a spirit fading into dissolution."

"No Filippo—the world-card can represent the whole universe."

"That's not what I see: look at those two cherubs, they hold up a very finite world."

"But it includes the stars, see?"

    "Confined to a sphere. Locked in a globe. Ptolemy's spheres are an illusion, signora. This card represents the old cosmology, not the new vision of immensity, not the infinite unbounded universe. No. Something is being revealed to me here. Something I dreaded is now confirmed." He pointed to the cards. "This is my punishment."

"For what, Filippo?"

"For sodomy. With Henri."

She laughed. "Sodomy is no sin, Filippo. I thought you rejected Catholic dogma."

"Ever since Her Majesty seduced me it has troubled me. What we did was against Nature."

"I remember Henri saying if that were true, why does it feel so good? And so what if it is? Why should you be punished for it? Wouldn’t that imply a judging God, the Lord you don’t believe exists?"

"You have a point. But I’m still troubled by these cards. There is something else I can try. But I need your help."

“What do you have in mind?”

"A new spell. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, doubting I had the power to cast it. Seeing you with these cards I now realize it may be possible to accomplish with our combined powers. I call it conquering Lethe. If it works, it will give me, I mean my future incarnations, the ability to remember my past lives. Beginning with this one, of course."

"Why would you want to do that?"

      "To learn from my mistakes, to atone for my sins—improving karma, accelerating upward migration. Will you help me, Veronica?"



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