The Lens and the Looker (Book #1 of The Verona Trilogy) Page 4

  Shamira admired the enactor for the way she stayed in character, then she chuckled. "I gotta admit," Shamira said, "the boys really freaked out when your husband smacked them. He acted really mad."

  "Oh no, Carmella. Maybe the Master was a little angry, but not much. He's just very strict with apprentices because . . . that's what Masters must do. He's a very good man."

  Shamira recognized that the enactor was interpreting everything to fit the back story. There was no use talking straight, and she had agreed with the boys to wait and see.

  "Whatever you say, Signora Cagliari, whatever you say. So, what's first?"

  "First? First we must make dinner. But, to do that, we must go to the market. Come."

  Chapter 7

  As Lincoln was led into the barnyard by Master Cagliari, he had the urge to swat the big man's patronizing hand off of his shoulder. The large, thick fingers digging into his bony body really bugged the youngest teen, but he had agreed to play along, so he clenched his jaw and said nothing. As they walked past the barn, Master Cagliari said, "That's where you sleep." Lincoln stopped short.

  "We sleep in a barn?" the younger teen exclaimed.

  "In the loft," the Master explained. "It's nice and warm in winter, sort of." The enactor was looking down at Lincoln, and Lincoln could tell he was still sizing him up. Then the enactor spoke again. "You boys, I think we got off, how they say, on the wrong foot. And a household or a business, they also say, is like an army. We must all march with the same feet at the same time, or we trip over each other. What you say to that, boys, eh?" Lincoln mugged a face and shrugged. The Master looked at Hansum.

  "Kind of stretching a metaphor, but sure, I get it," Hansum replied.

  The enactor Master gave another conciliatory gesture and went on.

  "So, I tell you boys what. I am a very strict master, that no change. But I try to be fair, always. My job is to teach you to be the best lensmakers you can. But to do that, first you must be the best apprentices. We forget about the little taps on the head and start again, okay?" And with that, Lincoln felt the big red hand come off his shoulder and saw it appear in front of him. The Master was offering to shake hands. Lincoln put his hand out and saw it disappear into a very large paw. "Goot, goot," the Master said, his mood lightening instantly. "And you too." Lincoln watched Hansum smile and shake hands. "To good beginnings," the enactor said, beaming. Large, perfect teeth shone out from his face. Lincoln could see the man's teeth were stained, though, and wondered what type of makeup was used to make them that way. He sort of remembered that people in the past didn't always clean their teeth and that the History Camp enactors simulated this. "Okay then," the Master continued. "To the shop."

  Just around the corner of the barn they came to another outbuilding. It was made of heavy wood planks and topped with another thatched roof. There was a central door with large windows on either side of it. Both windows were made of forty panes of wavy, hand-blown glass, each less than a handspan square.

  "This is the shop. Come, I show you the new lathe," the Master said, opening the door. He did it with reverence, like he was going into someplace special. He seemed excited. "I just got the new lathe," he said. "The newest, most wonderful machine for making lenses for the discs for the eyes, and . . ." He rubbed his thumb and index finger together to express that the lathe had cost a lot of money.

  "What's a lathe?" Lincoln asked.

  The Master stopped and looked surprised. "A lathe? You don't know what a lathe is?" Lincoln made a face. "Oh, my boy, it's a big, wonderful machine. It spins around real fast and we shape flat glass into fantastic things to help old people see and even read books. You know what a book is, eh?"

  "Ah . . . duh. What's a book?" Lincoln made a foolish face again, crossing his eyes and twisting his tongue in his open mouth, so he lisped, "I think I thaw one in a museum once."

  "You never see even a bible?"

  "I think he's making a joke, Master Cagliari," Hansum said.

  "What? Oh, well, a joke. Ha, ha. A bigga joke. Okay, come in and see my new baby. As he opened the door, he peeked behind it and called, "Hello little baby. You sleep-a well? Now I make a joke."

  "Oh, you're a quick one," Lincoln retorted drolly as he and Hansum stepped in the shop. Lincoln heard Pan's voice in his ear.

  "Now, Master Lincoln, try not to be too sarcastic or disrupt yet. We must bide our time before we strike."

  "Yeah, yeah," Lincoln mumbled. He looked around the shop and saw a small, unlit fireplace built into the back wall. In it hung several metal pots on swing arms. To the right was a water barrel and a heavy table loaded with tools, all lined up neatly. Hand-forged pliers, files, brass bowls, scrapers, quite a few ceramic pots, odd looking brushes, and many unpolished blank discs of glass. In front of one window was another table. Many pairs of spectacles at different stages of assembly lay there. Master Cagliari pointed to the still-hidden space behind the open door.

  "And here she is," the Master said, closing the door to reveal what was hidden behind, "our new baby."

  "This is what you're making such a big deal about?" Lincoln asked. He was expecting to see some large, metal monstrosity, like he had seen in the Museum of the First Industrial Revolution, something with metal gears, wheels and pulleys. This lathe was a simple wooden structure, about a head taller than himself and just wider than his outstretched hands could span. It had heavy vertical wood posts at each end, with plain wooden feet. Two parallel cross members, about half way up, held a spindle-type device, and at the end of the spindle, a wooden disc. Affixed to the disc was a round, polished lens, about two inches in diameter.

  "Come, come in young apprentices. Look here. This is the marvel on which we create lenses to help the old and almost blind see."

  A definitely unimpressed Lincoln went up to the spindle and put his fingers near the lens. But he drew back quickly, saying, again with dripping sarcasm, "Ohhhhh! It looks so delicate. Can I touch?"

  "No," Master Cagliari said seriously. "You must not touch till you have been properly trained." Then he pointed to the lens. "To make a beautiful thing like this, we grind and polish a raw piece of glass while spinning it very fast."

  Much to Lincoln's consternation, Hansum seemed actually impressed.

  "What do you mean, spins real fast, Master?" Hansum asked his question quite genuinely.

  'Or maybe he's just playing along,' Lincoln thought, 'making the old guy think we're interested.

  "Spins. Spins," the Master repeated. "Look," he said pointing to an eight-foot flexible pole protruding from the side wall and ending right over top of the lathe's spindle. "This lathe, she's called a pole lathe. And this cord hanging down from here, see, it loops around the grooves on the spindle and then to the pedal on the floor." The pedal was a plain piece of lumber about two feet long. One end was hanging off the floor by the cord and the other end was attached to the foot of the 'machine' with a leather hinge. "Press this pedal, pull the cord," the Master continued. "Pull down the pole, the spindle she spins. Real fast." Master Cagliari regarded Hansum giving each part of the lathe a good look. "Ah, you are very curious, Romero. Can you see the ingenuity of this meraviglia moderna, this modern marvel? You see how it works?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Watch, boys," the Master said, springing into action. "It's like magic." Master Cagliari pulled up a stool and sat in front of the lathe. He adjusted the hanging cord so it was taut and snug around the grooves of the spindle. He put his foot on the pedal and pushed it down. "The pole at the top, she bends. Bends like a bow and arrow, yes? Now, as I push down on the pedal more, the pole comes down, but look, look . . ." The spindle came to life as the cord was pulled through it. It spun furiously. When the pedal was fully depressed, the Master stopped and looked at the boys. "Now, watch this. You won't believe what you see." His eyes lit up with great excitement. He relaxed his foot and the pole sprung back toward the ceiling. The spindle spun furiously in the opposite direction. "Isn't that the most beautiful thing
you've ever seen? The machine, she does half the work. Before we work on a bow lathe. You had to do all the spinning, both ways, and work with only one hand. This is so much easier," he concluded, flashing his dazzling smile.

  "Ah," Hansum said appreciatively.

  "But whaddaya do you do with these . . . lenses?" Lincoln asked.

  "What do we do with the lenses?" the Master repeated. "What do we do with them?" He pointed to his own face, his own spectacles. "We make discs for the eyes, of course. We do that over there," he said pointing to the assembly table. On it lay wire, bone, ivory and other frames, some with lenses, some without.

  "Oh, I thought you wore those to be silly, or scare us."

  "What?" the Master asked wonderingly. Then he laughed. "Oh, of course. You come from the countryside and have never seen the discs for the eyes. Let me explain, Maruccio. When a person gets older, their eyes become dim. They often cannot see well enough to do their labors. Can you imagine the seamstress who made your clothes, if she couldn't see her work? Or a wood carver, a stone mason, an apothecary, or a merchant who knows how to read and do numbers? If a person cannot see to do his work, how will he feed himself and family? These wonderful inventions are a miracle. A gift from God that you will learn to make. My priest, he couldn't read his bible anymore. I made him some discs for the eyes. The first time he put them on and looked at his holy book, he begins to cry. He could read again. Tears streamed from his face. 'Giuseppe, you are an angel of mercy,' he said to me. 'Praise God for these discs for the eyes,'" he said crossing himself. The Master took them over to one of the worktables. He picked up a rough disc of glass. "This is what we start with," he said. The glass was rough and scratched. He handed the plain disc to Lincoln for inspection. He gave it a brief, bored glance and passed it to Hansum.

  "The lens on the lathe was made from something like this?" Hansum asked.

  "Si."

  "How?" he asked, sounding impressed. Lincoln yawned and looked around the room.

  The Master, apparently pleased that one of his students was enthusiastic, became animated. "I show you. Maruccio, stir the coals and add wood to the fire," he said. "We must heat up the mastic."

  "Huh?" Lincoln replied.

  "Get the fire going. Heat up the mastic." Lincoln just stood there, confused. Finally, the Master went over to the fireplace and picked up an iron bar that was leaning against the wall. "Stir the coals," the enactor repeated, poking the bar into the ash bed. As he exposed the bottom level, a dull, red vein of smoldering coals appeared. A few wisps of smoke began to rise. "See, the fire she sleeps under the ashes from yesterday. Add wood, Maruccio." Lincoln continued to stand frozen, not knowing what to do. He could see the enactor was frustrated with him. It was similar to the looks he was used to getting from his teachers and parents. The memory made Lincoln frown. "Wood, Maruccio, wood." Lincoln noticed the wood bin next to the fireplace. He picked out a thick piece of limb wood, about two feet long and as thick as his wrist. "No, no, no, Maruccio. Get some kindling, some small pieces to wake up the fire. Like this." Lincoln watched the large man get onto his knees and pick out some wood shavings and twigs from the bottom of the wood box. He gently placed some around the glowing opening and popped a few into its center. He blew on them and the kindling erupted into a small flame. Next he built a little structure of twigs over it. In a few seconds, the fire grew. He added a tangle of thin branches. "When this is blazing, that is when you add your limb wood and logs. Okay, Maruccio?" Then the Master swung one of the arms with a pot hanging from it over the flame. "Now we heat up the mastic."

  "What's mastic?" Hansum asked.

  "Mastic? It's colla. Glue. To stick the glass to the lathe. She's made from the tears of the mastic bush. Now come," the Master continued. "I show you the parts of the lathe while the mastic warms up."

  As they walked over to the lathe, Lincoln made a face and whispered, "Tears of a bush?"

  "Farmers cut the bark of the mastic bush with a blade and the plant exudes a milky resin to close the wound. The farmers gather this as a natural glue. It also has medicinal qualities. "

  Over at the lathe the enactor said, "This is the spindle of the lathe." He gestured grandly to the whole area that spun. "The spindle, she spins." Then he touched the wooden disc that the lens was attached to. "This is the lap. See the spot in the middle of the lens? That's the mastic, holding the lens to the spindle." He then took a wooden shim, a very thin wedge shape, and gently pushed the thinnest edge under the lens. He gently pried the lens loose. "You musta be very careful not to break the lens," he said, keeping his full concentration on his work. The lens popped off and he held it against Hansum's eye, which became magnified like the Master's. "Here, Romero. Put the lens on the worktable. Hold it by the edges. Grease from your hand can eat into the smooth surface. Maruccio, you hold this." He handed the younger apprentice the little bits of mastic he then scraped from the lap. Lincoln looked at the crumbs for a second and let them fall to the floor, brushing off his hands. "Maruccio," the Master scolded as he dropped to his knees to search for the little white flecks. "What do you do? You waste a valuable commodity. Come,help me, Maruccio." Lincoln got down and joined in the hunt for the bits of mastic. "A very valuable commodity," the Master repeated. "It comes only from one island in the whole world. Most shops use pitch and ash. Very dirty. Much harder to clean off the lens."

  "But it's such a little bit," Lincoln complained.

  "Waste not, want not." The enactor Master got up and went back to the fireplace and motioned for the boys to follow him. The fire was going well now and the mastic was bubbling. The Master took Lincoln's hand and picked a few pieces of fluff out from the mastic, then brushed the rest into the pot. "Okay then," the enactor said, holding up the blank disc of glass. "I show you lens making from beginning." He picked up a short wooden ruler and a sharp metal scribe in the other hand. "We must get the exact center of the disc, so it spins perfetto." The Master carefully used the crude ruler to determine the exact center of the disc, then scratched a small X into it with the scribe. He then put the disc in the jaws of a pair of long-nosed pliers and placed it in the top part of the flame. "You heat up the glass so the mastic will stick to it better." After turning the glass over and over in the open flame, the Master wet his finger with his tongue and touched it to the glass. "Ouchie," he said, laughing. "She's a ready." He placed a generous blob of mastic on the opposite side of the glass to the X and went quickly to the lathe. "Do you see the little dot in the middle of the lap?" Holding the lens with a thick rag, the enactor leaned over and, with much care, pushed the hot glass onto the dop, holding it there till he seemed satisfied it had cooled enough to hold. He gave the spindle a few turns and everyone saw it was, indeed, perfectly centered and true.

  Chapter 8

  "Now we shape the lens," the Master continued jovially. Next to the lathe was a small table where the craftsman placed the tools he needed at hand. He inspected the cutting edges of a file the length of a man's hand and as wide as his thumb. "We start with this one. Big grooves, see?"

  He then handed the boys spectacles similar to the ones he was wearing.

  "These lenses are flat," Hansum observed. "They don't magnify anything."

  "Oh, yeah," Lincoln said, looking around the room through his pair.

  "They just protect the eyes. The glass, she flies," the Master replied, sitting forward on the wooden bench and readjusting the lathe's cord. "You see the three levels of grooves on the spindle? When you put the cord at the big spindle, she spins the slowest. In the middle, the middle speed. The littlest one, she goes zip, zip. Zippy, eh, Maruccio?" Looping the cord around the largest groove, he pushed the pedal with one foot and the spindle spun one way. Then he released his weight and the spindle rotated back the other way. After four or five spins, he established a rhythm. He slowly touched the file to the thin edge of the disc at a forty-five degree angle, then a minute later, changed to a second angle. Little shards of glass flew and a wide bevel appeared on
the disc's edge.

  "Ah," Hansum said appreciatively.

  When the lathe stopped, Lincoln made a face. "No way that's going to turn into a lens like the other," Lincoln said. "It looks like crap! It's got more scratches now than before."

  "Patience, little man. Hand me that smaller file, Maruccio," the Master said, pointing to the table. He started the machine spinning again and began smoothing out the rough bevels with the finer file, creating as fine a convex shape as possible. Lincoln began fidgeting. When the lathe stopped, the beveled ridges were gone, but it was still a mass of scratches. "Okay, the big filing is done. Now we grind the lens four times to get it smooth. First the pumice stick. You give it to me, eh, Maruccio?"

  "Yeah, yeah," Lincoln said, still sounding bored. "Which one is that?"

  The Master pointed to a thick wood dowel with one end carved out. A piece of porous pumice stone was inserted into it. When the pumice was finished being pressed to the glass, Lincoln had to admit to himself that the scratches were indeed finer. He was about to give this large concession, but the Master spoke first.

  "That's the number one grinding. Maruccio. How many grindings did I say there would be?"

  "I dunno. Two?"

  "You said . . ." Hansum began, but stopped.

  "What Romero? How many?" the enactor asked. "Don't be shy."

  "You said there were four grindings," Hansum answered quietly. Lincoln stared at Hansum resentfully.

  "That's right. Now Romero, go over to the tabella and bring me the pot with the number two on it. And bring the mixing bowl and brush." As Hansum went, the Master leaned over to Lincoln. "Little man, you must-a keep your ears open and remember well what I tell you. That's the way you learn, eh?" Even though this admonishment was done in private, Lincoln felt annoyed.

  "I can't find a pot with the number two on it," Hansum called.

  "Madonna mia," the Master said, turning to the supply table and looking perplexed. "I say bring the pot with the number two on it and here she is, right in front of you."

  "Where?" Hansum asked.