Page 199 - The Grotesque Children's Book

Inevitably Tozzo began losing again, until ultimately he collapsed in a dead faint and the
wagering was over until the next weekend. It was fairly foolproof, because although Tozzo's
behavior was observable and repeatable, you noticed it only if you knew to look for it, and
Carola did.

It was a winning proposition for Carola. Place losing bets on Tozzo for the first three
rounds, increase bets for Tozzo's second three rounds when the odds became so large, then
decrease or eliminate bets for the final three rounds. Three sets of three. Carola knew not to call
attention to her private knowledge by betting every evening there were competitions. And also
on evenings in which she was betting, she knew occasionally to place some early wagers against
Tozzo among her wagers for Tozzo. She had learned from her experience with the hucklebones;
she had overplayed those wagers, and now she could not get any takers in that game. I'll play
this Birch Bough Blind more cleverly and cautiously.

Oh, but it was a nasty and cruel game! Points were given to the man who struck his
opponent the most often. And because of the blindfolds, the blows could be anywhere: on the
face, the hands, the ballocks, the buttocks. Double points for the bullocks, triple for the ballocks,
for the crowd found each so uproariously hilarious. Carola didn't like to see Tozzo hurt. Despite
his leonine awkwardness, she rather liked him. And Tozzo honestly seemed to enjoy the game.
He roared both when he himself was hit and when he hit his opponent. It was all great sport to
him. The bruises and chafes were apparently all part of the delight.

Though she was amused by Tozzo's brutish but gentle physicality, she would not, could
not, consider him as a possible husband. A mere painter! Pfaugh! I can do better than that! A
mere drunken painter, too, I might add. Carola was an ambitious woman, and she knew her
value. She knew not to be observed by the rest of the tavern drinkers gazing at Tozzo too long or
too often. She knew she must gaze longingly at each and every man who came into the Wheat
and Chaff. You never know which drunkard might turn out to be a magistrate, a judge, even a
baron. Make 'em all feel like I can't take my eyes off them. I want you, Signore Bald-and-Fat. I
want you, Signore Pus-and-Wen. She didn't intend to be a tavern girl too much longer. All it
took was one fine catch.

She dreamed of marrying a drunken baron. Well, of course she would take the Baron Of
Pus the very moment he made an offer. Oh, to live in a palatial home or manse! The clothes
which she got to wear while passing for Her Majesty Bianca's portrait! The gold, the silk, the
pearls, the, the, she didn't even know the names of the jewels which she wore during her sessions
with Alessandro Allori. Pearls she knew, yes, but there was this red stone which hung on a gold
chain below the pearls, oval-round and thick like an olive, only blood-red. How it caught the
light! How she loved touching it. “Sit still!” would shout Allori. But she could put up with his
peevishness so long as she got to touch the red round Olive Stone.

And the gold box locket thing on her head. What was it? Two strands of five pearls,
forming a kind of rungless ladder, holding an inlaid locket in place directly at the top of her head.
She wondered what was inside. A picture? A key? A tiny love letter from some illicit lover in

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