Renaissance Man (Untitled Novel Excerpt)

The clay curved under his palms, taking on some of the flaws in his own skin. He pressed in with his fingertip and bits of the cool soft clay shaved down in ringlets from the edge of his nail. The sunlight, like wine, poured and pooled from the open window. The moon suspended in the wave of purple sky, ribboning over the red tile rooftops, whispering of night. Leonardo pulled his hands away from the still damp statue and, hands clumped in clay, lit the oil of a lamp. The windows seemed to darken as the lamp burst across the tower room’s beams, its thatch, and its plaster. It granted life to the crowds and scores of parchment, sketching, wooden carvings, maps, and portraits pinned to the beams and strewn over the desk. But Leonardo’s eyes shone only for the mound of clay before him.

He stared and rubbed his creased face, smearing light brown across his own cheek. “Dios,” he said. “Bravissimo.”

The worn smooth floorboards creaked as he leapt to his feet, smiling and laughing loudly, as though a star had burst within. Someone struck the ceiling below at his noise, but he paid no mind to those almost asleep. He was alive, awake. “Ah, Dios! Grazi, grazi.”

He touched the edge of his palm against the clay and curved it. The clay gently obeyed the tender gesture and traced his motion. His eyes glittered and he sank into his chair once again. With a last “grazi” he fell into another bout of laughter.