“Yes, Santino. Thank you again for having us.”
“My pleasure. Leandro, if you’d care to follow me?”
The two of them head off toward the kitchen and Giovanni’s fingers dance across the ivory keys so that it makes a glittering sort of sound.
“You should play something,” I suggest.
“I haven’t played since…”
Since before Valentin died.
“Ithasbeen a while. You know, Master wasn’t the only one who enjoyed your music.”
He stares up at me in a curious way. “I thought your tastes leaned more toward the contemporary, Sir.”
“Music is music, princess. I also have ears.” I tug at one lobe, and he smirks.
“Maybe later. I’d like to see your rooms now, Sir, where you spent those months we were apart in your quest to be the Dominant you are today.”
I offer him my arm. “Right this way, princess.”
After Giovanni inspectsour suite of rooms, which includes a small sitting area, a bedroom, and an attached bath, we take a stroll along the canal. We stop at one of the many cafés for lunch, then visit a few bookstores, including one that sells used books where Giovanni finds his prize, an academic text from the 1970s about a Greek philosopher named Hypatia. After purchasing it for him, Gio shows me the reprints of the original letters written to her in Greek by one of her pupils and says he can’t wait to complete his own translations.
“And who was this woman?” I ask.
“Hypatia advocated for the philosophical state ofapatheia, the complete liberation from emotions and affections. You might recognize it today asapathy, though its Greek root has a more neutral connotation. It means eliminating the tendency to react emotionally or egotistically to external events and things that cannot be controlled.”
“But we must live with passion,” I argue. “That is what makes life interesting.”
“Yes, well, I see you more in the camp of the Hedonists than that of the Stoics,” he says smartly.
“Perhaps so. But what is a life without passion? Without pleasure?”
“A Stoic might argue that pleasure in and of itself does not lead to lasting happiness, only temporary gratification, and that moderation and self-discipline are the keys to a long, fulfilling life.”
“Wine, sex, good food, good company,” I nudge his ribs, “These are the things that make life worth living, no?”
“They are, Sir, but what about service and charity?”
“Service to your Sir? Of course.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Perhaps you are not one who is driven to excess. When I get a little taste of something pleasurable, I want it all, right away. I can hardly control myself and I don’t know when to stop. When I was on drugs…” He pauses there and considers his next words. “Getting high was really all I cared about. I once stole one of my grandfather’s watches and sold it to buy drugs.”
“What did he do?”
“He put me in rehab. That was the first time. And one time with Master…” He lapses into silence again, so I prompt him to continue. “I got mad at him and ran away, sold myself to a drug dealer in exchange for some heroin and hid out in an abandoned apartment. My plan was to shoot up till I overdosed.”
This disturbs me, both his confession and the fact that Valentin never told me. I know that Giovanni has struggled, but I was never given much detail.
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
“Master found me. Our doctor gave me Naloxone. I survived.”
In the weighty silence that follows, I consider the alternative, which is very bleak. “If your Master hadn’t found you, I might never have known you or fallen in love with my beautiful baby.Che tristezza.”How sad. I squeeze his hand for reassurance.
“I can be very impulsive sometimes. And destructive. Anyway, that’s why I seek the wisdom of great thinkers, to help temper my appetites and keep my demons on a leash.”
While I imagine Giovanni’s demons as snapping, slavering dogs with choke collars, he goes on to tell me more about Hypatia’s teachings and the philosophy of Stoicism, and I am reminded again of his profound intellect. “You should consider getting a degree in this. You’re practically an expert already.”
