The Book of Madness and Cures by Regina O'Melveny

question.” She looked at me sadly. “It burdened him. I like the answer you gave as a young one best. We may as well hold each other.” She hugged her belly for emphasis and stared back at the fire.
    Dr. Cardano shrugged and raised an eyebrow in mild disapproval, though after all these years he was familiar with Olmina’s homely wisdom.
    “You may not like my methods, Dr. Cardano, but I must pursue my vocation as much as I pursue my father.”
    “You were always headstrong, Gabriella. Why should I think you altered now?” He smiled fondly, then lapsed back into his own thoughts, creasing his brow.
    Lorenzo poked his head in the room a moment later. Noting our solemn faces, he said, “I don’t want to disturb your cheer, but supper’s on the table, and I for one am going to eat!”

A Tether
    After a week as Dr. Cardano’s guest, I broached the subject of departure at midday dinner. When one has waited a long time, I reasoned, suddenly one can wait no longer. Even the small delays prove intolerable. Dr. Strozzi, a peer of my father’s, joined us for dinner as well. I turned to address Dr. Cardano at the end of the long oak table. “Have you heard any news of snowmelt in the high passes?”
    “Hmm.” Dr. Cardano mulled the question over, frowning a little.
    “Are the oxen drawing logs on the roads through Bressanone yet?” I persisted, for that is how they test for avalanches, and the treacherous snows had been heavy this year.
    Dr. Cardano glanced at me sternly, holding a spoonful of pottage midair. “Surely you’re not thinking of leaving already?”
    I stared down at my bowl, at the peas and beans in their thick mess. “I must cross through the mountains within a few days, so we can reach Tübingen—one of my father’s early stopovers, I believe—before the bitter weather comes. The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll find him.”
    Professor Strozzi stared at me from across the table, the scowl lines on either side of his down-turned mouth a permanent sign of disapproval, so that in fact it was difficult to tell what he really thought. I recalled that the first time I’d seen him (I was a child of only five or six) I’d dubbed him the Statue, for he resembled one of the formidable patrician busts that lined the corridors of the University of Padua.
    To my amazement, he said, “But the moon is waxing, and we’ll have to tie you to the quince tree like your father!”
    Dr. Cardano shot him a look of such rebuke that it could’ve been a slap.
    “Tied to what? ” I was sure I’d misheard him.
    “Nothing, my dear, nothing,” muttered Dr. Cardano, swiftly turning toward the kitchen and exclaiming, “Ah, here’s the next course—bread, wine, and company makes even fickle Fortune smile!” One of the servant girls carried in a fresh basket of bread, which saturated the air with rosemary, while the other girl brought an egg erbolata studded with parsley and flowers.
    “Ah, celestial dish!” squealed Professor Strozzi, whose enthusiasm for astronomy was only surpassed by his gluttony. “A constellation worthy of Cassiopeia’s table, though the queen thought a bit too much of herself!” he said, eying me across the table. “The last time I saw you, Gabriella, you were only a wisp of a girl at twelve, hanging on your father’s every gesture!”
    I ignored his gibe. “I’d like to know why he was tied to the quince. Was that some practical joke?”
    “Oh no, no,” the professor mumbled uncomfortably, shifting in his chair.
    Dr. Cardano intervened. “Leave it alone, dear girl. The limonia chicken is here!”
    “I just want—”
    “Listen to Dr. Cardano,” chided Professor Strozzi. A tiny bit of egg hung from his chin as he hunched forward.
    “I just want a simple answer—why was my father tied to a tree?”
    “The only thing that could subdue him,” Professor Strozzi offered dryly. “He was on a tether, you know.”
    Dr. Cardano slammed both hands on the table. “The chicken grows