Personal Narrative: The Flask Of Amaretto

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Period 8
Mr. Baker
AP Eng. Lit.
Sep 30, 2014

The Flask of Amaretto
As the heat rose from our bodies and the sweat glistened, our swords clashed creating luminous sparks. The vigorous intimacy had left us quite weary and I led him into the parlor room. I placed myself upon the burgundy velvet couch and took a fresh Italian cigar from my cabinet while he sat on the chair across the dimly lighted room. He stared at me with a heavily lidded lustful gaze as he took a sip of his glass of Amontillado. I progressed towards his awaiting face, placed my cigar onto his lips, and lit it for him. He felt the burning smoke from my cigar slither within his mouth and move down his throat. The lack of communication between us drove me to gaze towards the paintings on the wall. The sensual stare of the Venus of Urbino held my
gaze, the smooth curve of her waist, and her unconcerned stance of her nude physique left me intrigued. Fortunato’s peering eyes pierced through my skin and my inability to appreciate his fixated gaze left him squeamish and wanting. Although he is seen as a respected mason, and possibly even feared, Fortunato’s rather great need for my touch and my attention was ultimately his weakness. I turned and said to him:
“My Dear Fortunato, is there something that troubles you?”
“You,” he said. “What precisely are we doing?!”
“We are merely relishing each other’s company. I wish to not impose of this silence that fell upon us, tesoro ”

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“My Friend;­I mean, what is this relationship, this immoral act we have been practicing for the last few years?”
Fortunato questioned forcefully with a longing desire of need on his beet red face and tense shoulders. I gathered my wits and gingerly walked over to Fortunato’s seat. I grabbed his rather clammy hands and grazed my lips across his knuckles while staring profoundly into his round wondering eyes that reflected the wild dark roots thrusting against the summer’s forest. I could see the large vein on his petite forehead throb as the thoughts of our relationship flourished in his mind. He was not mentally prepared to overcome such a scandal, and neither was I, but it was he who held the guilt of betraying the marriage he built with Lady Fortunato close to heart.
“Fortunato, there is no need to cause yourself any agony. There is no need to look for meaning in this amour. This affair doesn’t reduce your status as a respected and honorable mason­ now, gather yourself up and make your journey to yourself. This involvement between us is ours alone­ caro .”
Fortunato broke his gaze and looked down at his settled hands. He sat there, unmoving.
For a moment it seemed as though he was in war with his conflicting thoughts, unsure of what there was to come. He finally rose his head and looked at me with somewhat of contentment in his eyes.
“I see where we stand, Montresor. I will now leave. My dear Mary will be suspicious if I were to delay much longer. Until next time, mio caro
.”
As Fortunato left the chamber, I let the seductive facade fall from my face. Our amatory expressed from one side. Oh how I despised that man! How my blood boiled at the thought of

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him returning to his “beloved” Mary! She should be mine! She was mine. For I loved her­ still do­ and always will­ till I am long dead and rotten and the worms have consumed my flesh.
I reminisce on the time I met the radiant Mary Persamato. We were mere children at the time, not even 16 years of age, and her face was filled with youthful, elegant beauty. When she was near, there was no one but us, my Mary Bella and I, as though we were alone in a kingdom by il Mar Mediterraneo.
She was my queen, and I was her king, and we had loved with a love that was the envy of all the seraphim of Aidenn, a love that was abstruse.
Unfortunately, I didn’t possess the financial level that Fortunato had the privilege to sustain. Fortunato was part of the wealthiest banking family in Italy, and I, well, I was part of the strongest mercenary contracting family. As much as the Montresor family protected manors and provinces from regional princes throughout the Italian countryside, the Fortunato family was far more distinguished than the Montresors due to their financial assistance. I felt queasy that such a wealthy and blessed family held the low standards of committing fraud wherever their petty foot stepped. For this reason, my Mary was sold to that accursed trollop Fortunato.
Although no one could rightfully and obviously accuse the Fortunato Family of such treachery, it was common knowledge across manors and villages that the Fortunatos paid and received monetary favors to secure funds for princes and their regional warring, as well as bishops and their divine propaganda; all for security and communion. I personally was
never involved in these schemes, but time and time again, I subtly chuckled at the misfortunes of others when attending the cathedral, dining hall, or local winery. I especially cackled when Princeps
Achille defrauded Princeps Bonaventura, of course with the help of the Fortunatos. Princep
Bonaventura was a gentleman to a certain degree, but then again he was jejune. In truth, any man

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with a sliver of cunning would have taken advantage of Bonaventura’s financial impediment. Oh the insignificance, the ignorance, and the idolatry of princeps! The shame cast on our class! For it is the humble peasant that outclasses the local princep in character, but why is character necessary when wealth, warring, and wills craft the only noticeable characters?
I was suddenly startled, and almost spit my Amaretto in disgust once realizing Princep de
Borgia ostentatiously slithered in the winery. Of course, the rest of the gentlemen and mercenaries jolted with great delight to see a prominent prince, a skilled warrior, and charismatic countryman. De Borgia owned numerous estates, and every wine made in this winery was technically his. He would fence and go horseback riding two hours everyday, threw lavish parties every other week, and always found ways to make financial transactions even as his mistresses purloined amounts of wealth in coinage or capital. I was not in the least afraid of him, but any sign of dissent or dismissiveness of De Borgia’s attention would ignite a brawl between the dandies at the winery and Princep De Borgia and I. As much as my combat skills were polished,
I would be outnumbered thirty to one. I would die as a martyr to my waning family, but not to those princeps I have served and honored and neither to those mercenaries that I contracted and compensated. As I was reminiscing those thoughts, Princep De Borgia slammed his flask of Amaretto on my table, nearly shattering the flask itself.
“I see! you are the pitiful Montresor, nulla ?” De Borgia chuckled.
“I see! you are the parasitic De Borgia, etiam ?” I quietly retorted as I sipped my flask of
Amaretto.

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“Heh heh, you have remotely sharpened your diplomacy. I just came by to invite you to the Mason’s festivity tonight. We will have copious amounts of wine and liquor, appetizers, entrees, and desserts, and fine courtesans. I promise with what little heart I have that it will not be a snare to bring your demise, or worse, publicize your ‘fencing’ affair, even if I consider you such scum under the trampling of the snake of your pathetic family crest.”
“You wouldn’t dare. And you know your insignificant crest is simply a pusillanimous hyena pretending to be in a lion’s skin. My pathetic snake as you should call him, would deliver the final blow, even if you were to believe that you would have the last laugh.”
I slowly felt the tension in the room increase as myriad conversations ceased, flasks ceased to be lifted up to sip, and blades slowly began to whisk away from their sheaths.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Fortunato’s treating us. You should entrust Fortunato with some contracts, or should I say en­ thrust ...Ha Ha Ha!”
With that final mockery I instantaneously, with the flick of my wrist, withdrew my sword from my sheath faster than Poseidon would’ve waved his trident to whisp a tsunami to strand
Ulysses. I held De Borgia by his chin with the sharp edge of my sword. I whispered,
“I strongly suggest you leave. No one here, especially I, requires your service. Not even your family crest belongs on your property, if ­ it still belongs to you.”
“You surely jest. Such ill­tempered fascina you ar­”
I might have lost consciousness for a second as a dark red fluid, dripped on my blade and squirted on my attire. I then realized that I sliced the neck of Princep De Borgia. Immediately, everyone in the winery from the dandies to the princeps to the mercenaries to the peasants­ drew their blades, and some even drew their firearms. I had no chance to speak as a barrage of lead,

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clouds of gunpowder, and shrieks of agony pierced throughout the winery. I rapidly dropped to the floorboards of the winery under my table, with my bloodied blade in one hand and my half­empty flask of Amaretto in another, directly staring at the disillusioned eyes of Princep De
Borgia as a pool of blood engulfed his rotten being.
After a few minutes of vicious brawling, the winery was returned to a placid state by my mercenaries present there. Fortunately, I survived the bloody turmoil in the winery. No one dared to accuse me, Montresor, of my felony, for they knew they would be lunged by my mercenaries into a bog. Of course, Fortunato had to bribe a few dandies and princeps, but then again, that was his specialty. I was to see Fortunato tonight at the Mason’s festivity at Princep De Borgia’s manor, or shall I say former manor. For an abstruse reason, I was bloodlustful as I began to ruminate a possible course of events at the festivity. Then again, no one would know what fencing went between Fortunato and I, for I killed Princep De Borgia, and was proud of such an act as my honor was preserved. De Borgia never took my crest seriously, but oh what delight!
What classical irony! What classical ignorance!
Nemo me impune lacessit
!
Nemo… me… impune…
lacessit... I delivered the final blow, and De Borgia, such insignificant, insipid, idolatrous, ignominious, imbecile, did not even attempt to cough a last laugh, or shall I say as a toast to de Borgia, cough, a last ing laugh. I cleaned my blade upon his cloak with relish and kicked his head as I left to go to Fortunato’s Mason party. The night of debauchery had drawn on for what seemed like eons. I quickly grew tired of
Fortunato and his Mason brethren. Their drunken antics became more and more glutinous and disgusting, their voices becoming more clamorous and derisive. I feigned intoxication to keep

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the reality of my torture muted. Within a few hours, the air of the hall had become thick with the vices of the Masons. I joined Fortunato, continuing my charade of drunkenness in order to not arouse suspicion of my sobriety. Fortunato was speaking loudly, his voice slurring and bubbling out of his wine soaked mouth. He could hardly speak for himself, rather the less think like a gentlemen around others.
The conversation was turned towards the “conquests” of the men. Fortunato spoke of many women who he had affair with in his youth. I felt my sizzling blood rush through my head and into my palms as I thought of Mary being one of those unfortunate women.
Not being able to stand it anymore, I grabbed his arm and said, “Think of Mary, my friend.” “Mary is not here, you old chum.” Fortunato raised his glass and chuckled, “Let us reminisce upon the great times I had before che sgualdrina came along, yes?”
I hoped my bothered presence would position his mind straight, I hoped that he would shut his bloody awful mouth and reflect upon the fact that he had the only thing that gave me air as I drowned in this judgemental society. Mary was the only thing that kept me together, she held me like cement and allowed me to become something more than just the son of two hardworking servants. How could Fortunato resemble her to the ordinary women of our town, it was uncanny to hear such brainless words.
He continued to baffle about his great conquest, and gloated with pride in his eyes as he named a few ladies who mistakenly took his mingled words for affection. I could not stand in that room full of men who felt as if the only significant thing in that moment was to speak of the

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women who had the misfortune of meeting them. I rushed myself out of the basement arranging my hands along the mature wooden rail that kept me from falling.
I looked above to the clear sky, searched for something to gain my attention and possess my body from going back to the smoky room and committing a terrible mistake. In the mere distance I heard someone delicately recite my name from their lips.
“M­Mon­Montresor?” Fortunato placed the almost empty glass of wine on the floor and strolled towards my direction.
“Did something go wrong, chum? Did someone in there say something to enrage you?”
“
Necessitava un poco de aire
. That congested room was puzzling me. Go back inside
Fortunato, for the guest must miss your exquisite company.”
Fortunato stepped back and bowed to pick up an old wrecked twig from the outdated ground. He glared into my eyes, almost piercing into my soul, allowing me to sense how miserable he felt for observing as I rushed out of the gathering. In that moment, I knew that the humiliation I had been planning for all of these years would not suffice. Fortunato’s actions against my beloved merited a punishment much more grievous than the slander of his name. He deserved to be brutalized for the misfortune he brought into my life. His actions merited death. He deserved to suffocate in silence where no one could hear him as I have been forced to for all these years, as I know that mia Mary Bella had for all these years.
I immediately started to plan his penance for the insult against Mary, my Mary. However,
I couldn’t let him suspect my plan. This years long charade would prolong only for a few more weeks. Carnival draws close after all………..