Everything Old is new Again
By Ldynwaitin
Chapter Four
Le Peintre
Neal had just turned nineteen when he first met Le Peintre, it was months after he last saw Ellen. On a hot summer day Le Peintre found Neal on the streets of Chicago.
Standing behind an old fold-up table he found in an alley, Neal set the table up on a sidewalk on the corner of Van Buren and Wells street. The elevated train tracks loomed over his head. He heard the rumble of a subway train as it moved on the tracks above him. He watched an elderly man pass by his table for the third time that day. He had long gray hair that fell to his shoulders. He used a gold tipped cane to help him walk. A large man with slicked black hair marched alongside the old man. As he walked by for the third time the elderly man stopped in front of his table. Picking up a sketch, he began examining it.
"Do you like it?" Neal asked him. He was hopeful to be making a sale that day. His stomach reminded him of the last time he ate. "You can have it for twenty dollars. It's Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man."
"I know, I've seen the real thing," the man replied. Neal heard a slight accent but was unable to tell where it came from.
"Really?" Neal said. He was anxious to find out if he had copied it well. "How did I do? I tried to copy it as close as possible from a photo in a book." Neal took out a book at the local library of famous artists. He copied the photos as best as he could to try and sell. He was getting desperate. On his own, he was running out of ideas on how to make some money. But going back was not an option, he had to make this work.
The elder man showed Neal's sketch to the large man. "What do you think, Nolano? Does he show promise?"
Nolano carefully studied the sketch, "I believe he does, sir."
"Where are you studying, young man?" the elderly man asked Neal.
"Studying?" He honestly did not know what he meant.
"What art school are you going to?"
Neal shook his head. "No art school."
"None at all?" The aged man tried to hide a look of disbelief as he mouthed 'no schooling' to Nolano.
Neal looked at his sketches. "I try to draw what I see."
Neal saw a wistful smile part the man's lip. "An empty canvas," he sighed. "Then you see very well, young man. Your sketches are true to the originals."
He warmly smiled at Neal, he saw something in him that he had been searching for, for some time. As he gazed into his innocent eyes, he somehow felt a connection to the young man. Was his search finally over?
"I believe I shall tell you my real name, not many have heard it. I am Mathieu De La Rue. I was born in Giverny France. A small town outside of Paris."
Neal now realized that his accent was French. He was surprised to see him politely bow at the waist. Standing up he cordially smiled at Neal as he stuck his hand out. "But you may call me Le Peintre, it is French for 'the painter', and you are?"
"Dan…Neal, Neal Caffrey," Neal said, as he vigorously shook his hand. He cursed inside, he still had a hard time remembering to use his new name.
"This imposing man is Nolano. He is my bodyguard, chauffeur and so many other things. Suffice to say he is an invaluable friend and companion."
Nolano shook Neal's hand, "It is good to meet you, Mr. Caffery."
Neal shyly smiled, "You can call me Neal."
Le Peintre planted his cane in front of him. "Mr. Caffrey, I am not one to mince words. For not having any training, your work here shows great promise, great promise. I would like to present you with an offer."
Peintre placed his hand on his heart. "You see I am a kindred spirit. For me, the ancient arts have been a passion my entire life. I create paintings in the way of the old masters. In my waning years, I have been looking for an apprentice, someone to learn from my experience. Someone to pass the torch if you will. Or in my case, my brush. From what I have seen of your work, you could be that someone."
He looked Neil up and down. "Young man, you look as if you are in great need of a bed and a hot meal. I can supply that for you if you agree to become my apprentice. But I warn you, it will not be easy. Much hard work lies ahead for you, but in the end, I believe that I can awaken a hidden talent deep within you. A talent that can earn you much money."
Neal wasn't sure what to say. He looked at his drawings. He didn't think they were that good. He would have been happy for a few bucks to pay rent. "Do you really think I'm that good?"
"My boy, you are what most teachers dream of finding, raw, natural talent. Your mind is not polluted with another's way. You will learn how to paint the right way, my way. I can see in your eyes a burning desire to learn, that is the best student I could have." Placing the sketch back on the table he asked Neal, "Would you be interested?"
A bed and a hot meal, that was all Neal really wanted. But now he was being given the offer of teaching him how to create paintings that he saw in the book. When he drew the sketches, he did enjoy doing them. It felt good making something from nothing. Staring into Peintre's eyes, he could see that the man was genuine with his proposition. Besides, he had him with earning much money!
Neal couldn't get yes out fast enough. He left with him that night. Peintre took him to his home. For almost two years Neal lived with him, soaking up everything that he taught him. In that time, he found that he did have what Peintre called a natural talent. He soon began producing paintings that was nearly equal to what Peintre created.
From day one Peintre was honest with Neal. He told him what he did with his paintings. How he would steal originals and replace them with his copies. How he would paint masterpieces and sell them close to the cost of an original. Neal didn't care what Peintre did for a living. He was happy to be a part of his world.
Neal would never forget the first time Peintre took him to Paris. He was like a child in a candy store as they walked through the louvre. He stared at each painting differently than when he first saw them as photos in a book.
He now looked at them as an artist. With Peintre by his side, he studied their strokes, the colors they choose, their composition. He strived to learn everything that Peintre knew about painting. Then there came a time when Peintre stopped painting. Neal found out that he sold one of his paintings. It was then that he realized it was time for him to go.
Neal recognized that there was nothing more Peintre could teach him. He had reached and surpassed his potential. But he hungered for more. He wasn't satisfied with this life, he knew that there was so much more he could learn in the outside world.
"Neal, please stay," Peintre begged him when he told him he was leaving. "I stopped painting because I could see that the time was right for me to pass the torch. You have gone beyond my wildest expectations. You have exceeded your teacher. I saw such greatness in you the day I met you on the streets of Chicago. I could see it in your eyes. You were born with the soul of an old master. Please don't go. I was going to give this all to you. You were to continue my legacy."
Neal didn't tell Peintre that there was more to why he was leaving. For his sake, he would keep that part a secret. But now it was becoming difficult to leave. The longer Peintre talked to him, the harder it was for him to step away. He had to break it off now. "I'm sorry Peintre, but I need to go. I've already been here too long. There is a whole world out there waiting for me. I want to see it all, experience it all."
"Please, Nolano," Peintre begged him. "Tell our boy not to go."
Nolano proudly looked at Neal. "Mr. Caffery is no longer the innocent boy we brought here, sir. He has grown up to be a fine man who knows what he wants. His mind is made up, I doubt that anything we say will change that."
Peintre sadly looked at Neal. "So young, so headstrong. Well, if that is how you feel, then my doors will be closed to you. You will no longer be welcomed in my home."
Peintre's words didn't frighten him. He was getting itchy feet. When he was growing up in WITSEC, they moved him around practically every year. Staying in one place for so long was suffocating him. "Then I'm sorry we had to end this way. You've been like a father to me, for that I am profoundly grateful. But there is more to life than just painting. Peintre, this is your world, not mine. I just can't be happy here until I know that this is what I want to do with my life."
Peintre nodded his head, Nolano was right. He was no longer the innocent boy he met what seemed ages ago. He was now a man. A man that had made up his mind. He needed to respect that.
"If you are so adamant then allow me to make a suggestion. If there is any place for you to find what you are looking for, it will be in New York city. But promise me this, if you do not find it, if it is not there, you are always welcomed to come back."
Happily grinning, Neal stuck out his hand, "I promise." Peintre took Neal's hand, placing both of his wrinkled hands on Neal's, he squeezed it. "This house will be empty without you. I love you, Neal. You are the son I wish I had."
Neal hugged Peintre tight. "I love you too, Peintre. You gave me a great gift, I will never forget you."
Neal never regretted leaving that day. He was surprised that every year, no matter where he was, he always received a birthday card from Le Peintre.
It took Peintre dying to bring him back to his house. It took Albert and Lilith to drag him back. He needed to know why. Hearing Nolano clear his throat he slowly walked to the armoire and opened the doors. He showed the suits to Nolano. "Which one do you suggest?"
"The master always liked the classics."
Neal agreed. He saw a black suit that Le Peintre brought him the first year he spent in his house.
Pulling the suit out, he began to dress. As he dressed his mind was filled with hundreds of reasons why he was here. Unfortunately, none of them had him going back home.
An hour after dressing, Neal was being led to the dining room. "When out of your room," Nolano explained. "You are not to be alone. I will always be with you."
"That's going to make things interesting," Neal softly said. "I'm going to have to drink less water."
As he walked through the hallways, he noticed the silence. When he lived here the house was always filled with people visiting, and servants walking around. It was never this quiet.
Walking down a staircase it was then that he noticed something else was different. When he was last here the walls were covered in Peintre's paintings. Now they were bare.
As he moved through a parlor he was struck by the emptiness. He began having a sick feeling that his idea of why he was brought here was right. Entering the dining room, when he saw Lilith seated at the table, Neal had to struggle to keep on a smile.
"Oh my," Lilith's husky voice breathed when Neal stepped into the room. "Albert was right, you are no longer the young innocent boy that father brought to our home so long ago. The innocence is gone. I see a man that has experienced the world. Much like father." The edge of her mouth quickly jerked, then it was gone. She wiggled in her seat as she looked him up and down. "Neal, my sweet," she purred. "C'est magnifique, I always loved how you looked in that suit. After all these years, it still fits."
"Lilith," Neal politely replied. "It's been a long time."
"To long," she sighed. Her violet eyes were always penetrating. They studied him carefully. "Neal, I had forgotten just how handsome you were. I must say you have not aged a bit. I have to know, what is your secret? Do you have a painting of yourself in your attic?"
Lilith's compliment to Neal was one that he could not return. She was only ten years older than him, but she hadn't aged well since he last saw her. When he first met her, she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Long raven black hair, chiseled cheeks a figure that most women dreamed of having.
Men fought just to be near her. The time he spent here, Neal quickly found that beneath that beauty, she was the opposite. He had never known a more heartless, soulless woman. She was one of the reasons why he had to leave that day.
Now as he looked at her, he saw a face that had aged well beyond her years. She wore heavy makeup as she tried to keep the ugliness inside from coming out.
Struggling to keep his smile he replied, "No painting, I assure you."
"Neal," Albert said. "I hope you had a nice rest." He impishly smiled at him. Albert was the other reason why he left. Peintre told him one day how disappointed he was with his children. He told Albert that Neal was more of a son to him that his own flesh and blood. Albert never let him forget that day. He still had a scar on his knee from the day he tripped him as he walked down the stairs. The secret he kept from Peintre the day he left was that one of the reasons why he left was his children.
"Please," Lilith beseeched him "Neal sit, sit. We have so much to talk about. So much catching up to do."
Nolano led Neal to a chair at the center of the table. Lilith sat at one end, Albert at the other. Neal hesitated to sit down, as he stared ahead. He saw a blank wall, the shadow of something that had hung on the wall for many years was clearly evident. Tightly gripping the chairs back Neal's fears were confirmed. Clearing his throat, he said, "Why don't we stop with the false pleasantries." He looked at Lilith, he knew she was the one in charge.
"False pleasantries?" Lilith said, as she sipped a red wine from a glass goblet. "What do you mean, dear Neal?
"I know why I'm here."
Placing the glass on the table, Lilith sat back. Hiking up her dress she crossed her legs. "Please, darling Neal, enlighten me."
Neal stared at the blank wall. "Eternity's gate, it was his favorite painting. Van Gogh was his favorite artist. When I painted it for him, he said he would never sell it, that it was priceless to him." Neal pointed to the empty walls surrounding them.
"Coming into this room, it was as if you walked into the Louvre. Where are they? The Rafael, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Renoir. All of them are missing." Neal looked at Lilith with disgust. "I know what happened to them. Once Peintre died you both lost your golden goose. I wondered how long you would last once he was gone. Once the money ran out you started selling his prized paintings. But even that didn't last long, did it? It took you just months before you began your art thefts.
But they stopped when they turned deadly. Albert said Sullivan got trigger happy. He was the one that put your art thefts on the FBI radar. I guess that's when you decided to stick with what works. But you needed someone who could paint like your father. His clients wouldn't accept anything less." Neal picked up a filled goblet and sipped the wine. "That would be me, am I right, sweet Lilith?"