Chapter 50

Around noon on Saturday, the day after my opera, Madeline found me in the parlor agonizing over an arrangement that had seemed glorious a week earlier, but now seemed lackluster.

Bessie had joined me, but only for the bites of sausage and grease I allowed her to lick off my plate and the tips of my fingers.

"There is a man wishing to speak to you," Madeline grimly announced.

I sat up in my chair and felt the knots in the middle of my back momentarily tighten from hours of sitting hunched over my desk. My right hand was also cramped due to holding my pen far too long.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He is carrying a large canvas," Madeline huffed. "Which he refuses to show me."

"Ah, yes, Claude Gillis," I replied.

After the night at the opera I had all but forgotten the artist and painting.

"You know him?" Madeline asked. She sounded as though the very idea was incredulous.

"I met him at the park. I purchased a piece of artwork from him."

"Did you see this...artwork...before you purchased it, or was it wrapped up then too?"

"I most certainly saw it. He was still working on it in the park. Best piece I had seen all day."

Madeline narrowed her eyes as though she could not tell if I was being facetious. After a long moment, she simply snorted at me.

"Well, he is inside with Charles enjoying tea," she said at last before she turned away.

"Do they know one another?"

"No, Charles invited Monsieur Gillis in when he said he was a painter. Alex is with them as well."

I placed my unfinished music into the desk drawer, returned upstairs for my mask and hairpiece, placed a sufficient amount of bank notes into an envelope to pay the artist, and walked out the back door to the Lowrys' home where I heard Alexandre exuberantly asking Monsieur Gillis what he would do if he fell into a pit of snakes.

"Are they poisonous?" Claude asked.

"No,"Alex said with an exasperated moan, clearly aghast at such a ridiculous question. "Snakes are venomous, not poisonous."

"Oh. My apologies," Claude replied.

"Half the snakes are venomous and...the other half can...fly!"

"Alex!" Meg gasped. "Why would you say such a thing?"

Despite her years of gardening, Meg still shrieked at any insect, reptile, or amphibian she discovered in her flowers or vegetables. Countless times her reaction startled me when I worked with the windows open, and I often saw her darting back toward the house with her hands flailing over her head and a trail of dirt behind her.

"Do I have any sort of weapon?" Claude asked. "Or tools?"

His question made me pause in the hall and smile to myself while my son fell silent for a moment. I knew without seeing him that Alex was mulling over the question and weighing the options in his fantasy of Monsieur Gillis trapped in a pit of snakes.

"You have rope!" Alex yelled.

"How long?"

"This long!"

"Then I choose to lasso the non-venomous flying snakes and have them carry me to freedom." He slapped his hand on the table and Meg applauded the outcome of the harrowing tale.

"That is what I think too!" Alex exclaimed. "You should paint flying snakes."

"Dear Lord, where is your father?" Meg said under her breath.

"Here," I said as I entered the parlor and found the four of them comfortably seated.

Claude stood at once and shook my hand. He looked younger than I remembered with his bright eyes and quick smile. The blue paint was still in his long hair and joined by a few strands of green.

"Monsieur Kire, an honor to see you once more. I was beginning to think you had reconsidered my work."

"Not at all. I am pleased you survived flying snakes in my son's imagination."

I found myself unintentionally staring at his threadbare jacket and shirt with a button about to fall off. His trousers were too short and one of the knees had been sloppily repaired. His clothes for our meeting were in no better shape than what he had worn in the park-and by the look on his face he was well aware of his appearance.

Claude's cheeks reddened and he offered a sheepish smile as he stared at his shoes, which were falling apart. He seemed to notice his socks sticking out through the tips of split leather for the first time and took a step back as though somehow he could hide his disheveled appearance.

"A bit of fun," Claude replied without looking me in the eye.

I saw my own lifetime of humiliation in his stance, the way he avoided my eye and took a step back to distance himself. There had been many times when I was more ashamed of my unwashed, tangled hair and filthy, tattered trousers than my ruined face as a boy enslaved in a traveling fair. The clothes I wore had been second-hand but in good repair at one time, but ten months of a single shirt and two pairs of trousers and before long I looked every bit the monster Garouche, the head of the gypsy fair, described to the crowds.

"The painting is finished?" I asked in order to change the subject.

"Yes, Monsieur, completed and dried," Claude answered before he turned away and grabbed the canvas wrapped carefully in brown paper that was propped up against the wall.

Without warning, Claude ripped the paper from the canvas, causing Alex and Meg to both gasp dramatically before they applauded as though the unveiling of Claude's painting was most impressive.

"Aunt Meg! Do you see it?" Alex yelled despite sitting between Charles and Meg. He reached over and jostled her shoulder.

"It's a dog on a piano," Meg politely replied. "In a field of lavender."

Claude propped the painting up on a long table in front of the window and stood beside his work. He shoved his free hand into his pocket while Charles reached for his glasses on the table beside his wheelchair and looked over the artwork. Eyes narrowed, Charles rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger.

"The piano in the middle of the field represents the desire to be heard and the field is the loneliness we all carry and the fear of being alone, which is vast yet still beautiful," Charles said.

Alex made a face, which seemed to mirror the expression of the artist. I hoped I had not purchased a painting so lugubrious in meaning.

"Is that true?" Alex asked as he turned his attention back to Claude.

Claude looked somewhat surprised by my son's question. "Would you care to tell me what your interpretation is, Monsieur Alexandre Jean Kire?"

Alex did a near flawless imitation of Charles by stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he narrowed his eyes and studied the painting for a moment.

"I see…" Alex said slowly. "A dog who was balancing a ball on its nose, but then his master hit the wrong key on the piano, so the dog dropped the ball and the pianist ran to find it in the field." Alex finished with a nod and proudly crossed his arms.

Claude grinned at Alex. "That is highly likely." He looked from my son to me. "And I am certain your father has no idea what that is like."

Clearly Claude Gillis had no idea what it was like to live with a child who was prone to frequent and sudden outbursts such as my son. Quite frankly I wasn't sure how I had never dropped my violin when Alex startled me.

"Father, what do you see?" Alex asked.

"I see a poodle on a piano in a field."

"Everyone sees that," Alex said, clearly unimpressed by my lack of rampant imagination.

Charles sat back and studied the painting again. "If you do not mind me asking, Claude, what was your intention when you started this particular painting?"

Claude inhaled and offered a boyish shrug. "My only intention was to entertain. I felt no need to paint a vase or stiff portrait or something utterly..." He gestured as he searched for the correct word.

"Pretentious," we both said in unison.

"Yes!" Claude snapped his fingers, and for a moment I was reminded of Archie Leach. He caught himself too late and cleared his throat. Once again his gaze lowered to his shoes. "My apologies, Monsieur Kire, Monsieur and Madame Lowry; I seem to have forgotten my manners."

"Monsieur Gillis," Alex said as he hopped from his chair and walked toward the artist and the canvas. "What would happen if a squid and an octopus battled?"

"What are they battling over?" Claude asked without missing a beat.

I was somewhat taken aback by Claude's quick reply. Most of the time when Alexandre asked me such questions I remained stupefied for several moments while I processed his nonsensical inquiry.

Alex pursed his lips and began wiggling his fingers at his sides. "I'm not certain."

Claude offered an earnest nod. "The true love of a snail princess, perhaps?"

Alex shook his head. "Fighting over girls is un...undigging."

"Ah, yes, undignified," Claude said. "I am not familiar with the currency used by sea creatures, but perhaps it was a financial disagreement?"

Alex still wasn't convinced that this was the cause of his fantasy battle. He made a face and eventually shook his head.

"Alex, darling," Meg gently interjected. "Why don't you save your question for later. I do believe you have exhausted your father's guest with your questions."

Claude opened his mouth and began to raise his hand, but Alex turned away and started to return to his chair. He took two steps before his expression brightened and he whirled around to face Monsieur Gillis once more.

"Would you join us for supper?"

Claude smiled back at him. "I appreciate your invitation, Monsieur Alexandre Jean Kire."

"Will you return for supper tonight?" Alex asked. He was keenly aware that his invitation was not accepted, but merely appreciated.

"I will do my very best to return for supper."

To my surprise, that satisfied Alex. Meg rose from her seat, placed her hand on Alex's shoulder, and asked him to help her with the twins.

Once Meg and Alex exited the parlor, Claude looked over his painting one last time. "I appreciate your purchase, Monsieur Kire. I cannot express my gratitude enough."

I reached into my overcoat pocket and handed him the envelope stuffed full with bank notes.

"Full payment for your work as well as a small sum for delivery."

From down the hall, I heard Alex shout that we were in the parlor, which I assumed meant Julia had quietly entered the house.

Claude worked his jaw in silence as he reached out and accepted the envelope. "You did not need to include anything for delivery. It was no trouble at all, I assure you, and I would have gladly walked the length of the country to delivery this to you personally."

He fumbled with the envelope and managed to finally shove it into his pocket before he shook my hand. "You are quite charitable," he said without looking me in the eye.

The last thing I wanted was for Claude Gillis to leave the house with the misconstrued notion of his work being purchased out of sheer pity.

As a child, I had despised people staring at me as though I needed their sorrow almost as much as I despised their shrieks of disgust and apathy when they saw my face. Shackled and caged, I could do nothing to remedy my threadbare, dirty clothing. I suspected Claude did not have the means to purchase new waistcoats and have trousers and shirts tailored to his liking.

"Payment for the hours you spent on your work, the materials used, and your time in order to deliver it personally is not an act of charity," I assured him.

He looked like a scolded child standing before me. Eyes averted, his cheeks reddened again. "I appreciate your generosity. From one artist to another, Monsieur."

Julia tapped on the open door and smiled at the three of us. "Monsieur Gillis, how wonderful to see you. Alex tells me he invited you to supper?"

"I am not able to attend supper tonight, I'm afraid," he said. "A few of us starving artists had arrangements this evening for a night of drinks thanks to a Dutch fellow whose brother has been exceedingly generous. Perhaps a different time."

"We will not be home for supper tonight," Julia replied. She looked at me and I blankly stared back. "We have supper with your cousin," she reminded me.

"Of course," I said.

"Tomorrow night?" Charles suggested. He turned his attention back to Claude. "I have a couple of friends accompanying me after supper for a night of gin rummy if you would like to play."

"I am not very good at card games, Monsieur Lowry."

"Well thank God for that. I would hate to have to retract my invitation if you were better than the three of us."

To that Claude laughed. "Then I shall gladly bumble along with you."

"Tomorrow at eight, then? Supper at the Kire residence followed by gin rummy here in our parlor at nine-thirty. We take turns losing to a fellow named Alfred Kite."

Apparently I was now hosting Claude Gillis for supper. I arched a brow at Charles for solidifying plans for the following evening not only in his home, but mine as well.

Claude, however, noticed my expression and shifted his weight. "Perhaps a game of cards only," he suggested.

"Fine," I answered.

Claude momentarily stammered. He chuckled nervously and gave a slight nod. "I should be heading out. Thank you again, Monsieur Kire. Monsieur Lowry, it has been a pleasure to meet you."

Julia sighed heavily and issued a pointed look in my direction before she smiled at Claude. "Monsieur Gillis, you are more than welcome to have supper in our home. We live directly behind the Lowrys."

"Yes, your son explained the arrangements quite thoroughly. That is kind of you, Madame."

"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night." Julia motioned toward the door. "Here, I will show you out."

Once Julia left the parlor with Claude in tow, Charles stared up at me.

"I beg your pardon?" I said.

He opened his mouth, worked his jaw in silence, and at last looked away. "The invitation for a game of cards extends to you as well, Monsieur."

Over the years Charles had invited me off and on to to a card game he and his friends enjoyed roughly once a month. They gathered in the study-my study-for several hours and debated politics, discussed books and philosophy, and occasionally music. They were quite subdued and polite, which made it nearly impossible for me to overhear their conversations from the comfort of my room, especially when Alex quite loudly asked what I was doing standing behind the door.

"I will consider it," I said just as Julia returned to the parlor.

Charles scratched the back of his head and grunted. "We have gone from outright denial to considering my invitation. In another seven years you might accept."

Julia pursed her lips to prevent a chuckle from escaping as she was quite familiar with my disagreeable nature and unfortunate need to challenge the most inconsequential details. She looked from me to Charles and ran her hand up my spine as though I were a cat in need of soothing.

"Monsieur Lowry," I said quite sternly. "I accept your invitation for nine-thirty tomorrow evening."

Charles extended his hand to me and grinned. "I am honored to host you in my home."

"The honor is mine."

With that I took my painting home and hung it in the dining room above the buffet table. As I took a step back and examined the positioning on the wall, I couldn't help but think I would have much rather enjoyed staring at the poodle atop a piano-or falling into a pit of venomous snakes-rather than be subjected to Phelan Kimmer's sneer from across the dining room table at his brother's home.