Chapter 6 #3
‘Okay. Next one… It was a risky gamble to paint an utopian vision of a part of the world shaken with conflicts. And Pavel was after recognition, you can’t deny that, Professor Charles.
So if he had this depressing background, and wanted to advertise it anyway, why not use it from the start?
Safer to go with The Lands of Sombre or—’
‘Because he had the courage not to go for safe. And he had the strength to forgive a world that had been ugly to him. To depict its beauty. To believe it’d get better.
Pavel didn’t lie in the book, but he didn’t lie in his early optimistic speeches either.
For all the shit he had to surmount, he believed.
He didn’t give his troubled upbringing the power to crush him into a…
a self-doubting shadow of himself. He didn’t— He was more than his ordeal… and…’
Charles stands and steps away to escape Loris’ disconcerted gaze.
‘That’s why you need Pavel’s past to be true? Because if he overcame it, then there’s hope for… anyone to overcome anything?’
‘I don’t need his past to be true. It just is. He was a complex person, and it’s wrong of you to deny it. If someone always seems in good spirits but one day shares something they’ve been struggling with all along, would you call them a liar?’
‘No! Okay, I’m aware I— No thanks, I’m still working on the first one.’
Charles puts the beers he had raised back into the fridge.
He doesn’t need another one either. What he needs is to shove nasty feelings back where they belong, which isn’t in this flat.
So he takes an instant to gather himself, focusing on the concert ticket stuck on the fridge.
A French rock festival, nineteen years ago.
Loris couldn’t have been older than five when it happened.
‘I’m aware my lecture reduced Pavel to a privileged glory hunter, but I know he was more layered than that, and I’m not criticising him for opening up about it.
I’m sceptical about his revelations in the form of The Mind of Wonders.
It’s too convenient, as if he built his backstory based on what was on the Lands, and not the other way around.
Plus, I hate that it alters the initial creative process he talked about.
But of course he was a complex person. Of course people are scarred and…
even more beautiful and interesting because of it. ’
Loris’ soft smile feels like a slap. Softness is dangerous. Charles needs to veer back.
‘Did you know that the book “ruins everything that’s great about Olwinski” before you read it?’
‘Kind of, yeah. My mum had warned me.’
‘So you were wearing your sceptical glasses from the front cover. You should put mine on and give it another read.’
‘Your glasses? Heart-shaped but dark tinted? I’m gonna pass. You wouldn’t wear mine.’
‘I did over the weekend.’ Charles pulls his coat closer to delve into his pocket. ‘I tried to find anything that’d justify your comment.’
‘Glad to hear that I got under your skin to the point of taking over your weekend.’
Charles rolls his eyes but doesn’t refute the statement, because Loris is teasing, and all is well. He replies to a message from Elsy and flops back down against the pillows.
‘You’ve got to go?’
‘Soon. I’m meeting Elsy. She was with me last week, I don’t know if you remember.’
‘She’s hard to forget.’ Loris sways away from the easel, only to move very close and add a firm pencil stroke. ‘Are you guys dating?’
Charles is about to recite is well-rehearsed answer, when it occurs to him that it’s superfluous in this flat. ‘No. We used to. Now she’s my ride or die. And I’m trying to be hers. She’s the best.’
‘She seems fun. And she’s beautiful. I’d be happy to draw her.’
‘I don’t think she’d let you.’
‘About that…’ Loris rubs his lips together, stroking the back of his neck. ‘I’ve started something without your permission and I’m soon gonna reach the point of no return.’
‘What are you on about?’
Loris points his chin at the easel, so Charles gets up, ready to be mind-blown again and to admit it without filters. But the drawing leaves him speechless.
Loris has greatly improved the fissured mirror, adding depth and a reflection among the waves. It’s only a sketch, split between several pieces of glass, but it’s remarkably expressive and distinctly Charles’ face.
‘I’m sorry if it’s too intrusive, even for the stalker in you. I was always gonna draw someone and… you were here, so it happened. But if you mind, I can erase you.’
‘It’s fine.’ Charles is too shocked to be bothered and wouldn’t be bothered in any case. ‘My grandfather is addicted to family oil portraits, so I’ve been there, done that. But how? You barely looked at me!’
‘I flick-look, it’s subtle. It brings the model to the support, and I trace it. If that makes sense.’
‘No, your talent doesn’t make sense, Loris. It’s scary good.’
‘So it’s okay? I can carry on and colour you?’
‘Yes…’
‘Awesome!’
‘As long as you reread The Mind of Wonders.’
Loris spins towards him, gaping, and Charles places his forefinger underneath his chin to lift it up.
‘Your call.’
‘This is artistic blackmail!’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And I’m super busy!’
‘As you said, you’re a great multitasker.’
Charles could actually drive Loris to binge-read the book in one night if he played the Olwinski trump card he has up his sleeve. But it’s obvious that he will get his own way without it, so he prefers to wait for a more epic opportunity to fry Loris’ mind.
‘Can I work on the drawing during the reading process?’
‘If I get updates on both, yes.’
‘Fine.’
‘Excellent!’
Charles offers him his hand to shake, and Loris quits the pouting act to take it.
‘I need to dig out the book from the box of stuff I’ve never used since I moved to London.’
‘If you can’t find it, I have three copies.’
‘Another supremely shocking revelation!’
Charles nudges him and walks to his clothes.
As he grabs his jacket, his palm prickles with the phantom heat of Loris’ skin – the way that sometimes makes him wonder if he’s still wearing his beanie minutes after removing it.
So he closes his fist to check that he truly freed Loris and isn’t having an inappropriate moment of absent-mindedness.
Charles steps out of the flat more reluctantly than he can explain. ‘Thank you for having me.’
‘Thanks for coming. We should do it again.’
‘Yes…’
‘Enjoy your evening, Charles.’
Loris has to force the S at the end of his name. It echoes like the call of an adventure Charles is free to launch himself into.
He climbs down six steps before looking over his shoulder.
Loris is quick to pinch his lips, but not quick enough to conceal his sunny expression.
Charles takes it with him onto the dark and windy street, and traces it on a canvas in his chest, hoping to tap into its powers in the future.
It would be valuable to feel inspiring more often.
Inspiring and inspired.
In the Uber, he opens a note application on his phone to write the outline of a character. An obedient, uptight young man, frozen for eternity in an oil painting. Until the frame falls and breaks. The young man escapes to go steal beers and defy all rules with a girl he adores.
His name is Frederick.
Charles doesn’t need to invent him. He needs to trudge through seven years of warped memories and remember.