Prodigy - Part Four
Four days later:
“I wanted to thank all of you who travelled so far to be here.” I began as I took my place at the front of the room, “This past week has truly been one of the great experiences of my life. I, the heir to the Friedrich empire, have taken great pains in selecting an artist to bring under my tutelage, and that artist is..”
I paused as I looked out over the crowd; out at the sea of eyes filled with anticipation because for some reason, they believe that their work is good enough to be noticed by me. I understand why father was so picky now, when you’re a master at your craft it’s hard to find anyone that has the potential to stand on equal ground.
“Vincent Van Gogh.”
The crowd was crushed, save for Vincent himself, of course. A wave of shock rolled through them, followed by annoyance and envy. Being able to see so many people go through the five stages of grief right before my eyes was truly a marvel that I won’t soon forget.
They flooded out of the house even faster than they had come in, no doubt desperate to hide their head in the sand until they found someone with less refined tastes. But Vincent, oh he was eternally grateful. No one had ever noticed the nuances of his pieces before, and he had long ago resigned himself to remaining unknown.
But I knew he wouldn’t remain unknown for long, and I had to make sure it didn’t happen.
The weeks that followed passed with a blur; Vincent and I stayed up until all hours of the morning simply talking. He told me about his life, I shared stories of my father and growing up in the art world; and through all of this, something unexpected happened.
I found I began to enjoy talking with him. I began to look forward to seeing him. This simply would not do, and father would be very disappointed indeed.
So I began to do what I do best, I withdrew.
No longer would I take my meals with him, or share a nice bottle of vintage merlot with him in the parlor. I stayed in my quarters until it was time for us to paint, and Vincent never asked why; though I could feel his desperate eyes on me as we worked.
I took him to the tree where father and I had buried our last victim, and he went on for ages about how stunning it was. How the light hit the branches in such a way that felt like he was staring at the masterpiece of God himself.
“God could never create something with such reckless abandon.” I told him, “God craves control above all else; look at the way the gnarled wood shoots out in every direction. This is the work of chaos.”
“Chaos is beautiful.” He said in reply. That was the last word he spoke that day, but the way he looked at me as he said it; I knew he likened chaos and I as the same being.
We walked back to the house as the sun had started to set in silence, but I found myself thinking that it was possible that I didn’t have to continue my father’s work. Was it possible that I could settle down? Continue my father’s line instead of securing the legacy in the way he had?
These thoughts crowded my mind as I laid in my bed, waiting for sleep to take me.
I found myself once more at the tree where my father had seen the man on the moon. My father was still there, staring at the moon as if he would perish the moment that he took his eyes off of it.
“Father?” My voice struggled to pass my lips.
“Ah, my dear daughter.” He began as his eyes remained fixed on the moon, “Come, look here for a moment. Do you see him now?”
I glanced up towards the moon, and it was the same as it always was. Frustration built within me as I opened my mouth to respond.
“Father I-” I was in such a state of shock that my sentence refused to finish itself. I did see him!
“Father! There really is a man up there!”
“I told you.” He laughed as he spoke, as if I was finally seeing the world for the first time and all of the years he spent telling me that the sky was blue were finally paying off.
“How did he get up there, Father?”
“He’s always been there, my darling. He watches over us and makes sure that we stay on track.”
“Why us?”
“Because we were chosen.” He said as he placed his hand on my shoulder, “You must continue our work.”
“But father, I think I like this one.”
My father looked at me with sadness in his eyes, a sadness I had never seen from him before.
“You can’t have it both ways - trust me.”
With a gasp I awoke in my bed, though it took me a moment to orient myself as to where I was. My father’s words swirled in my mind.
“Trust you? You left me all alone and I’m supposed to trust you?” I threw the blankets back as my rage grew within me, “I can stop this if I wish, this was never my mission.”
Read the next part here:
Image: Tree of Crows by Caspar David Friedrich
