Read the first part here
***
‘You?’ Silva gurgled. ‘You’re from the exhibition’
‘I am, as you say from the exhibition. Not as an exhibit however, so if you could stop staring and ask me in I’d be much obliged. The air stings my skin tonight’
Her voice, a jangle of tiny stones grating against sand, flowing effortlessly out from between her lips, yet which felt like it came from a distance.
The uncanny strangeness of her posture added to her eerie aspect and Silva found himself crumbling under her lifeless gaze, unable to react or move to her words. He stood still, mouth open, words clamoring to rush out his face and falling out in a jumble of dimwitted gurgle.
She stood unmoving, breathing slow blinking slower; her every natural movement that looked like an act to Silva, like she’d forget to breathe or blink if she didn’t keep rehearsing it.
‘Excuse me, but I’d like to see a person about this pen, if you let me’ she spoke with a cadaverous calmness. Her each word devoid of emotion.
That voice emanating from her which looked like she was lip synching to. It came from somewhere else. That lifeless movement of her mouth couldn’t beguile the fact that she never spoke those words.
Silva felt his hands freezing, his feet suddenly bitterly cold and he realized the air was indeed chilly outside.
‘please come in’ he managed.
***
‘Did she walk or was she floating?’ Silva heard a mocking tittle beside him.
His fat companion was now burdened with a tray of small bites and a carafe bulging at the lip with pink cocktail.
‘I asked the bartended to do away with glasses and champagne’
‘Very wise of you’ Silva’s voice vibrated with a slur he foolishly tried to correct. ‘These stones are best stared at drunk’
‘What are you saying?’ the thickset woman spoke between mouthfuls, tactfully daubing her lips with a napkin. ‘There’s not a place in the world her sculptures are not known. Her exhibitions are the highlight in every country she travels, and the wealth of knowledge she collects from each place she’s visited is colossal. Her wisdom is prodigious.
It’s a gift to keep evolving her art with her worldly insights and her extraordinary ability to expertly fuse philosophy of every culture she’s familiarized herself with in depth.’
Silva’s plastered companion was squinting through her glasses and reading handed out P09 literature to make her oblivious drunk friend better understand the wonder that was P09.
‘why are you here?’ asked Silva.
‘Why of course, because I love art. Tonight’s exhibition was seven years in the making. It’s all everyone could talk about; an existence means little if it’s not present here today.. and my dear boy the allure of free alcohol which is this good is most definitely a deal maker.
Also I do not wish to brag about myself but I’m a great patron of art for art..whatever.
A sponsor really for poor and potential artists. I help them in their struggles, providing them guidance to climb artistic ladders so to say’ she spoke the last sentence with an all knowing wink at Silva ‘and if they’ve been very accommodating I also introduce them to great artists. Most of them go on to become interns, apprentices, going so far as to even become prosperous independent artists..err in their own right perhaps.
Why, almost a decade back I’d introduced one such young fellow to one of P09’s people. They were scouting for reasonable talent, you know as these big artistic houses do.
I think it’s a sort of charity, but yes I did introduce one lad with big dreamy eyes and the softest hands I’d ever known. He was a photographer with such beautiful visions. He’d talk all night about perspective and what he perceived as art form in photography; of course I didn't understand much of it but his youthful ambitions compounded with those dewy eyes, soft hands and vulnerable voice melted my heart into giving him up for art sake.
Those times I’d never forget’ she downed her entire glass of pink cocktail with the last sigh and with an embellished movement of her fat wrist dramatically wiped a tear from her eye.
‘You knowingly introduced someone to P09?’ Silva’s tone was harsh and the woman noted his fists were clenched.
‘Yes I did of course. Did a great favor to a poverty stricken nobody if you ask me’ said the bulky patron of art now beginning to notice the irked intonations in her drinking companions voice and replying in kind.
‘What is it to you? and why are you here if you don't like this place, these sculptures and her art?’
‘I’m here to talk to her about a pen’ Silva growled and walked off.
***
