TE22 Potpourri

Manuel Baixauli

UNKNOWN

on the street, all kinds of people were rushing to and fro. Look closel y, I said, almost everyone is deformed, ugly, grotesque. Look at thatman, his belly, and howhe walks, the poor schmuck. Look at that other one, with the hunchback. There’s nothing to be done. You’re born with a body, with a face, with genes that limit everything you’ll do, that closes a thousand doors. What can you do? Lose heart? She was listening attentively, I got inspired, and I just went for it.”

“Her father wasn’t walking out in the garden, he was in the apartment above the studio. I saw him for a second, he was watching us through a window on the inner patio.” “How do you know it was her father, and not her boyfriend, or a neighbor?” “Some of the paintings were self-portraits. Who knows: maybe it was her boyfriend and not her father, and she tricked me twice.” After a deep exhale, the Master asked Mateu how his painting was going. “My last show was a wash. I wonder if showing is even worth it.” “More than paint,” he continued, “I make drawings now, illustrations for articles that are published somewhere, I don’t know where. I have some on the back seat, if you want to see them.” The Master inhaled again and then blew the smoke and tossed the butt out the window, before turning around and grabbing a black cardboard portfolio. He opened it up, pulled out the drawings, and looked at them one by one. The Master lifted his eyebrows.

“ . . .”

“I said that her father hadn’t hit the lottery, but that she had. That her looks, and her voice, were fantastic, and rare, and that gave her power over people.”

“Master!”

“I didn’t stop there. I ran with it. You are paradise personified , I said, and kept my gaze on her, perhaps a bit too long.”

“And?”

“She avoided my eyes. There was a very long silence. Don’t bring me home , I said, I’ll find my own way . She didn’t look at me again. She’ll hate me forever. On the other hand, she was trying to pull a fast one over on me.”

“What?!”

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