Page 114 of Theo of Golden

Dear Mr. Zila,

I am six.

You draw nice.

I like to draw.

When I grow up, I want to draw.

From,

Asher

The reply to that little boy’s letter, Asher knew, was in a frame in the hallway on the wall of his studio, signed simply, “Zila.”

Asher would read the letters again when his head was clearer. But not that night. He knew enough for the moment. And true to Theo’s prediction, he had a host of questions that would never be answered.

Asher rose from the chair, stepped out onto the balcony, drew a deep breath, and stood with a weary gaze over the Promenade.

There was, and would be, much to think about.

Much to cherish.

Much to lament.

A whisper, something about good sadness and great love, passed through Asher’s mind.

He walked back indoors, gazed at the portrait, gathered up the letters, and was putting them in the envelope when he remembered the small box.

He sat down and opened it.

A necklace, just as Theo had described it, opal on a gold chain, in the shape of a heart, was in the box with a simple note.

It was my pledge.

Before turning off the lamp, Asher leaned forward, elbows on knees, toward the portrait of himself, as if nearness to it would somehow place him close to Theo again. Every brush stroke and line, after all, had been the work of the old man’s fingers, some perhaps very recently.

Only then did Asher realize that a second canvas had been placed beneath his portrait.

He carefully removed “himself” from the easel and placed it on the floor.

The second canvas was eighteen inches square. It was an oceanside scene. The bulk of the painting was sky and sea in various shades of blue and aquamarine with wisps of cloud and a seagull.

In the foreground, occupying the bottom third of the canvas, was a field in lush green and ochre. It appeared to end at a cliff that overlooked the sea.

No beach was visible.

In the field stood an easel.

At the easel stood a painter, largely obscured from view. Legs and portions of one arm were visible but no face or torso.

Asher, to confirm a hunch, looked at the back of the canvas. It said:

Me painting you painting me. I love you.

He turned off the light and walked home.

EPILOGUE