cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第17部分

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d　Melvillean　as　it　had　been　in　photos　of　the　old　artist　taken　in　the　twenties。
　　Physically；　Debierue　was　asthenic。　Long…limbed；　longbodied；　slight；　with　knobby　knees　and　elbows。　Advanced　age　had　caused　his　thin　shoulders　to　droop；　of　course；　and　there　was　a　melony　potbelly　below　his　belt。　His　sunbronzed　skin；　although　it　was　wrinkled；　gave　the　old　man　a　healthy；　almost　robust　appearance。　His　keen　blue　eyes　were　alert　and　unclouded；　and　the　great　blade　of　his　beaky　French　nose　did　not　have　those　exposed；　tiny　red　veins　one　usually　associates　with　aged　retirees　in　Florida。　His　full；　sensuous　lips　formed　a　fat　grape…colored　〃O〃…a　dark；　plump　circle　encircled　by　white　hair。　His　blue　stare；　with　which　he　returned　mine；　was　incurious；　polite；　direct；　and　distant；　but　during　the　long　unfortable　moment　we　sat　in　silent　confrontation；　I　detected　an　air　of　vigilance　in　his　sharp　old　eyes。
　　As　a　critic　I　had　learned　early　in　the　game　how　unwise　it　was　to　give　too　much　weight　or　credence　to　first　impressions；　but　under　his　steady；　unwavering　gaze　I　felt…I　knew…that　I　was　in　the　presence　of　a　giant；　which；　in　turn；　made　me　feel　like　a　violator；　a　criminal。　And　if；　in　that　first　moment；　he　had　pointed　to　the　gate　silently…without　even　saying　〃Get　out！〃…I　would　have　departed　without　uttering　a　word。
　　But　such　was　not　the　case。
　　Berenice；　her　hands　folded　in　her　lap　over　her　chamois　drawstring　handbag；　sat　quietly；　and　there　she　would　sit　until　I　got　out　of　the　car；　walked　around　it；　and　opened　the　door　on　her　side。
　　I　was　uninvited；　an　unexpected　visitor；　and　it　was　up　to　me　to　break　the　frozen　sea　that　divided　us。　Apprehensively；　and　dangling　the　Land　camera　from　its　carrying　strap　on　two　fingers；　I　got　out　of　the　car　and　nodded　politely。
　　〃Good　afternoon；　M。　Debierue；〃　I　said　in　French；　trying　to　keep　my　voice　deep；　like　Jean　Gabin；　〃at　long　last　we　meet！〃
　　Apparently　he　hadn't　heard　any　French　（and　mine　wasn't　so　bad）　for　a　long　time。　Debierue　smiled…and　what　a　wonderful；　warmhearted　smile　he　had！　His　smile　was　so　sweet；　so　sincere；　so　insinuating　that　my　heart　twisted　with　sudden　pain。　It　was　a　smile　to　shatter　the　world。　His　ageruined　mouth；　purple　lips　and　all；　was　beautiful　when　he　smiled。　Several　teeth　were　missing；　both　uppers　and　lowers；　and　those　that　remained　gave　a　jack…o'…lantern　effect　to　his　generous　mouth。　But　the　swift　transformation　from　mournful　resignation　to　rejuvenated；　unrestrained　happiness　changed　his　entire　appearance。　The　grooved　down…pointing　lines　in　his　face　were　twisted　into　swirling；　upswept　arabesques。　He　rose　stiffly　from　his　chair　as　I　approached；　and　shook　a　long　forefinger　at　me　in　mock　reproach。
　　〃Ah；　M。　Figueras！　You　have　shaved　your　beard。　You　must　grow　it　back　quickly！〃
　　His　greeting　me　by　name　that　way　brought　sudden　moisture　to　my　eyes。　He　pumped　my　hand；　the　single　up…anddown　European　handshake。　His　long　spatulate　fingers　were　warm　and　dry。
　　〃You…you　know　me？〃　I　said；　in　unfeigned　astonishment。
　　He　treated　me　to　the　first　in　a　series　of　bona　fide　Gallic　shrugs。　〃You；　or　another…〃　he　said　mysteriously；　〃and　it　is　well　that　it　is　you。　I　am　familiar　with　your　work；　naturally；　M。　Figueras。〃
　　I　gulped　like　a　tongue…tied　teen…ager；　abashed；　not　knowing　what　to　say；　and　then　noticed　that　he　was　looking　past　my　shoulder　toward　Berenice。
　　〃Oh！〃　I　said；　running　around　the　car；　and　helping　Berenice　out　the　door。　〃This　is　my　friend；　M。　Debierue；　Mlle　Hollis'
　　Berenice　glared　at　me　when　I　pronounced　her　name　〃Holee；〃　and　said；　〃Hollis；　Mr。　Debierue；〃　in　English；　〃Berenice　Hollis。　And　it's　a　pleasure　to　meet　you；　sir。'；
　　Debierue　kissed　her　hand；　and　I　thought　（I　was　probably　oversensitive）　he　was　a　little　uneasy；　or　put　off　by　her　presence。　He　didn't　know…and　there　was　no　unawkward　way　for　me　to　enlighten　him…whether　she　was　truly　just　a　friend；　my　mistress；　my　secretary；　or　a　well…heeled　art　patron。　I　decided　to　say　nothing　more。　He　would　be　able　to　tell　for　himself　by　the　way　she　looked　at　me　and　touched　my　arm　from　time　to　time　that　we　were　on　intimate　terms。　It　was　best　to　let　it　go　at　that。
　　The　old　man's　English　was　adequate；　despite　a　heavy　accent；　and　as　we　talked　in　French；　that　beautiful　late　April　afternoon；　he　or　I　occasionally　translated　or　made　some　ment　to　Berenice　in　English。
　　〃I'm　one　of　those　obscure　journalists　who　presume　to　criticize　art；〃　I　said　modestly；　with　a　nervous　smile；　but　he　stopped　me　by　raising　a　hand。
　　〃Non；　no；　no〃…he　shook　his　head…〃not　obscure；　M。　Figueras。　I　know　your　work　well。　The　article　you　wrote　on　the　California　painter　。。。？〃　He　frowned。
　　〃Vint？　Ray　Vint；　you　mean？〃
　　〃Yes；　that's　the　name。　The　little　fly。　That　was　so　droll。〃　He　chuckled　reflectively。　〃Do　not　feel　guilty；　M。　Figueras。〃　He　shrugged。　〃The　true　artist　cannot　hide　forever；　and　if　not　you；　another　would　e。　Now；　e！　e　inside！　I　will　give　you　cold　orange　juice；　fresh　frozen　Minute　Maid。〃
　　I　was　flattered　that　he　knew　my　work　as　well　as　my　name；　or　at　least　one　article…I　checked　myself…written　in　English；　at　that；　and　not　to　my　knowledge　translated　into　French。　But　why　did　he　mention　this　particular　article　on　Vint？　Ray　Vint　was　an　abstract　painter　whose　paintings　sold　sparsely…for　a　dozen　good　reasons　I　won't　go　into　here。　Vint　was　an　excellent　craftsman；　however；　and　could　get　all　the　portrait　work　he　desired…more；　in　fact；　than　he　wanted　to　paint。　He　needed　the　money　he　made　from　portraits　to　be　able　to　work　on　the　abstracts　he　preferred　to　paint。　But　because　he　hated　to　do　portraits；　he　also　hated　the　people　who　sat　for　them　and　provided　him　with　large　sums　for　flattering　likenesses。　He　got　〃revenge〃　on　the　sitters　by　painting　a　fly　on　them。
　　In　medieval　painting；　and　well　into　the　Renaissance；　a　fly　was　painted　on　Jesus　Christ's　crucified　body：　the　fly　on　Jesus'　body　was　a　symbol　of　redemption；　because　a　fly　represented　sin　and　Jesus　was　without　sin。　A　fly　painted　on　the　person　of　a　layman；　however；　signified　sin　without　redemption；　or　translated　into　〃This　person　is　going　to　Hell！〃　Ray　Vint　painted　a　trompe…l'oeil　fly　on　every　portrait。
　　Sometimes　his　patrons　didn't　notice　the　fly　for　several　days；　and　when　they　did　they　were　unaware　of　its　significance。　They　were　usually　delighted　when　they　discovered　it。　The　fly　became　a　conversational　gambit　when　they　showed　the　portrait　to　their　friends：　〃Notice　anything　unusual　there　about　my　portrait？〃
　　Artists；　of　course；　when　they　saw　the　fly；　laughed　inwardly；　but　said　nothing　to　the　patrons　about　the　meaning　of　the　Vintian　trademark。　I　had　hesitated　about　whether　to　mention　Vint's　symbolic　revenge　when　I　wrote　about　him；　not　wanting　to　jeopardize　his　livelihood。　But　I　had　decided；　in　the　end；　to　bring　the　matter　up　because　it　was　a　facet　of　Vint's　personality　that　said　something　implicit　about　the　emotionless　nature　of　his　abstracts。
　　As　I　guided　Berenice　into　the　house　in　Debierue's　wake；　holding　her　left　elbow；　I　became　apprehensive　about　the　old　painter's　offhand　remark　and　dry；　brief　chuckle。　A　chuckle；　unlike　a　sudden　smile　or　a　sincere　burst　of　laughter；　is　difficult　to　interpret。　Whether　a　chuckle　is　friendly　or　unfriendly；　it　merely　serves　as　a　nervous　form　of　punctuation。　But　to　mention　one　particular　incident；　or　paragraph；　out　of　the　thousands　I　had　written；　and　the　〃fly〃　symbol　at　that；　caused　the　knot　of　anxiety　in　the　pit　of　my　stomach　to　throb。　The　fact　that　he　had　read　my　piece　on　Vint　（not　a　hack　job；　because　I　don't　write　hack　pieces；　but　it　certainly　wasn't　one　of　my　best　articles…Vint's　work　simply　hadn't　been　good　enough　for　a　serious　in…depth　treatment）　could　be　a　hindrance　to　me。
　　No　one　knew；　because　Debierue　had　never　mented；　what　the　old　man　had　thought　about　Gait's　article；　with　its　fanciful　〃Chironesque〃　interpretations；　but　writers　with　reputations　much　greater　than　mine　had　been　turned　down　subsequently　when　they　had　asked　the　painter　for　interviews。　After　the　Gait　article；　Debierue　had　every　right　to　distrust　critics。
　　Damn　Galt；　anyway；　I　thought　bitterly。　Then　I　saw　the　gilded　baroque　frame　on　the　wall　and　pointed　to　it。
　　〃That　isn't　the　famous　No。　One；　is　it？〃
　　Debierue　pursed　his　lips；　and　shrugged。　〃It　was；〃　he　answered