Masterpiece Page 5

  Christina Balcony stepped forward. Her whole face changed. The pleasant mask of politeness dropped away. She reached for the drawing. “Your son drew this?”

  Denny peered over her shoulder and sucked in his breath.

  Christina crouched next to James, with the drawing between them. “You made this? By yourself?”

  James nodded, blushing.

  “Were you tracing something?”

  “No. It’s just—it’s just a copy of what’s outside my window at home.”

  Christina straightened and held the drawing at arm’s length, next to the works on the wall. “Look how similar it is to our Dürer miniature, the landscape here,” she said to Denny. “The execution . . . it’s really uncanny.”

  “I know,” said Karl. “That’s why we came. I told James this could have been done by a Renaissance master!”

  Christina moved along the wall of pictures, still holding the sheet of paper. “The line . . . it has the same fastidiousness. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  Marvin inched forward to hear her words more clearly. She’s talking about my drawing! he thought with delight. She’s comparing it to these famous pictures!

  Finally, she turned to them, her face flushed.

  “James,” she said. “Would you come with me? I want to show you something.”

  The Woman and the Sword

  Marvin quickly ducked back under James’s collar, worried about being seen. Christina’s face was so close, her eyes fixed on James.

  James pressed against his father’s leg.

  “What? Where?” Karl asked.

  Christina’s gaze returned to the drawing. “It’s extraordinary. It’s given me an idea.”

  Denny raised an eyebrow. “Her ideas are dangerous,” he said to Karl and James.

  “What are you talking about?” Karl turned from one to the other. “We’re only here for a couple of hours. I have to get James home by five o’clock.”

  Christina glanced around the gallery, at the elderly couples and the guided tours murmuring past.

  “It won’t take long,” she said, and Marvin thought her voice had a pleading note. “I’d love it if you could come to my office. I want you to see something.”

  Karl rested one large hand on James’s back. “But we’ve barely had a chance to look at the exhibit,” he said.

  “I know,” Christina said apologetically. “I won’t monopolize your afternoon, I promise. But if you come with me, I can show you some other Dürer drawings. Would you like that, James?”

  “I guess,” James said, his voice hesitant. He looked up at his father, and Marvin could see Karl’s impatience.

  “I’m sorry, but I’d really like to take him around the exhibit. That’s why we came.” He took the drawing from Christina, who released it very reluctantly. “And his mother will be upset if I don’t get him home for dinner. Perhaps another time.”

  Christina pursed her lips. “It won’t take long, Mr. Terik.”

  “Karl.”

  “Karl. You’ll still have time for the exhibit.”

  Denny, who had been standing nearby with a preoccupied expression, finally intervened. “Karl, if you don’t mind, it could be important. I ask you as a favor.”

  Marvin saw that Karl and Christina were facing each other, equally irritated. Finally, Karl shrugged. “Oh, all right. I don’t understand either the urgency or the secrecy, but all right. James?”

  James nodded his head, and they followed Christina through the gallery to a plain wood door tucked away in the corner.

  “Here?” James asked. “It’s like a secret door.”

  Christina smiled at him. “This is the entrance to the Drawings and Prints Department. Convenient, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve got it,” Denny said, pulling a small ring of keys from his pocket. He winked at James. “Full access for special friends of the museum. I’m trying to get a lot of use out of these before I have to give them back.”

  He turned the knob and held the door open for Karl, James, and Christina to enter. Marvin looked around in amazement. The nondescript door opened into a large study lined with bookshelves. There were doors and hallways opening off it, all hidden behind the wall of the gallery.

  “How long are you here for, Denny?” Karl asked.

  “Just a couple of weeks. Then back to the Getty. I won’t be sorry to leave this cold weather for my California sunshine, I can tell you that.”

  Christina Balcony’s office was at the end of a long corridor. It was a large room with windows overlooking Central Park, and floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books—probably fat, dusty volumes of art history, Marvin decided. There were a few battered wooden chairs around a long table. She indicated to them with one hand while she retrieved a big book from her desk. James, his father, and Denny sat down and waited. Christina balanced the book awkwardly in the crook of her arm and thumbed through the pages to a glossy reproduction of a pen-and-ink drawing.

  She set it down in front of James. “It’s another Dürer. Like the Fortitude drawing. This one is called Justice.”

  Marvin, still trying to shield himself from sight, could see that the drawing was similar to the drawing of the girl with the lion: the same small size, maybe three or four inches square, same color ink, same impossible level of detail. But this image was of a woman in a long flowing gown with a sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other. Her body was half-turned toward the viewer, and she gazed sadly past him, the scales raised, the sword heavy at her side.

  “Is it the same girl as the one with the lion?” James asked.

  “No,” Christina said. “Look at her face. Dürer’s people are always so real, each one distinct. But they share a kind of melancholy.”

  “What’s ‘melancholy’?” James asked.

  “Sadness,” Karl answered, watching Christina.

  “Right. A kind of sorrow.”

  “Why? Why are they sad?” James asked. Marvin thought they did look a little sad, but it was more than that. They looked as if they were deep inside themselves, thinking private thoughts.

  Christina lifted her shoulders. “Who knows, really? Dürer didn’t have a happy life. His marriage was difficult. His wife had a bad temper and cared mostly about money. He threw himself into his art as a way to escape that.”

  Marvin thought Dürer’s wife sounded a little like Mrs. Pompaday.

  “But he believed in beauty,” Denny added. “He once said, ‘What beauty is, I know not, though it adheres to many things.’ Dürer believed art was a way to find beauty in the most ordinary aspects of life.”

  “Like your drawing, James,” Karl said gently. “Taking that ordinary scene outside your window and turning it into something beautiful.”

  James blushed, his freckles dark on his cheeks. But his face filled with a shy smile.

  Christina continued to stare at the drawing. “Like any artist, Dürer put his life everywhere in his work. These drawings were a response to his own sadness and loneliness.”

  Karl frowned. “That’s quite an assumption to make.”

  Christina raised an eyebrow. “Assumption? We know a lot about his life from his letters.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but you’re assuming that his drawings are about his own life. The sadness you see could be a deliberate choice for this picture . . . something Dürer wanted to say about justice.”

  Marvin looked from one to the other. What were they going on about now? James’s even-tempered father suddenly seemed annoyed.

  Christina dismissed the comment, turning to James. “Whatever the reason, there’s always this intense, lonely quality in Dürer’s art. Do you see it?”

  Marvin wanted a closer look at the drawing. There was something powerful about the picture, but also something held back. Justice.

  “This picture wasn’t with the others,” James said.

  “No. . . . No, it wasn’t.” Christina exchanged a glance with Denny.

  Karl checked his watch.
“Is that it, then? Is this all you wanted to show us?”

  Christina’s brow furrowed. “What I wanted to show James, yes.”

  Marvin looked at them in bewilderment. He’d never seen Karl show such dislike for someone, and it seemed fully reciprocated.

  Christina crouched next to the table, her pretty face eye-level with James’s. “James, have you ever tried to copy something? Just the way you copied the scene outside your window? But not a scene, a drawing.”

  “You mean, like, trace it?” James asked.

  Christina shook her head. “No, not tracing. Copying the image yourself, just by studying the artist’s lines.”

  “No,” James said. “Well, I mean, sometimes . . . with cartoons. . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Do you think you could try with a Dürer drawing?”

  James looked puzzled. “This one?”

  “No,” Christina said quickly. “Not this one. The one from Denny’s museum that’s hanging in the gallery. Fortitude—”

  “What are you talking about?” Karl interrupted. “What would be the point of that?” He turned from Christina to Denny.

  Denny himself looked unsure. “You want him to copy Fortitude? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Christina said softly. “It’s probably hopeless. I just thought we’d see if he could make a good likeness of it.”

  “What—now? Here?” Karl shook his head. “I told you, we just came to see the exhibit. We don’t have time for James to start sketching things.”

  James had a panic-stricken look on his face, and Marvin could feel him trembling. “All my drawing stuff is at home,” he said.

  Christina straightened, resting her slender hand on the edge of the table. “That’s okay. If you’d prefer to take a copy of it home with you, that’s fine.” She flipped a page of the book. “Look, here it is, right after the Justice picture. You could take the whole book. I just—if you don’t mind, James, I’d love to see if you could do it.”

  She hesitated, still watching James. “Nobody looked as closely at the world as Dürer. Nobody cared as much about capturing its smallest details. Your drawing has that same sensibility.”

  Marvin felt his heart swell.

  Karl shook his head. “Dürer can’t compare to Leonardo or Michelangelo.”

  Christina tilted her head, considering. “No, not in the emotional force of the drawings. He didn’t have their originality and vision. He’s a quieter artist. But in sheer patience . . .” She hesitated.

  “Yes,” Denny echoed firmly. “In his faith that beauty reveals itself, layer upon layer, in the smallest moments—well, there’s no one like him.”

  “In truth, beauty . . . in beauty, truth.” Christina reached her hand across the table and gently turned the pages back to the drawing Justice.

  Denny slapped James’s shoulder. “So what do you say, James? I’m not exactly sure what our mysterious Ms. Balcony is planning, but want to give it a try?”

  Marvin couldn’t take his eyes off the drawing: the strong solitary woman, with her sword at her side and the brass scales dangling from one hand. He wanted to draw like this. He wanted to be inside the head of Albrecht Dürer, adding each particular detail, getting closer and closer to the truth.

  He knew what his parents would say. He knew what his entire family would say. It was dangerous, ridiculous even.

  But more than anything, he wanted James to say yes.

  “I don’t know,” James said. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Will you try?” Christina’s gaze was steady. “Please?”

  James looked up at her, biting his lip. “Okay,” he said finally.

  “Oh, James! Thank you!” She bent quickly and hugged him. Just for a moment, her glossy golden head dipped close to Marvin, and he could smell the clean, warm scent of her skin.

  Then she gasped. “OH, MY GOODNESS! A BUG!”

  Left Behind

  Marvin tried to dive out of sight, but before he could even register what was happening he felt a blow so forceful that it sent his entire body hurtling through space. He was upside down, turning in midair, the room a blur around him. He bounced off something hard—a wall? a bookshelf? Who could tell?—and crashed to the floor, where he lay on his back, legs waving.

  “Where is he?” James cried.

  “It’s okay, I brushed it off,” Christina said reassuringly. “But that was the strangest thing. It was right by your neck, under your collar. And in the winter too. Ugh!”

  “But where did he go?”

  Marvin couldn’t see anything from his inverted position. He pedaled his legs frantically, trying to heave himself upright.

  “I have no idea,” Christina said. “On the floor somewhere. It’s probably dead.”

  “WHAT?” Marvin heard James’s sneakers on the wood nearby.

  “Take it easy, buddy,” Karl said. “It’s only a bug.”

  Marvin was afraid he’d be seen, afraid he’d be stepped on. There was nothing more vulnerable in the world than a beetle on its back. He twisted and turned, desperately trying to flip himself. This was something he and Elaine had practiced at home, with varying degrees of success. He was much better at it than Elaine, he reminded himself, summoning his last shred of strength. Fortitude, he thought grimly.

  With a mighty heave, he threw himself over. He landed on his belly and ran across the floorboards . . . under the table, out of sight. Phew!

  From the shadows, Marvin could see four pairs of shoes. James’s were anxiously jittering.

  Karl crossed the room toward the door. “Let’s go, James. We barely have time to see the rest of the exhibit.”

  James stayed where he was. “But—”

  “Come on, buddy.”

  Christina’s black pumps tapped across the floor to James’s sneakers. “Do you want to take the book with you?”

  “No!” James burst out, then added quickly, “I want to do it here. Is that okay, Dad? Can we come back tomorrow?”

  He doesn’t want to leave me, Marvin realized gratefully. He’s making sure he’ll have to come back.

  “Tomorrow? The museum is closed on Monday.”

  “Yes, the exhibit halls are,” Christina said, “but not the offices. Actually, that would work out perfectly. You could come after school if you like, James. And I’ll make sure you have my office to yourself.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Karl protested. “I have no idea what his mother’s plans are—”

  “Well, of course you’ll have to check that he doesn’t have any other commitments,” Christina said smoothly.

  “I don’t have any other commitments,” James said. He crouched down, and Marvin could see his pale, serious face squinting at the floor. Over here, Marvin wanted to yell, not that it would have done any good. He tried to calculate whether he had enough time to run across the floor and climb onto James’s sneaker without being seen.

  “It’s up to your mother.” Karl paused. “But she isn’t likely to say yes if you’re late getting back today.”

  James sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll come tomorrow,” he said, a little too loudly.

  Marvin saw the black pumps pivot. “Here, James,” Christina said. “Take one of my cards. Call me and let me know when you’ll be here.” Her voice lowered, and Marvin could tell she was leaning down, speaking only to James. “I’m so excited about this. I’ll tell you more about the drawings tomorrow.”

  “About this one?” James asked. “Justice?”

  “Yes, and the others.”

  Marvin saw Denny’s shoes move to the door. “I can’t wait to hear this,” he said. “Maybe then we’ll know what you’re up to.”

  “James,” Karl said impatiently.

  “Okay, Dad,” James answered. Marvin watched the sneakers turn and trail reluctantly behind Karl’s scuffed loafers. All four pairs of shoes drifted into the hallway, the light went off, and the door closed with a thud.

  Marvin huddled in the dark. He listened to their footsteps echoing
down the hall until the room was silent.

  His parents would be crazy with worry, not knowing where he was. But what could he do about that now? James would be back tomorrow, Marvin felt sure of it. There was a connection between them, more than just the drawing. He knew James felt it too. Even though they’d only officially met that morning, it seemed as if they had known each other a long time. There was some mysterious click of understanding. Marvin had never felt that with anyone before.

  He crawled out from under the table and climbed one of its massive wooden legs. The book lay open in front of him, smelling faintly of mildew, a comforting musty odor that made Marvin think of the water-softened walls of home. He crept across its satiny pages and stopped at the edge of the Justice drawing. There, he settled down for the night, memorizing every line.

  In Christina’s Office

  Just as the morning sunlight slanted through the large windows, Marvin heard a clatter out in the hallway. Moments later, a stoop-shouldered custodian wearing a brown coverall pushed through the door. He dragged a large trash can and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Marvin flattened himself, diving into the hollow between the bound pages and the book’s thick cover. From there, he watched the custodian run his broom lazily over the floor, scooping a small pile of dust and debris into the trash, then wiping the tabletop disinterestedly with a rag. He didn’t bother to move the book, so Marvin was safe.

  Once the office was empty again, Marvin began to explore. He crawled down the table leg to the floor and then over to the far wall, quickly ascending to the windowsill. The view of the park was dizzyingly panoramic. Marvin could see feathery gray clusters of trees and thin asphalt paths cutting through winter grass. In the distance, people bundled in dark coats hurried away on their morning business, insignificant specks. This must be what beetles look like to humans, Marvin thought.