Masterpiece (9 page)

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!”

M
arvin 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.”