The last judgement

A short story, a fantasy.

The last judgment

After a somewhat disappointing visit in Florence, I've returned to Rome in a hurry I dare say, and found myself in some obscure bar, without any entertainment or at least background music;

 I consoled myself with a goblet of Valepolicela wine, I'm not fond of ordinary Chianti.  

I'd enough time to think about my visit at the 'Ofici in Florence, except Botticelli's 'La Primavera' in all its grandeur and a Leonardo drawing,

 I haven't enjoyed the visit in that small museum, as I expected it to be.

At the Academy I've watched with much curiosity and regret the original cracked statue of David by Michel Angelo. It fell long ago by some accident and it's some twelve and a half feet tall. I saw a copy of it in Florence main square, I've visited the Jewish quarter; and crossed on foot the bridge over the Arno river, which is used to human dwelling too right above the water " and that was it.

I'm very hopeful that in Rome I'll see much more. But how did I reach that bar wasn't clear to me. I wasn't able to concentrate and plan my next steps, human bustle filled up the place, I felt like being in a beehive. I looked around watching the few human figures close to me, and the silhouettes that were a bit far from me. All of a sudden someone appeared out of the darkness, and reached the table next to mine.

'Senior Buonarotti me dispiace ma lei non ha pagato per la cena de ieri sera (Mr. Buonarotti, I'm sorry but you did not pay last night's dinner).

Before Michel Angelo managed to open his mouth, I rose nimbly to my feet and declared aloud: 'Lo pago io!' (I'll pay it).

'Vabene,' the stranger replied rather satisfied and left, and merged with the darkness.

'How dare you and who the hell are you? But do sit down I've forgotten my purse at home again.'

I sat opposite Michel Angelo, watched his features, his broken nose, his beard and unkempt hair; who would have believed it, me sitting with Michel Angelo at the same table…!

'That was the owner I'm in excellent relations with him,' Michel Angelo assured me. 'But I'm not roaming around with dinero.'

'It's okay maestro Buonarotti, I've settled the matter with him, you don't have to worry at all.'

'What are you drinking senior hum…?' He asked me intrigued.

'Valpolicella,' I answered briskly, I didn't feel any need to identify myself a mortal that I'm, before the immortal genius.

'You've a good taste,' he noted and raised an arm to summon a waiter. A young waiter emerged right away from darkness.

'Una bottiglia de Valpolicelo ti prego.' (a bottle of Valpolicela please). The maestro ordered and sent him to fetch it right away.

'You speak like a Spaniard not soft as we do, what brings you to Rome?'

'I've come to watch your Sistine Chapel.' I replied excited.

'If you wouldn't have treated me with such politeness, I would have thought that you're mocking me.'

'What, but the entire world adores your Last Judgement…!'

'Well that was indeed my day of judgement, if the Pop wouldn't have broken his cane on my back, and wouldn't have forced me to do it I wouldn't have done it. I'm a sculptor not a painter!' He remarked raising his voice. 'I keep away from the Chapel, I'm not able to see again that fresco… But if you'll wish to see my Moses or my La pieta, you'll make me happy.'

'Are you working on a new creation, may I perhaps…'

A screeching of brakes filled my ears, light flooded suddenly my eyes.

'Rome's terminal, we were very pleased to serve you ladies and gentlemen.' The driver's voice sounded all over the bus loudspeakers.

© Haim Kadman July 2012 " all rights reserved.

 

Reviews

[Marie]

How wonderful. Even to dream of Michael Angelo would be almost like speaking to God.

[Haim Kadman]

Thanks so much dear Marie, I adore the renaissance era art, I've visited the Cistine Chapel twice and was amazed each time by "The lass judgment the ceiling and the prophetes on top of the walls on both sides of that amazing Chapel.

[Marie]

I have no doubt of its beauty, and have always wanted to see it.