THE AVENUE

This short story appears in my short stories collection THE UNVEILING, which is dedicated to stories that deal with art; or rather my own views on art. Well I was an art critic besides being a painter

THE AVENUE

After a very entertaining pleasant evening I walked along the main avenue of my home town. As I don't live there nowadays I've decided to cross it on foot, despite the late hour. The street lamps threw a flickering evasive light, which died time and again whenever the foliage canopy above hid them.

I was thinking about the meeting I had with a dear soul, the pleasant evening we passed together; I won't get down to details of course, the little I can say " no I'd better say nothing I decided resolutely to keep to what I've promised, a few moments earlier.

While I was getting closer to the junction at the end of this lovely avenue, I've noticed a dark silhouette moving before me. It must have been an old timer moving rather slowly a few yards by now before me. As I approached him I realized that I was right, it was an old man indeed. I moved alongside him slowly watching his features due to my habit, well I'm a painter and portraits are my specialty. He turned his eyes to me, and watched my face rather meticulously, just as I kept watching him.

'What does a man at your age do outside his home at this late hour?' I asked him.

He answered in some strange language but continued in English with a rather heavy pronunciation: 'What did you ask young man?'

I repeated my question and slowed my pace to suit it to his slow movement.

He chuckled softly and turned his eyes away looking aside, displaying his grey curled hair.

'I'm looking for the way to my home.' He said as he turned to watch me again. 'Is it a long way yet up to the Keisergracht Canal?'

'What, what are you talking about, what canal? We're near Habima our national theater.' I answered quite astonished.

'I mean the canal next to my house' where are we young man?' He kept asking me, watching me as if I was the heavenly angel that was sent to guide him back to his home.

'We're in Tel Aviv my home town, there aren’t any canals in it, in what town do you think you are?'

'I don't understand how did I get here, where am I, my God!' He opened up with some kind of a lament, raising his face upward.

'You may stay with me and pass the night at my place,' I offered him without understanding in full conscious why I've turned to him with such a suggestion. He must have reminded me of someone despite his old fashioned cloths, and although he looked like some homeless hobo.

'Holy mother of God,' he mumbled distressed, have I ever thought that I'll need to be pitied by a stranger… Doesn't the night watch pass here?' He asked all of a sudden, turning an anxious look to me, as if he has found some clue to depend on.

'This kind of question you'll have to ask our mayor.' He seemed to be rather confused, and I'd no intention to start questioning him without getting a reasonable answer.

Meanwhile we reached the avenue's end right before the paved road that separated the avenue from the National Theater square. We were in front of the huge three iron discs statue, which were set one on top of the other diagonally.

'What is this rusty and ugly thing?' He asked laughing aloud.

'That's the statue of one of our greatest sculptors,' I hastened to reply. I didn't like his rude remark expressing utter disrespect, and started to regret having invited him to pass the night in my place.

'Do you hear what your mouth has uttered? He asked me raising his voice, watching my face with a reproachful gaze.

'Who are you, what authority do you have? Have you any knowledge of art at all…?!?' Despite his old age I've decided not to keep my mouth shut, not in this humiliating situation.

'Well yes, I'm a celebrated artist, I've many pupils don't you recognize me?

'You do look familiar to me,' I said, but who knows he might be some impostor. 'What's your name?'

'Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn.' Hs replied proudly

I was quite shocked, but then another very familiar voice sounded in my ears.

'That's isn't the first time I've caught you speaking in your sleep, wake up you haven't much time left, be late for work you'll.'

Copyright © Haim Kadman 2013 " all rights reserved.