The unveiling

A fantasy

This story is my very first short story; it was written right aftet my application to the painters and sculptors’ society was rejected.

The reason was very simple, I wasn’t a greaduate of one of their many day or evening schools, and what’s more I’ve writtin in my short bio the hated word ‘autodidact’. I’d during my service in West Africa a friendly relationship with Francois Gbenion, the most known painter of that part of the world, a graduate of L’ecole des beaux-arts in Paris, and he taught me the basics; and I’ve mentioned it in my bio, it didn’t impress them it seems.

When I came after the “verdict” to pick up my package with my sample paintings, I found it leaning against the wall with some more packages of other candidates. To my surprise it was covered with so much masking tape, I couldn’t open it up and check its contents. On coming home I’ve had to use a knife and work some three long minutes to open it up, and solve the riddle.

I found my five framed samples inside, drawings and acrylic paintings behind glass panes. One of them ‘The red mushroom’ depicting an atomic bomb mushroom’s glass pane was cracked. It must have fallen out of some ‘judge’ trembling hands. They could have told me on the spot, or leave a note of apology, I wouldn’t have said a single word �" and I don’t have to tell you how such an act should be termed.

Well, the outcome was this short story, and since then I’ve written several more.

 

 

 

 

THE UNVEILING?!?

A rather short surrealistic story

 

I’m descending the staircase with quite an amount of optimism; I’m still quite optimistic. But the closer I get to that hideous little box my optimism fades away. How can anyone expect a letter when there’s nobody to write to, and nobody to answer it, if… There’s always hope though to revive one’s heart, indeed, one should always be hopeful �" although the five tiny round dark holes in that box, are the very proof that it’s empty. 

A letter!!! A sudden outburst of movements takes place; a bundle of keys is pulled out in frenzy. The tiny tin door is almost torn off. Relax man! Slow down and don’t you tear it, the envelop is open. What’s that? An invitation… Someone is getting married?  A doubled and redoubled disappointment! 

“Dear and honorable Mr. X”. ‘Oh, what a delightful card, what a blissful moment! Let’s read it once again.

“Dear and honorable Mr. X, you are solemnly invited hereby to unveil the statue of naivety and innocence, at the public square in the gardens of anonymity �" do come incognito”. What an astounding invitation, what a treatment, I shall have to wear my top hat.  

 

The gardens of anonymity paradise on earth, vast green lawns stretched up to the horizon.

How long do I roam here, where does the ceremony take place? Where are all the guests? I must concentrate otherwise I won’t get anywhere.  

‘Dear and honorable Mr. X.’

Oh, there they are, a dark wall of human bodies and above their heads rises a familiar figure of a woman. Who is she? A Leonardo’s Madonna or a Raphael’s? Not at all, it’s some familiar woman, as simple as all that.

‘Dear and honorable Mr. X, would you please unveil the statue.’

I ascend the broad staircase all alone, me and my top hat and nothing else. So what! Why should I be ashamed? Big deal! Should I run about instead, looking for a fig leave? I ascend still but I can’t see any veil, a row of buttons that’s what I see… Do I have to strip this woman in public? Where are all the guests and where is that certain one, with that caressing voice of his? Doesn’t he wish to tell me a few more things?

Well, there’s something I’d better tell him: ‘Dear Sir, I’d rather undress. Oh, what a deplorable tongue’s slip. I’d rather unveil an abstract statue.’ 

 

© Haim Kadman  1975 �" All rights reserved.