Aftershocksgesture studyLight.
A wash of morning sunlight came through the window and glittered on the surface of the portrait; but it only seemed to enhance the magnificent, eternal drama in the painting itself, as light and shadow wrestled for possession of the old man’s face. There he stood, the plumes on his helmet almost seeming to flutter in the morning breeze, forever caught between the darkness of his past and the bright hope of a glorious future.
The deep creases in his craggy face, the tired wise eyes, spoke to the Professor. He, too, had fought in too many battles and was ready to pause and take stock, even if true rest could not be found this side of the grave. It was better so: better to outlive one’s enemies, even if the soul grew weary and the bones ached more each year.
Ruth Collins was dead. Rolf Schmidt was dead. That Brandenburg cow had said nothing, refusing to cooperate with the authorities – although it would be safer if she, too, could be taken care of so that she would not be able to change her mind about that.
And he had his treasure back. The b*tch had screwed it out of him, under threat of exposure; now it glowed in even greater splendour than before she had made her obscene demands. In forty-five years, he’d never even thought to have it professionally restored; now, the proud commander’s face glowed in the flood of light that had grown so dim under the heavy burden of time. The painting, his greatest prize and his secret triumph, was home again, hanging on his wall where he could see it every day.
He’d already re-stretched the canvas. Finding a proper frame for it would take longer; but it had been such a relief to cast aside the hideous, heavy gilt frame that the Brandenburg woman had inflicted on his treasure. That vile cow. How could a woman get her claws on so much of the world’s most rarified beauty, and still have no more taste or refinement than a cheap whore?
Once, he had thought only of selling it – fine as the piece was, it took money, not art, to buy security and the ordinary comforts of life. It was money that persuaded people to look the other way, until so many years had passed that they had forgotten there was anything to ignore. Thank God he had never had to go so far. There had been other works of art, and they had fattened his pockets and guaranteed a peaceful, comfortable life; but it was his treasure that brought true glory to his survival. Every time he looked at it, he knew in his heart that, whatever the outcome of the war, he himself was the eternal victor.
