The canvas

Hot Springs, Arkansas1

The dark-head young man paused in front of a whitewashed Victorian apartment in the 34th street. He eyed the place with practice gaze. The apartment stood at the end of a small Victorian terrace. Every front door was recessed to make an elegant little entrance porch, and each window was set out in a bay that made the rooms very bright. 2

He fumbled for his keys in his coat pocket. Then he painstakingly tossed his head around him, making sure that no one was snooping behind him. He hastily snatched the front door open and went inside, shutting the door behind him carefully.3

The phone rang just as he had dashed in the foyer. The young man picked up the phone. “Ah-uh… ‘Just arrived… merci.” He hung up. It was the agent inquiring if the lodger has arrived.4

He mounted the flights of stairs, carrying his suitcase. He heard the phone ring again. He ignored it. Some nosy neighbors, perhaps, Raphael thought. He settled in a room overlooking a vast apple orchard. The trees have already blossomed and would soon yield ample fruits of knowledge. 5

It could have been an exquisite sight to the artist’s orbs. But Raphael has closed his eyes to the beauty of nature and vowed never to paint again. So, why on earth that he was here- in this place simply called the Natural State? Raphael wanted to laugh suddenly, perhaps from bafflement.6

But who could blame him? His senses were dead. They died that summer night when his brother left this world. Months have already passed since that fateful day, but it seemed as if it happened only a day before. 7

Raphael Vincent closed his eyes and with an effort overcame a sudden sickness.8

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He was taking an amble walk on the deserted sidewalk when flashes of camera caught him by surprise. A skinny, boyish-looking girl held the camera in poise to take him another shot. 10

“Hey!” He charged at her, instantly angered. “Que-failes-vous?” Raphael snatched the camera from the demoiselle. 11

The girl giggled. “Oh, what a nice hat you’ve got.”12

Raphael’s brows furrowed in surprise and confusion. “What? Are you crazy? I’m not wearing a hat.”13

To this she laughed. “I must have only imagined it.” She looked at him searchingly. Raphael shied away, afraid that she might recognize him. The girl followed him, desperate to catch up with his pace.14

“You’re not from this part. Are you?”15

“Bugger me.”16

“Forgive me for prying, mister. Where do you live right now?”17

“I hope you’re not too persistent. Please… occupez-vous de vas affaires.”18

“French, eh? Sorm, I ain’t undestuh th’ languig.” The little scamp said in an ostentatious southern drawl. She was almost funny. “Tho hav wi’ yu me cam. Yu practicly snach’d tha’ frome. Na, gimme back me cam.”  19

“Stop that jargon.” His pace quickened. But she managed to catch up. 20

“Well, where do you stay, foreigner?21

“In the white Victorian apartment, 34th street.”22

“Oh, what luck!” she exclaimed vivaciously. “I live just nearby. Man, we are neighbors!”23

Quelle chance! To his amazement the girl gripped his arm. “Will you kindly show me your place?”24

“Sorry, I’m not willing to entertain anyone in my place.”25

“How does a Victorian house look like, then?” she asked innocently. Again, confusion crossed his face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen one before? How about glancing at my apartment if you pass by?”26

“I don’t want a glimpse. I want the whole picture.”27

“How old are you boy?”28

“Fifteen. And I’m not a boy.”29

“You hardly look like a girl, do you know that?”30

Her grip on his arm tightened. “What do I look like?”31

“You look like a boy.”32

She laughed. “Will you lend me a looking glass someday?”33

“Why? Don’t you have one in your house?”34

“We have. But they’re dark. Really dark.”35

“You’re a weird girl.” Raphael couldn’t help but comment. “What’s your name?” 36

“Jashu.”37

“Jashu…” he repeated, smiling for the first time. “Would you like to have tea with me in my Victorian apartment, then?”38

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Raphael let her sit on a horsehair sofa while he fleeted to the gallery to prepare their tea. When he came back to the parlor, he caught Jashu staring blankly ahead. She didn’t even immediately notice him at the doorway. The oddity flustered him, but he managed to brush it aside. 40

“Do you want anything else, Jashu? A French toast, perhaps?”41

“No, thank you.” She mumbled with a smirk. He set the cup of tea on the glass-topped coffee table before her, while he held his and began sipping at it. 42

She drank her tea and said afterwards, “There’s nothing that tasted better than apple juice.” 43

“You have plenty of ciders at home?”44

She nodded enthusiastically. “We own an apple orchard.”45

“The one nearby?”46

“Yes. Have you seen it?”47

“My room overlooks it.”48

“Do you like it?”49

“It’s okay.”50

“Doesn’t it captivate you? I always see the orchard in my dreams. I am not contented merely smelling the scents of the apples. I want to see them… in a canvas.”51

Raphael let out a breath in a rush and evaded her stares.52

“Do you have the eyes for beauty, Raphael?”53

He fell awkwardly silent. “Do you have an artist’s hands?” Jashu went on solemnly. Cruel silence followed her question. 54

Jashu stirred. “Why are you so silent?”55

“Would you like me to escort you home?” Raphael asked, avoiding her inquiry.56

“You don’t mean to chase me away, do you?” She sprang to her feet, her smile never vanishing. “Will you give me back my camera?”57

“How about my pictures?”58

“Would you be at ease if I promise not to look at them?”59

“What are you going to do with them?”60

“I’ll let my mom look at the pictures and describe them to me.”61

“What an absurd idea.” He handed her the camera. “You can look at them, you know.”62

But she shook her head vigorously. “I can’t. I promised you I won’t.”63

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Late in the springtime Jashu sent the young artist a thoughtful present from their apple orchard. It was a small glass container filled with apple blossoms. The last one, its inscription said. The other blossoms had turned into tiny fruits that hung from the tips of the stems. Sweet perfumes of apples began to thicken the warming current, reaching his rooms through his half-opened windows. 65

Raphael had seen her once, from his windows, seated under an apple tree, holding a sketchpad, just staring at nothingness, but not sketching. 66

She drooped by his apartment one day, asking him if he could draw the orchard. Raphael gently refused. Then, she surprised him by asking if he could lend her his eyes instead. He was utterly confounded.67

“You have the artist’s eyes, Raphael. I don’t have. If I could, I would have painted the orchard a long time ago. I only have the heart for art. But you have the eyes of an artist. They’re dark, aren’t they?”68

“They are.”69

“You have the most coveted gift, Raphael. You see the world.”70

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Raphael constantly watched from his windows as Jashu religiously worked on a canvas under the canopy of an apple tree. He wondered what the girl saw in the orchard that the naked eyes couldn’t see.  When he no longer saw her in her favorite spot, Raphael reckoned that Jashu must have finished her piece. 72

She sent it to him two days after the final touch. It was an imperfect picture of the orchard with very little yield. Apple blossoms have fallen on the ground. Even the colors Jashu had used were lifeless. At the tip of the pictures were words: “I looked, but I couldn’t see.”  73

Raphael rushed to the house next door, only to find Jashu’s mother alone. 74

“You must be the painter Raphael Vincent. Jashu had been talking about nothing but you. It must be great having a famous friend. Did you receive the canvas we sent you? It is a hopeless piece, isn’t it? But Jashu wanted you to have it.”75

“She wanted? Where is Jashu?” Raphael asked in confusion. 76

Jashu’s mother asked him to be seated and disappeared for a moment. Raphael waited breathlessly for her to reappear, and when she did she was carrying a glass of apple juice.77

“Jashu used to tell me that nothing tasted better than this.”78

Again, the tense she used struck him in an eerie way. He accepted the drink and the memory of Jashu sitting in his parlor, sipping tea and saying that nothing tasted better than apple juice, gripped at his heart. 79

“Do you want your photos back?” She asked all of a sudden.80

“W-why?” Raphael stuttered.81

“Oh, I just thought that maybe you’d want them back. Jashu had asked me to look at the pictures and describe them to her.” 82

Just what she had promised to him. “ She didn’t try to look at them herself?” 83

Jashu’s mother laughed. “Even if she tried she couldn’t see them.”84

“What do you mean?” Raphael’s tanned skin was suddenly blanched.85

“Jashu was blind. Sickness had impaired her sight since her infancy. She had been struggling with the darkness for fifteen years, and last night… she finally gave in.”86

“S-she’s dead?’ 87

“She didn’t die. She entered into life.” Jashu’s mother explained calmly. “Her struggles with the darkness have come to an end. She’ll finally see the light.”88

An immeasurable depth of agony gripped every fiber of his being. Raphael stifled a hysterical desire to cry. He had been through a lot of crying. Her tear glands were drained out. But damn, tears were beginning to blur his vision no matter how much he detested it. 89

Jashu’s mother patted his arm gently. “Jashu had hoped to open you eyes again. She had hoped to free you from the darkness that gripped you. You have the gift. You see the world. Please don’t waste that gift.”90

Raphael remembered Jashu’s determination to paint the orchard in spite of her blindness. While he who had the artistic talent and the eyes that see the world couldn’t even pick his paintbrush and do a stroke because he was afraid to break his vow. What a fool he had been!91

He left Hot Springs and went back to his studio. He decided to paint again. But Jashu and her apple orchard haunted him forever. Her sweet smiles that held glorious wonders and innocence. He always saw her. He saw her in his dreams. And he saw her every time he looked at her canvas.  92

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