Page 13 of The Art of Vanishing

Jean

Monday and Tuesday, Claire’s two nights off, nearly killed me, but Wednesday finally arrived, as it always did.

We were reunited like nothing significant had happened the previous weekend.

Claire cleaned and clambered through the frame.

We ignored the fact that everything had changed when she’d kissed me on the cheek.

It was all I’d been able to think about for three days, but from the moment she arrived, I could tell she didn’t want to discuss it so I followed her lead.

I lit a cigarette and we strolled along the usual path through the garden.

As we headed in the direction of Aurora, Claire interrupted the silence to ask a question.

“Why does she—I’m sorry, does she have a name?” We’d walked past Aurora a handful of times, but Aurora hadn’t yet spoken directly to Claire.

Now Aurora answered for herself. “I’m Aurora.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Claire said with an awkward demi-curtsy.

“I’ve been trying to figure this out and have come up totally empty.

Why does Aurora look so much larger from farther away?

” She was right; if a viewer of the painting assumed that perspective was working the way we understood it in the natural world, Aurora should be two or three meters tall.

But when we walked up to her, she was tiny.

“It has something to do with my father and the way he was able to weave humor into his work. Aurora is a real statue out in your world as well, and that statue is the size you see here, about half a meter long. My father loved to paint his own work into new paintings, so when he included her again here, he kept her original size.”

“I’m not the only one here too,” Aurora chimed in.

“He was kind of obsessed with this pose of a woman leaning on her side, propped up on one elbow, the other hand reaching behind her just so—” Aurora demonstrated, folding herself naturally back into the posture she held all day long.

“I think the first one of our kind was in Le Bonheur de vivre. ”

“Le what de what?” Claire asked.

“Another one of his paintings that’s also in this museum,” I said.

“You haven’t taken her over there yet?” Aurora asked with false astonishment. She’d been around often enough to know that we’d not yet moved beyond the well-worn paths of the garden. “You have to make him take you. That place is the most fun, no competition.”

“Take me there? You think I can move between paintings, like you?”

“It seems to me there’s no harm in trying,” Aurora said. “Don’t you want to see where Marguerite and the others go when you two are flirting it up all around our backyard?”

I felt hot with embarrassment, too afraid to look at Claire for her reaction.

“Well,” Aurora continued. “You two have so much to explore. You best get started.” She raised her stone eyebrows at me.

It hadn’t been purposeful, keeping Claire all to myself.

We just had so much about each other to get to know.

And I wasn’t much in the habit of leaving our landscape.

And I was somewhat afraid of running into Marguerite.

But I hadn’t considered that I was keeping Claire from experiencing even more.

“Would you like to go see what it’s like over there?” I asked her.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then.” I took her hand in mine. “Let’s get on our way.”

“Have fun!” Aurora said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“And then some…” I muttered to myself as Claire called out her goodbyes to Aurora.

We headed back into the trees, climbing the hill at the end of our garden.

Claire’s silence was comfortable, mine was anxious.

I hadn’t spent much time thinking about the possibility of having to share Claire with the others.

I was unsure of what to expect. I wondered where Marguerite was tonight.

As we crested the hill, the world around us changed, the colors shifting from the cool, natural colors of my world to the fiery oranges, reds, and yellows of Le Bonheur de vivre .

“Wow,” Claire exhaled, looking up at the pink sky peeking through the orange trees. “This is magic.”

I chuckled. “I thought we knew that already.”

“We absolutely did but this is a whole new level. I can’t believe this is your life.” The tone of her voice betrayed her jealousy.

“Just wait until you meet this cast of characters. They’re…hard to describe. Maybe ‘spirited’ is the right word?”

“I hope they’re okay with my being here,” she said. I hoped the same. Not knowing what to say but wanting to seem, and feel, confident, I squeezed her hand in mine.

We walked through the trees into the central clearing and Claire uttered an involuntary “Oh my god” under her breath.

Around us, the ensemble of Le Bonheur de vivre mingled with the subjects of other paintings who had made their way here tonight as well, naked and clothed bodies alike laughing and drinking and dancing and embracing.

I had forgotten how much more sound there was here; conversation rang across the field, a small band had formed off to the side, and the sounds of flutes swelled in accompaniment.

Claire rocked back and forth on her feet, clearly eager to be a part of this joy but unsure if she’d be welcome.

We weren’t alone for long. Quickly, a woman approached us, the red outlines of her body highlighting all the curves of her figure, flowers draped across her chest.

“Jean!” she exclaimed and kissed me on both cheeks.

“Andromeda,” I greeted her in return. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Of course it is. You wouldn’t have to be reminded of that if you came around more.” She smiled to let me know this was all said with affection. “And you.” She turned her attention to Claire. “You must be the young woman I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“You’re the one! The one who has been playing with me, trying to get me to copy you. But what do you mean you’ve heard of me?” Claire was dumbstruck by both this revelation and the kisses Andromeda was placing on each of Claire’s cheeks as she said it.

“Just a bit of teasing, that’s all,” Andromeda defended herself to me.

“And heard of you? Chérie, you’re the talk of the town.

Isn’t she?” Andromeda asked, as she raised her glass in the air.

The crowd across the field let out a large cheer in response to her toast, even if they hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. Claire couldn’t help but smile.

“Everyone is wondering how you do what you do. How do you get in here, on that note?”

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Claire confessed. “I just felt like I could, if I got close enough, and one day it worked.”

“There’s certainly more to dissect there, but it’s hardly the time. It’s a party, after all! Can we get you a drink?” Andromeda gestured with the stone goblet in her hand and something that resembled wine splashed up against the edge.

“I think yes. Please. Thank you,” Claire said enthusiastically. Andromeda took Claire’s hand in hers and led her across the field, introducing Claire to each group of people we passed. I trailed behind them, listening to Andromeda as she took charge of introductions.

“This is Claire! Yes, of course, that Claire.” Andromeda’s statement was met by yet another chorus of cheers.

We approached the group of dancers and were quickly saddled with our own glasses of the deep red liquid.

“Santé!” Andromeda called as she tapped her glass against ours.

Claire took a sip and grinned. “Do you like it?” Andromeda asked.

“It’s delicious. Sweet but not too sweet? I love it,” Claire said as she took another sip and Andromeda raised her eyebrows at me. “What are you celebrating?” Claire asked her.

“Celebrating?”

“The party?”

“Oh.” Andromeda laughed. “This is just what we do. Every night is a party!” A third cheer in response among the revelers confirmed this. “I guess tonight we might be celebrating your joining us, even though we got started before we knew you’d be coming.” This last comment was pointed at me.

“Aurora recommended we stop by,” I said.

“I should have known,” Andromeda answered. “Well, I’ll leave you two to explore. Claire, you are welcome anytime and every time. I hope to see you again, and soon.”

“Me too. Thank you,” Claire said earnestly. Andromeda frolicked back to join another group. We set up camp in a shady spot, resting our backs against a large tree trunk and taking it all in.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I love it, it’s amazing. Everyone here is so…” She searched for the words as her eyes found a couple locked in an embrace so intense that it would not be acceptable in most public spaces. “Free.”

“Have you looked at this one much from the other side?”

“Not as carefully. Not yet at least. I don’t have a lot of time in that gallery.”

“Well, now’s our chance. What do you want to do?”

“Everything. I want another glass of whatever this is.” She shook her empty goblet at me. “And I want to dance and I want to see those little goats over there and lie in the grass and try it all.”

I obliged. We refilled our glasses and crouched down next to the goats, who were happy to receive our scratches on their heads as they snacked.

We joined hands with the others and danced in a circle, spinning around and around until we clutched at our heads, laughing off the dizziness.

We lay in the grass, eyes on the pink sky, and let the sounds of the flutes wrap around us like a light blanket.

We ate sweet sugary confections that matched the rainbow colors of the landscape.

My jacket and tie were cast aside, crumpled in a pile somewhere twenty meters away, and Claire’s hair was freed from its usual place on the top of her head, curls tumbling down around her shoulders.

“I haven’t felt like this in forever,” she said. “This is what I always thought growing up was going to feel like—one big party. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”