dontravis.com
blog post #310
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| Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons |
Time to pick up the pace a little. You’ll remember that Teo
Oxley has been hired to restore two frescoes in a mountain mission. The first
night he’s there, he sees something that isn’t and has his dreams invaded by a
mysterious specter. He hopes the arrival of the young Indian caretaker named
Rodrigo will set things straight.
We’ll see.
*****
MOUNTAIN AUGURY
AUGURY: (o’gye re)
n. – The art or practice of divination
from omens or signs (Random House Webster’s College Dictionary)
It took almost an hour, but we tore
down and reassembled the scaffold so that it was much more secure. It would serve
my purposes nicely. The youth hovered at my side on the scaffold as I set about
examining the mural in detail.
“This is going to take a little
time, Rodrigo. It’s slow, painstaking work. Actually, it’s four jobs. First you
diagnose the situation. Find out what the problems are, like what caused those
cracks, for instance. Do they radiate? What materials were used to create the
work? The paint was ground from natural ingredients and then applied right onto
the wet plaster. That’s the difference between a mural and a fresco. Anyway, I
have to determine things like that.”
I took a breath and continued to
scan the Saint’s face up close. “Then there’s the job of cleaning. Removing
centuries of accumulated dirt and smoke can be tricky. This painting should have
been cleaned every generation or so. That means St Peter should have taken twenty
baths since he was created. Probably hasn’t had one.
“The third step is to repair the
mural. Correct any damage, fill the holes, mend the cracks without losing any
more of the original work than necessary. And then comes the biggie...the
retouching. That’s what takes the longest. We’ll actually recreate the fresco
using paints and colors as close to the original as possible.” I glanced at the
young man at my side. “Do you know anything about painting, Rodrigo?”
He shrugged. “I do some pictures.
You know, draw them. Paint them.”
“You ever painted old St. Peter?” I
made it a jocular question, but he took it seriously.
“Once or twice. But I’m not a real painter
like you are. They say you painted for the Holy Father in Rome.”
“I helped restore St Francis of
Assisi and did some work on the Zucarri frescoes at the Duomo in Florence.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that
he was impressed before he turned stolid again.
***
The threat of rain hung over the
mountains that night as I nervously prepared to go to bed. Would my specter return
tonight to disturb my rest with that curious mixture of fear and excitement?
Had I met him today in the church? The mysterious shade in the gloom of the
sanctuary? But I slept alone that night.
Rodrigo proved to be a great deal
of help in the coming days. But frankly, his mere presence was comforting. The
gloomy old mission church spooked me. Countless sightings of shadows that
should not be. A presence in remote corners. Occasional assaults on my
olfactory senses even though there was no discernible odor. The impression of
being observed. A few times, even the placid Rodrigo exhibited an uneasiness.
Assured by my assistant that the leak
in the ceiling over the fresco in the narthex had been repaired, I set up floodlights
to dry the damp plaster. Sensing Rodrigo behind me, I turned to explain I had
to be careful not to dry the spot too quickly, as that would cause the plaster
to flake and peel.
There was no one there!
Yet there was. I sensed him in the
far corner. A darkness too deep to be natural stirred as I grew aware of it.
The hair on my neck and arms rose. My flesh pimpled like a goose’s. Fear dried
up my throat.
“Who are you?” I croaked.
My answer was a sigh.
My voice took on timbre, strength. “What
do you want?”
The shadow undulated, as though in
agitation. Angered by my interference or my mere presence in his church?
“I won’t be here long. I’m just
repairing the ravages of time. Then I’ll be gone, okay?”
A gust whipped through the closed
narthex. My nose itched fearfully. My body chilled before heating feverishly. What was happening?
Even as I reacted, the presence
retreated. The shadow weakened, but before it faded away completely, I glimpsed
a handsome face twisted in anguished frustration.
Giving way to my own fear, I
scrambled down the scaffold and rushed out the heavy, carved doors into a weak
sunlight, crashing into Rodrigo on the steps.
“What’s the matter?” he cried.
“I’m…I’m going to the house for a
few minutes,” I gasped, pulling from his grasp and staggering across the muddy
distance to the little adobe.
***
As August passed into September,
the monsoon season weakened, bringing only intermittent thundershowers. My
diagnosis completed, I undertook cleaning the main fresco. Rodrigo worked at my
side, an unknowing bulwark against my unreasonable and unreasoning fears.
Other than checking on the drying
plaster, I ignored the fresco in the narthex. I first wanted to finish the
restoration of the major work in the nave. Normally, I tackle the minor piece first
to learn the peculiarities of a job, but for some reason I was reluctant to
take on that one. Perhaps it was because it was in greater disrepair. The large
one in the nave was less of a challenge.
The cleaning went surprisingly
well. Rodrigo set me to chuckling with his astonishment at kneading the plaster
with sourdough bread to clean it. “It’s the best way, believe me. But we have
to be sure to remove all of the bread or we’ll attract insects.
Rodrigo’s plodding patience paid
off in spades. The tedious care demanded by the work did not bother the youth
as much as it did me. But the presence, as I came to regard him, still lurked
at a distance, remaining in the shadows as labor on the main fresco progressed
quickly. I had lost my fear of him now, although on occasion his appearance
would raise the hair on my neck. It was apparent he wanted something from me,
not to harm me. But he was unable to communicate what that was.
Upon completion of the work on the
fresco in the nave, the mural looked much as it had when the unknown painter
first applied pigments to the fresh plaster almost four hundred years ago. I
contemplated that long-departed artist for a few minutes, trying to see St.
Peter through his eyes. A high, keening sigh filled the sanctuary and caused me
to whirl around… to find no apparent source.
*****
Are
we there yet? No, not quite. Teo is still frightened but not terrified. He
seems to be coming to terms with his anxiety. At least he’s glad to have the
placid Rodrigo working with him on the scaffold. Next week, we’ll finish the
story. Then you can email me and tell me what you think.
Please
get a copy of my latest book, The Lovely
Pines, and provide feedback on
the novel. If you do read the book, please post a review on Amazon. Each one
helps.
As
previously noted, The Bisti Business was
named as a finalist in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards in two categories:
Best Mystery and Best Gay Book. Winners will be named in November.
Now
my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on
writing. You have something to say… so say it.
If
you would like to drop me a line, my personal links follow:
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
Here
are some buy links to the Lovely Pines,
which (as noted) was released on August 28:
Abaddon’s
Locusts is scheduled for release on January 22, 2019, and the first draft of The Voxlightner Scandal is about 90
percent completed.
See
you next week.
Don
New Posts are
published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
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