Just Beyond the Shining River by Lynnette Beers

Author:Lynnette Beers
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Regal Crest Enterprises
Published: 2017-10-28T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

THE GLASSY WATER reflected the greying sky and billowing clouds overhead as Hannah stood at the end of the bridge above the Serpentine. The drooping branches of a lone willow tree hung limply onto the still water. Boaters speckled the waters; a few lone walkers meandered along the adjacent path. Closing her eyes, Hannah inhaled deeply. On her exhale, she breathed out, “Nam-myMhM-renge-kyM,” repeating it another three times before she turned from the water. Chanting for her lately only happened in sporadic, fleeting moments, the words rushed and never lasting more than a few seconds. But, when she did chant, those words quieted her soul, even if for a few seconds.

Hannah turned from the water, following the pathway until she reached the Serpentine Gallery and pushed open the heavy door. “Hello?” she called as she stepped into the lobby, her voice echoing against the walls and high ceiling. She noticed a few canvases not yet hung in the gallery—paintings covered in tarps leaning against the wall. “Mum?” she yelled, at the same time pulling back the cover of the painting on top. She removed the tarp, as if she were unveiling a sleeping body. The lines distinct and bold, the painting appeared larger than life, and such a striking rendition of a woman’s nude body seemed almost too much for her amateur artistic palate to digest.

She flipped to the next painting, a black and white, save for the crimson rose petals scattered upon a bed—two women’s bodies blending with the tangle of sheets. The creamy skin, the softness of their breasts, the legs intertwined—all contrasted with the stark silk sheets, the two bodies joined in this moment of bliss. When she met Makiko earlier today, the shiny Armani suit should have given it away, or the black-rimmed glasses and crew cut. But these paintings were the coup de grâce, the stroke of the brush acknowledging Makiko’s sexual orientation. Hannah crouched down nearer to the painting, her curiosity piqued at how this artist went about with each stroke of the brush to create an image representing an actual photograph—how one stroke led to the next, how a flip of the paint resulted in a smooth curve here, a jutted line there. She thought not solely about Makiko’s rendition of beauty, but also that of the artist she spoke with the other night and of the delicate flitter of her brush—the magic that transposed from Gemma’s mind onto her canvas.

As she covered the painting with the cloth tarp, Hannah was startled by the thud of the front door. Anticipating seeing a gallery security guard, she returned the paintings to their original unscathed positions. The clop of heels on the floor caused her to remain frozen next to the stack of paintings. It was, Hannah surmised, perfectly fine for her to be in a gallery like this. With the door unlocked, she could have been like any of those unsuspecting afternoon revelers outside enjoying the spring air and had only wandered through the door out of curiosity.

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