Night School by Zsófia Bán

Author:Zsófia Bán
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Letter
Published: 2018-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

Then I packed my bags and really did sneak off with my dough-faced Suzi to the Netherlands, to marry her in the presence of her parents and against my better instincts. I didn’t even get a chance to tell my mother, godchild to the Swedish Crown Prince, given that she has been lying in a darkened room with a migraine since the scandal erupted, unwilling to admit me.

After our return my days and nights became a blur. I felt that my artistic career was finished if I could no longer paint Victorine. I also felt that if I could no longer see her, then my life, too, would be finished. Finally, I felt that the biggest mistake of my life was not remaining in Rio de Janeiro in ’48, when my jurisprudential father sent me off on a training ship to make a man of me. Since that time, I might have become owner of coffee plantations all over the country, with fifteen Negro servant girls attentive to my every wish, and, above all, I wouldn’t give two shits about painting. Wouldn’t even know what it was. My God, why do you never offer guidance to your imperfect son, why do you always leave him to his own devices, why?! Long story short, I went off to implore Victorine. I implored her by day, implored her by night, spent nights with the dogs on the threshold at her door, where we bayed at the moon together. I promised everything she wanted, just as long as she let me paint her again. After two months, three weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes, she ultimately relented, but with conditions. She told me I could paint her, but only as she wanted it. Do I need to mention what a colossal blow to my artistic integrity this represented? Still, I was willing to do anything as long as she would model for me, as long as I might again regard her alabaster skin, her crimson mane, her soft lashes, her adorable freckles. Opium of my life, do with me what you will! At that, my one and only Victorine pronounced the following: “You may only work in my studio (her “studio”!), so the sessions will take place exclusively there, and you must acquire the following props: one golden bracelet, one black choker, one silken kerchief embroidered with flowers, one pair of velvet slippers, one large floral bouquet, one Negro servant girl, and one house pet of your choice. The painting’s title will be Olympia.” Ah but, destroyer of my life, I told you in abject supplication that I wanted to paint a Venus and, as “Olympia” is a name for courtesans, this will only bring another scandal, and on top of it all everyone will suppose that is what you are. Precisely, responded Victorine, it will bring on a scandal, and not only will people think I am a whore but, tout précisément, that I am your whore, my dear, and in that they will not be terribly mistaken.

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