Читать книгу Creep Around the Corner - Douglas Atwill - Страница 10

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee

and I’ll forgive Thy great big one on me.

–Robert Frost

THE EBB AND FLOW OF THE DAYS at Schloss Issel insulated me from the matters of real concern in the outside world. Politics, presidential speeches, hydrogen explosions in Polynesia and unrest in Algeria were of no matter. Follum and I had become accustomed to walking across the street from the schloss to the Bierstube Langenscheidt after dinner. Corporal Murgon sat by himself at a small table, wary of being associated with friends of Callard. I felt comfortable with Follum, as if we had grown up together. We nursed two or three beers in as many hours, talked, looked idly at the other beer-drinkers, German civilians and American army, who looked idly back.

After a long stretch of silence, Follum said, “I wrote my girl friend, Melanie Petersen, about life here, how exciting it is.”

“This is exciting?”

“For a man who wants to be a music director, Germany is the land of Beethoven, Bach and the grand cathedral organs. It is exciting to be so near to Bonn and Ulm. My professors at college said that the high notes from the organ in Ulm take a full ten seconds to die out.”

“I’ll try to understand that as exciting. We should take a trip to Ulm, Eric. Soon. We’re getting behind on our Mercedes hours.”

He continued, “I’d like that. I also wrote that I’ve met this artist named Bradford; how we’ve become friends and talked every night over beer. Melanie loves museums and paintings, and she wants you to promise to be in our wedding, after we all get home.”

“I would love to be in your wedding, Follum.”

“I knew that, but there’s something else.”

“She wants to come over here to get married?”

“No. She’s sensible and definitely prefers to wait, Bradford. Melanie wants you to paint my portrait.”

“I’m not really good at portraits, Follum.”

“Melanie said you would say that.”

“I can try. No guarantees, though.”

We agreed to start on the week-end. I earlier had found an art supply store in Stuttgart and put together all the supplies in my wall locker. After morning formation was dismissed, we set up a chair next to the easel in my quarters. My roommates were off together on a trip to Heidelberg, so we had the morning to ourselves.

I mulled the portrait over in my mind since Follum asked about it and I decided upon a front view of his face and shoulders. It would be like the pioneer ancestor portraits you see in family sitting rooms, nothing fancy or self-consciously arty, but a modern version of the naïve paintings that I imagined must be on every Wisconsin wall. Since Follum was a light-haired Norwegian, I chose a background nearly the same pale-yellow color as his abundant hair. It would enhance his complexion, the natural light from the windows coming from his left.