The Hawk: Part Two

by Anna Scott Graham

  As Lynne stepped off the train, a whistle from another engine blew long and loud. She gazed at Eric, who wore a beaming smile. Then she glanced at Laurie, who looked just as pleased.

  Even Stanford had a grin, which made Lynne feel this trip had begun under warm auspices. Once she was on the platform, Laurie hugged her tightly, whispering how beautiful she looked. Then Stanford shook her hand, but clasped both of his around hers, holding on longer than an informal handshake. Lynne blinked away tears, then heard Eric laugh. The jovial mood lingered as Laurie escorted her through the station, while behind them Eric and his dealer talked shop. Stanford called for a cab, and Lynne was ushered inside it. Eric sat on one side of her, the men across, the plush interior denoting to Lynne a subtle but permanent change in the Snyders’ lives.

  But this had little to do with the baby, although it was all Laurie could speak about as the cabbie negotiated busy traffic. Stanford relayed details that he and Eric had hammered out via letters and a few long distance calls; opening night would be a far grander affair than in spring, but Lynne had packed plenty of outfits befitting the wife of such a heralded artist. She and Renee had gone shopping, choosing for Lynne necessary maternity items, and some extra frills, which included elegant silk scarves, one of which Lynne had worn on the train. Eric had told her to spend whatever money she wanted, for he wished to show her off, as much as his paintings. She would be the focus, after only a few minutes, for the bulk of the canvases were of her, in various guises. The rest were of Renee, but her identity was being concealed. Eric and Lynne had laughed that Renee might be thought of as the artist’s mistress, and what a scandal it would be that Eric would attend the exhibit with his now obviously pregnant wife.

  Lynne was four and a half months along, but there was no way to hide a bulge that when the couple was alone was lovingly feted. She had placed her hands on the baby as soon as she was seated in the cab, and while Eric might set one of his hands there too, he never tried to remove hers. A week ago Lynne had felt the baby move, and now she was consumed with those fluttery motions, looking forward to when Eric noticed them too. Then Renee and Sam would feel them and…. Lynne looked up, finding both Laurie and Stanford staring at her. “What?” she asked.

  “You’re in another world,” Laurie smiled. “Baby off to the races?”

  “Always, although I think she fell asleep on the train.”

  Stanford raised his eyebrows. “She?”

  “Well, he or she. I don’t like using it, that sounds….” Lynne shook her head, then giggled. “It’s one or the other, but either way, he’s resting now. I think he likes the movement.”

  She leaned against her husband, then closed her eyes. They were spending four days in New York, and while much of that time Eric would be detained, he wanted to take her through some of Central Park, and Michael had invited them to dinner on their last night in the city. Lynne didn’t know if Stanford’s mother would be well enough to join them, but she looked forward to seeing Michael, feeling this metropolitan realm could become an extension of their lives. Then she tutted herself. If Stanford’s assumptions proved true, Eric and Lynne’s world was set for expansion beyond the changes their baby would provide.

  Only in the last few weeks, since shopping with Renee, had Lynne started to dwell on those alterations, most of which were fairly pleasant. Later that afternoon Eric was being interviewed by a reporter for the New York Times, then a junket of press would attend the exhibit for tomorrow’s opening night. Renee and Lynne had only guessed at what the reception might be like, for neither woman had any experience with such glamorous events. When Eric was busy, Laurie would be Lynne’s escort; in their correspondence, he had gently steered her toward a few stylish pieces that would perfectly outfit the wife of such an illustrious painter. But the silk scarves had been Lynne’s idea, in soft autumnal tones that complemented her slightly tanned skin and her now lengthy brown hair. All those afternoons of posing in the studio, Renee had chided, but Lynne didn’t mind her ruddy coloring. It was from being as close to Eric as had been possible.

  He too sported the remnants of a summer tan, his hair a lighter shade of blonde, which Stanford noted, teasing about white hairs, which Eric blamed on impending fatherhood. Lynne felt sleepy with their jolly voices; she didn’t discern any anxiety from Eric’s dealer, and of course Laurie was thrilled for their presence, and that they were staying at Stanford’s. But Laurie refrained from saying it was their place, although Lynne heard a proprietary tone in Laurie’s voice, the same way Eric spoke about her and the baby. It was loving in nature, but protective, and for the first time, Lynne realized that in Laurie’s New York accent, she and Eric were included. He was as concerned for them as he was for Stanford.

  She opened her eyes, meeting Laurie’s gaze. His smile was broad, and a small nod of his head seemed to confirm her suspicions. Then he reached out, grasping her hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I am too,” Lynne said, trying to stay composed.

  “Me too,” Stanford added. “Otherwise Eric would be back in the studio.”

  “True,” Eric chuckled, putting his arm around Lynne, who still grasped Laurie’s hands. “But this will be our last sojourn. Then we’re gonna hunker down, get through winter, and prepare for spring.”

  As both Laurie and Stanford laughed, only Lynne heard the veiled hope in Eric’s voice. He’d felt no inclinations that any other trip was imminent, but Lynne wouldn’t rule it out. Yet, at that moment, the biggest alteration was of an entirely human sort. As the taxi pulled up in front of a tall, sumptuous building, Lynne inhaled deeply. Laurie got out of the cab first, offering her his hand. She exited the vehicle, staring up at where Stanford lived. Laurie gripped her hand, then kissed her cheek. “We’re home,” he said softly.

  She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks, as Stanford’s lover led her into the building.

  While Lynne napped, Eric shared a cocktail with his hosts, for Laurie had made no bones that once Lynne was asleep, both he and Stanford would be sharing their residence with the couple. Eric was pleased there would be no tiptoeing around that arrangement, and once Laurie tactfully laid the ground rules, he disappeared, leaving Eric and Stanford with a small amount of silence. Stanford was the one to break the awkwardness, with a brief huff that Laurie had a propensity for the dramatic. Then the dealer stared at his client. “But I suppose you realized this a while ago.”

  Eric nodded. “When I first stayed here.”

  He wanted to elaborate, and with Laurie, he might have. However Stanford needed no further details. “Well, not much has changed since then.” Then he cleared his throat, looking around the room. “Well, he’s updated the décor some, but….”

  Eric chuckled. “Looks about the same to me.”

  Stanford stared at him, then smiled. “Don’t tell Laurie that.”

  “We’ll keep it just between us.”

  The way Eric spoke, that sentiment covered more than the interior of Stanford and Laurie’s apartment. Then Stanford laughed, clearly more relaxed. He sat in a large, overstuffed chair, then shook his head. “I also hope you realize what’s going to happen after tomorrow. I didn’t imagine the build-up, but several of your paintings changed hands over summer, and for not small sums.” Stanford sighed, then brightened. “Which wasn’t immediately good for our bank accounts, but it’s promising for what tomorrow will bring. Actually, I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you, because I only learned this late last night. One of your first hawk paintings was recently sold, and the value has increased exponentially.”

  Stanford’s tone was measured, but Eric didn’t miss the glee in the dealer’s voice. “Really?” Eric also spoke with reserve. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  “Do you want to know how much?”

  Eric stood, admiring the library’s tasteful settings, stuffed with books and artwork, from both men’s clients. Then a small sculpture caught Eric’s attention; the figure was of a woman, clothed in a knee-length skirt
, her hands thrown to the heavens. She was bare-chested, and long hair fell loosely down her back. Her breasts were full, her cheekbones high, her nose broad, her eyes wide. Something about the pose might incite fear, yet her face was hopeful, or at least not at all afraid, or that was how Eric interpreted it. Then he shivered. “Did Seth do this?”

  Stanford sighed, then joined Eric, who now stood only a foot away from the figure. “How’d you guess?”

  “An artist’s prerogative.” Eric fingered the woman’s hands, then her arms, tracing her waist, then her skirt. She wore no shoes, standing about eighteen inches tall, and was made from clay, but the exterior was painted a deep turquoise blue, giving the statue a southwestern feel, which Eric didn’t equate with Seth Gordon. Yet he had known this was Seth’s work, perhaps as soon as he had spotted it.

  “How old is this?” Eric asked, trying not to get lost in the vitality of the woman’s cry for help, a plea she firmly expected to be answered to her exact need.

  “Seth did it in his late teens.” Stanford motioned toward another figure, across the room. “He did that one at the same time.”

  Eric glanced at where Stanford pointed. It was a man, the same height and shade of blue, dressed in ragged trousers, with no shirt. His arms were outstretched, often as Eric liked to paint Lynne. Eric walked to that piece, finding open, expressive eyes, a strong jaw, sinewy limbs, and a crook of a smile. Then he gazed at Stanford. “Why do you keep them apart?”

  They were lovers, of a sort, but Eric didn’t feel overt sexual intimacy was implied. It was a more of metaphysical rapture, which Eric understood on the level of how Sam had nursed him nearly a year ago. Or how Lynne cared for him, at times, when the roles of husband and wife were stripped away. It was how he felt about her now, when she was tired due to the baby. Occasionally Eric forgot his hunger for her, replaced by a more spiritual desire to protect her. When he painted her asleep, nothing erotic intruded, even if she was nude. It was his slumbering partner, their baby encased within her, and Eric would fight to the death to maintain that duo’s safety.

  He gazed back at the woman; she wasn’t pregnant, but she was very feminine in her skirt, her breasts voluptuous, the nipples full. Lynne’s were starting to change, widening slightly. Eric noted every detail of her evolving form, and now that the baby was indeed visible, he’d found a new appreciation for the wonder of a woman’s body. He smiled, trying to keep that separate from what happened when he transformed, for that was an aberration. Pregnancy was a natural state, and in Seth’s sculpture, Eric had no doubt that the figure had nursed a child.

  Yet her bosom didn’t indicate multiple offspring, only noting this was a mother, unabashed to seek assistance partially clothed. Religious inferences swirled around the sculpture, and he glanced back to the other, finding the same message relayed in that piece. “Can I place them side by side?” he asked. Then he looked at Stanford. “If you don’t mind.”

  Stanford nodded, then handed the male figure to Eric, who set it half a foot away from the female. Then Eric pulled up a chair, sitting down. Now he studied the pieces, finding their hues weren’t exactly identical; the man was more kingfisher blue than turquoise. He was slightly taller, but otherwise the proportions were equal. His feet were sturdy, as were the woman’s, but something about the man’s stance intrigued Eric. Then he smiled. The left foot was slightly deformed, in a similar manner that Eric’s had been.

  Eric tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “These are amazing, my God.” Then he gazed at Stanford. “I realize this’s short notice, but if there’s any possibility of me meeting Seth, I’d….”

  Stanford shook his head. “He’s not well.”

  Eric stood, then inhaled. “Stanford?”

  The dealer frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “He tried to kill himself a few weeks ago. He’s in an institution up in Vermont. Laurie didn’t want to tell you, although he thought you might ask.” Then Stanford stared at Eric. “Please don’t tell Sam.”

  Eric was touched at Stanford’s plaintive tone. “Yes, of course. Is he gonna be all right?”

  “Physically yes. But this was another emotional setback. He’d actually been okay over the summer. Then something happened, and no one knows exactly what, but he started to withdraw, didn’t even want Laurie to visit. Then he slit his wrists, badly enough that he had to be hospitalized. Now he’s….” Stanford sighed. “He’s right back where he was when he came home, a wreck. I don’t know how Sam Ahern manages, I really don’t.”

  His faith, Eric nearly said. Then he bit his tongue, for religious conviction was steeped in both of Seth’s figures, but it wasn’t necessarily Jewish, although the way Seth had molded these people, Eric felt they could be from far back in Biblical history, or from twenty years ago in Eastern Europe. Seth had made these in the late forties, Eric assumed, but The Holocaust wasn’t the primary theme. It went further back in time, or could represent that very day. Suddenly Eric wanted to lie next to his wife, answering her call, which was often similar to the woman’s appeal, which was for sanctuary, and love. An eternal need, Eric half-smiled at himself, not confined to race or creed or any historical moment.

  “These are just stunning.” Eric blinked several times, feeling an overwhelming sense of what Seth wanted to convey, at such a young age. Was he aware of the days ahead, when this gift wouldn’t be within his capacity, or had his immense talent been a fluke? Then Eric shook his head. Nothing was by chance, and he cracked his knuckles, then stared at the man’s twisted foot. Eric bent his left ankle, feeling no pain. Lynne laid asleep, their baby the cause. Then he smiled. “Stanford, will you pass a message to him, on my behalf?”

  “Of course. He knows you, I mean, he’s seen your work.” Stanford’s tone was hesitant. “He went to see that blue barn so many times that he said he felt almost able to read your mind. He was probably as well as he’d ever been when that painting was exhibited. Laurie and I hoped it would inspire him, but then he fell into another funk. I’d be happy to tell him anything you wish.”

  Eric nodded. “Thank you. I’ll write it up before we leave.” He glanced back at the sculptures. “Would you do me another favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “Would you keep these together from now on? They really shouldn’t be separated. Maybe not here, wherever you and Laurie feel is best to display them, but they should stay about this distance from each other.” Eric studied them again, moving the man back an inch and a half. Then he changed his mind, placing the woman two inches closer. Then he smiled. While she was staring heavenward, the man was looking right at her.

  Eric smiled, wondering if Lynne might feel the same as he, that while the man’s foot was deformed, it was as if Lynne was the male figure, while Eric was the woman, gazing upwards. Or perhaps only he saw it that way. He knew what Stanford thought, although the dealer was having a hard time struggling with such a strange possibility, that somehow years ago Seth had set into clay a nearly identical representation of Eric’s deformity. His former disability, Eric chuckled inwardly. But while that might cause Stanford some unwanted queries, it didn’t bother Eric. He only hoped that Seth would accept his message with an open mind, and a receptive heart. The heart of an artist still beat within Seth Gordon, Eric didn’t doubt. But the fragility of that organ, and of Seth’s psyche, was another issue entirely.

  Chapter 38