I couldn't answer him right away. My relationship with Sydney was complicated. Telling him why we were very close meant opening up to him and sharing my personal life. Did I really want to share the doleful days of my life with a person I barely knew? I found myself admitting that I did.
After a long, pensive minute, I started to talk, “Sydney and I were best friends even before I moved in with her family. I was twelve years old when Aunt Helen, Sydney’s mom, took us in after my mother died.” I paused and took a deep breath, playing with my fingers.
“My mother was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor the summer I turned eleven. It was a grade four glioma. She went through therapy to shrink the tumor as much as possible before surgery, but her surgery wasn’t successful in the end.” I explained quickly, trying hard to stay composed. My eyes welled with tears but I was determined not to let the tears flow. It was long ago. I had grown to live my life without my mother.
He held my hand and made me sit by the bench overlooking the canal. His eyes were full of unspoken emotions, but mostly sympathy and understanding. He caressed my wrist with his thumb, “I am so sorry, Emma. I didn’t know,” he said softly.
“It’s alright Dylan. Sydney and I have a long, complicated history. She was my best friend during those difficult months when my mother died and my father left.”
“Your father left? Why?”
“I suppose my father fell into a serious depression after my mother died. He couldn’t handle her loss and the responsibility of taking care of two little children by himself. I guess he did what he thought was best for us: me and my brother, Steve. He asked Aunt Helen to take care of us.”
“But that’s too selfish. You lost your mother and father at the same time.” Dylan stroked his finger gently against my palm as he gazed into my eyes. “You were just a kid. How did you manage to become this responsible, understanding person?”
“I had my brother, Aunt Helen, Uncle George and Sydney. They loved us so much. I grew up in a happy family, it wasn’t as sad as you think. Also, my father didn’t completely disappear; he might not have taken us to school or baseball games or movies but he visited us on birthdays… holiday. I guess he did the best he could.”
“God, you are so forgiving!” He sighed heavily. “I hate my father and I can never forgive him.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked in a quiet voice, wondering if he was going to confide in me, as I did with him.
His face turned rigid and eyes were unyielding. “Because he is a selfish bastard, that’s why,” he replied in a bristly tone. “He had an affair with his assistant while I was in college. A girl my age, typical mid-life crisis. He divorced my mother and married his stupid bimbo.”
“Maybe he fell in love. They say, love is blind,” I tried to quell him, although I sensed it was useless. It was obvious that he harbored deep unresolved issues and strong animosity against his father.
“That was not love. They got divorced two years ago. My father is not capable of love. He was just thinking with his dick. That’s it.”
“Dylan!”
“Fine, sorry. I am still mad at him. I don’t think I can ever forgive him.”
“I prefer to think, things happen in life for a reason. You either find a way to cope with it or let the sadness, grief or anger consume you. I chose to deal with the hand I was given. ”
“How did you do that?
“I refused to be this lost, sad girl. I didn’t let my anger burn me. I had to be strong for myself and my brother. I studied hard and chose to become a doctor. If my mother had been diagnosed earlier, they might have saved her. I wanted to learn about the tumor which took my mother and I made it my life’s goal to fight it. ”
“You are a doctor!” He uttered in disbelief. “I was suspicious when you checked my pulse earlier, but you had this no-work-talk- rule, so I couldn’t ask.
“Almost a doctor. I still have a year before I graduate,” I answered quickly. I didn’t want to talk about the details of my life. I wanted to ignore the clinical rotations and the thesis dissertation waiting for me upon my return. Just this once, I wanted to enjoy my day without thinking about my obligations.
“Hey, enough talking,” I exclaimed to change the subject. “If we don’t get going, we won’t make it in time.”
“Rijks is too big to see everything in a few hours but hopefully we’ll get to see some of the masterpieces.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have been there before,” he replied, smiling widely.
I looked up to him in bewilderment. “You are full of surprises Dylan. I didn’t think you would visit museums without duress.”
“You just wait. I plan to surprise you even more.” He said nonchalantly and tugged my hand.
CHAPTER 4
EMMA
After the short walk, we arrived at the impressive brick building situated right next to another canal, built by the famous Dutch architect, Pierre Cuypers. Located in the Museum Square, Rijksmuseum stood stately and beautiful. The famous museum has dazzled art and history lovers since it was built in 1885; however, after ten years of meticulous renovation and restoration effort, it was more impressive and eye-catching than ever.
Since it was late in the afternoon, there wasn’t much of a crowd trying to get tickets. After waiting a couple of minutes in line, we were in the museum surrounded by tall glass walls, allowing us to view the interior courtyard. I admired the brilliant design created by the great architect as I walked by the imposing columns under the big archways surrounding the vast space. I felt lost in the beauty of this magnificent building while Dylan’s warm and strong fingers grazed my hand. His soft touches were making my heart race.
“I know it’s such a beautiful building to admire but we don’t have much time. I would love you to see ‘The Gallery of Honour’ and Rembrandt’s masterpiece: ‘The Night Watch’ before the museum closes.” Dylan commented and led me to the Entrance Hall. I was bewildered but also impressed by his ardor to tour the museum with me. He seemed to enjoy this as much as I did. Who was this man? The arrogant, cocky person I met in Red Light District or the sweet and kind person who was holding my hand and showing me around the museum… Could they be the same person? With every passing minute with him, I was getting more confused about him, myself and my feelings.
When we reached the Entrance Hall, I was stunned by its grandeur. It was more glamorous than I had imagined. Its floors were decorated with inlaid mosaics, the walls were covered with painted tableaux and windows were tall, made of stained glass. Spanning high above us was a vaulted ceiling embellished with lavish and colorful decorations.
“The highlight of the museum’s display is, of course, ‘The Night Watch’, but there are also many other great paintings from the Dutch Golden Age on display here.” Dylan explained enthusiastically. “Aside from the most famous artists like Rembrandt, Vermeer, Steen and Van Gogh, you will get to see masterpieces from artists like Verspronck, Ceasar van Everdingen and my favorite, Jan Asselijn.
“Are you teasing me or testing me Dylan?” I asked shyly. He was talking about artists that I could not even pronounce their names.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I haven’t heard of any of those names before. Of course I know about Rembrandt and Van Gogh, but the rest, I have no idea,” I replied candidly. I liked art, enjoyed looking at beautiful paintings but I was ashamed to admit, my knowledge was limited to the famous artists and their paintings. “I hope you’re not making those names up. Any name with ‘Van Something’ sounds real to me,” I teased him.
He turned me around to face him in front of an impressive marble sculpture. Trying to avoid his gleaming, fathomless eyes, I concentrated on the soft details of the child angel’s beautiful face and his wing. I was reading the name tag: ‘Seated Angel’ by Falconet when Dylan mumbled in my ear, “I promise that I am not tricking you.” But then he broke into a wry grin, and looked at me mischievously, making me suspicious
again.
I shook my head and studied him up and down in disbelief, “For some reason, I don’t believe you.”
“If you think I am tricking you, how about a bet then?”
“A bet? What kind of a bet?”
“Pick any three painting on display around us and I will tell you who the artist is without looking at their tags.”
I raised my eyebrows and trying to contemplate if he was serious. Did he really know that much about Dutch and Flemish artists to go for a bet? Was he bluffing? I didn’t know much about Dutch painters but eyeing hundreds of paintings from different artists and era around us, I doubted his erudition on the subject either. He was a businessman in the financial world. How much could he know about art?
“Alright, I am in.” I said, smiling down at his disarming countenance. “What is the bet for?”
“Hmm,” he mumbled, squinting. “Now, the bet needs to be something significant to make it worthy. Don’t you think?”
“What is worthy enough for you to bet? A thousand dollars?”
“No. I won’t bet for money. It needs to be something worthier than that. How about this...” He sighed deeply as he raked a hand through his hair. “If I win, I get to have one kiss and we spend the rest of the day together. I will choose where we go.”
I chuckled at his playfulness, “Oh come on! That’s the wager? You cannot be serious.” He was taking his flirting to the next level. It wasn’t as guileless as before, but strangely, I found myself enjoying it.
“No, I am very serious.”
“Okay. What do I get if I win?”
“Let me think… If you win, I will be your servant, slave or whatever you want me to be for the rest of the day. If you want a foot massage, you’ll get it.”
It seemed like either way, he was determined to spend the rest of the day with me. “Hmm, very tempting but I need to think.” I crossed my arm in the front, smiling amiably. My thoughts drifted back to the moment he caressed my skin. I yearned for his touch again and wondered how his lips would feel on mine. Did I want him to win this bet?
“Alright, let’s see if you are as good as you think,” I put out my right hand for him to shake. He took my hand slowly and squeezed it gently, but instead of releasing it, he subtly grazed his thumb over the back of my hand. His touch sent shivers down my spine again.
“Let’s start with this one.” I pointed at a painting, picturing four kids around a table: A girl with a flute, a boy holding a dancing cat, another boy holding its tail and the last boy looked like he was holding a spoon.
“You started with an easy one Emma. It is the Dancing Lesson by Steen. Steen is one of the highlighted artists in Rijksmuseum.”
“I didn’t know that. Hmm… Let’s move towards the far corner then. I will try to pick a harder one.” I heaved a sigh checking out the paintings around me. They were all very impressive. It was hard for me to pick one. After looking around for several minutes, I stopped by the painting of a beautiful lady with an exotic, broad-brimmed sun hat and suggestively exposed shoulder, carrying a basket full of fruits. I covered the tag with my hand and arched my brows. “This one!” I said.
“Most portraits are difficult to identify, since there are so many of them over different eras. However this one is very significant due to her very exposed shoulder, an erotic message to the viewers. It is Van Everdingen.”
“You are really good!” I giggled, utterly surprised. “I better pick the last one carefully.”
I walked back and forth in the long corridor and stopped in front of a painting of a swan. It struck me right away. White swan painted in fine details looked scared or rather threatened. It was protecting its nest and eggs from a dog. “How about this one?” I asked.
“Oh… this is a very famous painting as well.” Dylan said while studying the painting. “It was interpreted as a political allegory: the white swan was thought to symbolize the Dutch statesman protecting the country from its enemies.” He explained. “But I think I forgot the name of the painter.”
“Really…” My heart sunk suddenly. I hoped he didn’t notice the chagrin in my voice. God, I truly wanted him to win the bet. “Think carefully, Dylan. You might become my slave for the rest of the day.” I mumbled, trying to hide my nervousness.
“Hmm, let me concentrate. I think it’s either Pieter Gijsels… or Jan Asseljin.”
“Jan Asseljin ….” I exclaimed happily, hearing the correct name on his second guess. “Looks like you won!”
“Well, my price was very worthy, so I had to win.” He watched me carefully as I straightened my dress, tucked a stray strand of hair under my silk foulard.
“I guess we will be together for the rest of the day.”
“You are forgetting the second part of the wager,” he squinted and knitted his brows, insinuating the kiss.
I pecked a small chaste kiss on his cheek and lower my head shyly. He tilted my head up with his finger and gazed intently into my eyes. I could see the yellow hue dusted in the blue madness of his eyes. “That doesn’t count,” he objected immediately. “I will collect my wager properly when the time comes...” He winked. “But, come now. We have only fifteen minutes left. You should see ‘The Milkmaid’ and ‘The Night Watch’. He pulled my hand, and I found myself in front of a colossal canvas, one of the most famous paintings in the world.
“There are a couple of reasons why this painting is very famous,” he started explaining. “Firstly, obviously its size! Mona Lisa looks like a stamp next to this. Secondly, Rembrandt’s effective use of light and shadow is very impressive, and thirdly, the perception of motion in the painting. You see these men…” He pointed to the men in front. “The way he painted, it carries the illusion of motion.”
“It’s definitely impressive. Why is it called ‘The Night Watch’?” I asked.
“Good question,” he said softly. “The painting used to be coated with a dark varnish giving the incorrect impression of a night scene.” He explained and continued to impress me more with his vast knowledge as I stood speechless in front of Rembrandt’s renowned masterpiece. “Popular interpretations suggest that there are several layers of meanings and many symbolisms in this extraordinary painting. It is a glowing symbol of democracy first of all, also it symbolizes Dutch as a united nation…”
I was trying to understand the symbolism in the painting and admiring the fine details of the girl in the yellow dress when finally the museum attendant told the crowd that it was time to leave. People slowly dwindled away, and we were the last ones to exit.
“Thank you Dylan. I enjoyed it a lot, more than you could imagine,” I confessed. “So, what should we do next?” I asked when we were out the door, standing by the canal in the back of the museum.
“I have an idea!” He said with a huge grin, and pleading eyes.
“Okay, let’s hear it. Since you are in charge for the rest of the day, I am anxious to hear your plan.”
“I think no visit to Amsterdam would be complete without seeing a real windmill. I was thinking, maybe we could go check one out.”
“It is a marvelous idea,” I exclaimed joyfully. I wondered how being around Dylan made me this completely different person. I didn’t do anything instantaneous. I planned my days, weeks, or months. I even had a five year plan. However, with Dylan, I was living in complete ‘carpe diem’ mode. He made me feel alive again.
“Are you sure there are still windmills in the city?” I asked. “I thought they were long gone. Destroyed or removed.”
“There are a few around town actually. One of them is even open to the public. I called them when you were getting us something to drink and asked if they could stay open late for us.”
“So, how do we get there?”
“I was thinking about renting a bike,” he paused and his gaze dropped to my lips while he brushed my cheek softly with his knuckle. I thought he was going to kiss me at that instant. And I wanted him to kiss me, but instead, he swirled a strand of my hair around his f
inger and tucked behind my ear.
We walked to the bike shop across the canal. After a quick negotiation, Dylan came back with a red tandem bike and asked. “What do you think?”
“A tandem bike?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Well, you are much taller than me, how are we going to manage?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll do fine!”
“If you say so... I have the map.”
“Ok, then, let’s ride.” He uttered happily.
Dylan sat in the front seat and set our tempo. He carefully matched his long strong strides to my weak ones. Somehow, we managed to ride in complete unison. Every now and then he turned his head back to look at me, and each time my heart melted with the sight of his beguiling smile. Dylan riding in front of me was a beautiful but torturous sight. His attractive body was such a distraction that I couldn’t pay attention to the alluring scenery we were passing by. With each breeze, I inhaled his intoxicating smell. His taut muscles and broad shoulders were in front of me, within my reach, but I didn’t dare to touch. I couldn’t. My attraction towards him was too dangerous. I felt like a little rowboat in treacherous waters.
In half an hour, we arrived at the tall stone mill. We parked our bike by the green building and went inside. We were greeted by the volunteers and the miller, working extra hours because of us. They looked like they didn’t mind; they were very kind and friendly. I suspected Dylan paid them a handsome amount surreptitiously.
On our private tour by the miller, we got to see how the mill cap turned and how the vanes faced the wind. We saw the vanes rotating and stopping by adjusting the sails. Being inside a working windmill was a unique experience. It was amazing to see the power of the wind and how people used that power to pump and drain water or mill grains for centuries.
“I would have enjoyed living in medieval Holland.” I said after leaving the mill. We stood by a tall willow tree in the green pasture.
“Why is that?” Dylan asked. He rested his shoulders on the tree, and then cast a side long glance at me.
One Night In Amsterdam Page 4
