Forgery

by Sabina Murray

  I thought. “She’s self-serving.”

  “And you are Florence Nightingale in Turkey?”

  Which, of course, was both valid and funny.

  I looked at my watch. Nikos had been gone half an hour. The waitress asked me if I wanted another coffee, and I ordered whiskey. I sipped it slowly, watching the boats come in, expertly lining themselves up. What kind of life had Jack and Amanda shared here in all this quiet? How had they passed the time? When I was done, the waitress came by again. She pointed the way up to Amanda’s house. Apparently, lots of people visited. They left flowers on the path or found the spot where Jack had fallen.

  “Did you know him?” I asked.

  The woman nodded. “I didn’t like him very much. He was always drunk, and his wife, sleeping with everyone. I don’t know why he stayed with her.”

  “Maybe he loved her.”

  The woman gave me a concerned look and took my empty glass.

  “Can you take me there?” I said.

  “The house is just up there. See? Follow the path.”

  “Not the house,” I said. “The place where he fell.”

  “You are an admirer?” she asked.

  I pondered this. “I think I am,” I said.

  She walked a way with me up the main path that, if I had continued along it, would take me to the house. But she turned after a restaurant and we started to the right. A cat and her kittens were living beside an overflowing garbage can, and they yowled when they saw me, as if I were likely to feed them. I offered the woman a cigarette and she let me light it. She smoked holding it between her forefinger and thumb.

  “Does it take long to get there?” I asked.

  “That depends on where you’re coming from,” she said.

  I thought and said, “That’s a joke.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “You are too serious.”

  She gestured for me to go ahead and I pushed my way under an olive tree. I could see that the grass was trampled here. Someone had put a few bricks together to make a low altar, and on this were some dew-stained cigarettes. The grass beside these bricks was tinged with a red residue.

  “Is that…?”

  “Wine,” said the woman. She looked at me again. She thought I was out of my mind, and I was beginning to share her opinion. “They pour it into the ground there. Maybe they think he’s going to grow up, like a vine.”

  I crouched down and looked at the altar, then up at the dizzying rise of the cliff. The mountain pitched upward like a jagged tooth, but at the top I saw a low wall. Jack must have fallen from there.

  “Can we go?” asked the woman.

  “I’ll stay here, if it’s all right.”

  She nodded, unimpressed. “Should I save you a fish for your dinner?” she asked.

  “I hope to join you,” I said politely, “but I have to catch up with my friend.”

  She shrugged again and left.

  I don’t know how long I stood there. This spot was unremarkable, but I felt the same involuntary awe that found me in cathedrals. There was a sense of God. Maybe it was the quiet; I could hear a horse some distance away, the flick and flick of its tail. A cloud passed over, creating an instant of shadow. For a moment it was as if all time had stopped. But then I heard a woman laughing. Amanda laughing. She was sitting on the wall, that same wall Jack had fallen from. She wasn’t scared. She was laughing and laughing; Nikos was delighting her in some way. Then she looked over. I couldn’t see her features because she was backlit by the sun. All I saw was her fuzzy golden halo of hair and her strong arms.

  “Rupert,” she called, “is that you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You should come up and have a drink,” she said. “I’m just putting together some mezes.”

  Almost a year passed before I saw Amanda again. Of course, she was never convicted of killing Jack. She was never even a suspect. I had no real evidence and was still piecing it all together. But on seeing Amanda at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in her red silk sheath, a narrow cape extending down to the floor—the stunning Amanda, a woman I had never known, except carnally, the murderer of her husband—I felt a cold and unforgiving condescension.

  The occasion was Uncle William’s donation of the head. We had fought over this for months. I wanted to protect the head and Uncle William, who believed in it, from too much scrutiny. He thought I was being ungenerous. I sat through many lectures on the need for patronage in public art. All those little Negro children from the Bronx who would never see a head like this if he didn’t provide it. Had I no feelings of responsibility to those less fortunate? Had he failed to teach me the sanctimonious serenity that is noblesse oblige? The only good to come of this, as far as I was concerned, was that I met Dr. Schultz from the University of Pennsylvania. Dr. Schultz had come to authenticate the head before its acceptance by the museum. He was a pleasant man with an almost religious quietness and humility. His hair was gray and cropped in a neat cube over his ears. His suit must have been nice once but now had shiny worn patches. When he asked the particulars of finding the head, he turned his ear to me in such a way that I was reminded of something, that I only later attributed to recollections of the Victrola. He had large ears and, when he listened, was absolutely still.

  Dr. Schultz was heading to northern Iraq, where he’d started an excavation in conjunction with some French archaeologists. I was startled when he invited me to join him. I was moved by this generosity and immediately accepted. I was to join him in a couple of days. I had my bags packed. There were little brushes and a small pick and some other stuff. Uncle William had had my initials burned into the wooden handles.

  I supposed there was to be some sort of address by the director of the museum, and then Uncle William would be honored. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I knew he was taking a few moments to pull himself together because he had a tendency to get emotional at things like this. There was a waiter gliding around with a tray of champagne flutes, and I took one. I decided to look for Clive, who was lurking somewhere, listening in on other people’s conversations. I found him standing by the head with a rather handsome-looking man, maybe ten years his senior. I stood at a safe distance with my drink, pretending to be interested in a grave stella that was displayed close by.

  I heard Clive say, “Do you really think it’s Antinoüs? Aren’t the eyebrows a bit wonky?”

  “I have no doubt in my mind that it is he. Do you know his story?”

  “No,” said Clive.

  “He was the favorite of Hadrian. He drowned in the Nile under suspicious circumstances. Hadrian was distraught. He made Antinoüs a deity. Gave him his own constellation. He was the last god added to the pantheon.”

  This man seemed genuinely saddened by this. Clive said, “But isn’t it funny that we know who it was, but we don’t know the artist. Today it’s different. Everyone knows the artist, but they don’t always know the subject.”

  “That’s very true,” said the man.

  I, of course, wondered if Clive was being ironic, but he’d probably just gotten carried away and forgotten that he did know the artist. But Clive was right. The subject was no longer the divinity, the artist was. Old Jack. Jack, wherever he was.

  And then I saw Amanda walking toward me.

  “How are you, Rupert?” she said. “I thought you were going to call me when you got back from Greece.”

  “I still might,” I said.

  “That was ten months ago,” she said. She had an enormous canary diamond on her left ring finger. She had once worn an unfaceted topaz set in bronze, something Jack had made. I picked up Amanda’s hand and admired the ring.

  “Kiplinger,” she said.

  “I was going to say Cartier.” I let the hand drop. “Nineteen twenties. Very nice.”

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she said.

  I took a moment to think. “I’d rather wait till Kiplinger’s dead for that.”

  There was a silence.

&
nbsp; “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Of course you don’t.” I raised my glass and Amanda left me.

  I wandered into the next gallery. I was surprised to see Uncle William standing there, completely alone. He seemed to be hiding.

  “Uncle William,” I said. I handed him the champagne.

  “I hate champagne,” he said.

  “I know,” I replied, “but I think you need it.”

  Uncle William was looking at a modern piece, some wooden female figure rising upward like a flame, with her hands above her head and the whole thing swirling at an angle. The eyes of the figure were closed and the mouth open, just a little. The breasts were full and the stomach kind of flattened, not rounded as women’s stomachs usually were. The musculature was exceptional for a woman: pronounced, lean, and strong. I looked at the face for a moment and recognized her. I wasn’t surprised at the artist: John Weldon. The title of the piece was The Lovers. Amanda floated out in a whirlwind and I thought I saw an influence, one of churning figures—was it Paulo and Francesca?—from Blake’s illustrations of the Inferno. I looked at the base of the sculpture and it seemed to be rising out of a molten heap of dark bronze, but there were holes in the bronze, and showing through this were goat hair, fragments of bone, a twist of rusted wire, and a piece of marble rubble that under scrutiny revealed the flattened oval of an eye, Jack’s eye.

  I must have been quiet for some time, because Uncle William patted my arm.

  “It’s amazing what goes for art,” he said.

  I laughed. “I’m actually an admirer,” I said. “Weldon had a great capacity for life.”

  Uncle William looked at the dates, 1916–1963. “Well, he’s dead now.”

  I looked at the writhing figures. Jack was trapped in there, with Amanda. They were caught in marble and the wood, everything, even their pulse. “Take a closer look,” I said.

  He did. “Rupert, it’s atrocious.”

  “I don’t agree,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder, “it’s divine.”

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  FORGERY

  Sabina Murray

  A GROVE PRESS READING GROUP GUIDE

  BY MARIANNE LARCA

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  We hope that these discussion questions will enhance your reading group’s exploration of Sabina Murray’s Forgery. They are meant to stimulate discussion, offer new viewpoints, and enrich your enjoyment of the book.

  More reading group guides and additional information, including summaries, author tours, and author sites for other fine Grove Press titles, may be found on our Web site, www.groveatlantic.com.

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  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. The artifacts that Rupert finds may be forgeries or frauds but many of the characters in this novel are also not what they appear to be. Discuss some of the characters and their secrets including Uncle William, Kostas, Steve Kelly, and Jack Weldon.

  2. Kostas’s son Nikos is a free spirit interested in modern things. “He doesn’t like anything before Brancusi” (p. 207). Rupert is unhappy, weighed down by grief at the loss of his son Michael. Rupert wants “to know how old the things are” (p. 131). Compare and contrast Rupert and Nikos.

  3. Why did Uncle William send Rupert to Greece? What arrangements had Kostas made for Rupert? Why was he supposed to keep his reason for being there secret?

  4. What reason did Kostas use for rejecting the concept of forgery in the world of Greek art? Who was Pheidias?

  5. Rupert seems to have conflicting or unresolved feelings about Uncle William at various times in the novel. Discuss some examples of why you think Rupert did or did not forgive Uncle William for hiding the truth about his birth.

  6. Rupert studied art history. He wanted to know how old things were. Why was he so interested in the past?

  7. Rupert seemed to enjoy the time on Aspros. Why didn’t Rupert care that the head was not authentic?

  8. When Hester came to Aspros with her father’s ashes Rupert “thought of Grolsz who had loved me and whom I had loved” (p. 146). What role did Max Grolsz play in Rupert’s life? Why was Rupert so sad at the death of his father-in-law?

  9. Rupert didn’t treat Hester kindly. What reason had he previously given for the divorce? What were the real reasons that they were finally able to speak about?

  10. Rupert was drawn to Olivia because he felt they had something in common. How did he explain their bond? Why did he go to Scotland with Olivia? He questioned himself later. “What was I thinking? Was I thinking?” (p. 207). Rupert was aware of her condition from the beginning of their relationship, but what happened that made his grief more difficult to bear?

  11. Olivia’s in-laws misjudged Rupert. He refused to accept the properties that Olivia left to him in her will. Should he have accepted the money from her estate?

  12. After Olivia’s death Rupert chose to move to Vermont and set up a business. Explain why the move to Vermont was “a complete failure” (p. 226).

  13. Rupert often makes questionable choices or choices for the wrong reasons. Many of his choices seem driven by circumstance, to which he responds passively. Why did he marry Hester? Why didn’t he speak to his mother when he was at the café?

  14. Clive asked Rupert if he wondered “what we were all doing there (Aspros) at the same time” (p. 206). Rupert answered that he did and that he came “to the conclusion that there was less coincidence than on first appearance” (p. 206). Explain what Rupert means by this statement.

  15. What was an unintended consequence of Rupert’s attempt to make his uncle happy?

  16. What did Rupert mean when he said that Jack’s sculpture of The Lovers was “divine” (p. 248).

  17. Rupert’s former job and main interest was searching for provenance. Why does he give the forgery to Uncle William? Why does he take the risk of being found out?

  18. “I had never seen such adoration of anyone for anyone” (p. 51). Was Rupert envious of the relationship between Kostas and Nikos? Why?

  19. At times Rupert was overwhelmed by his grief. Why couldn’t he help Monsieur Michaud, the archaeologist?

  20. Discuss these statements about art: “Art is what gives man his soul”(p. 1). “There’s no such thing as real art. People don’t care. Something is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it, and people like stories” (p. 205).

  21. Why did Uncle William travel? Is Rupert following in his footsteps?

  22. Discuss how Rupert’s life would be different if Michael had lived?

  23. “Every Greek has the Acropolis at his back. What I want to know is what is at the front” (p. 10). Nikos embraced the modern world but did he totally reject tradition? Explain.

  24. Rupert didn’t like Amanda. He felt she was “a great manipulator” (p. 121). Yet he slept with her in Vermont because once again it was convenient, “she was the obvious choice” (p. 233). When he saw her in New York knowing what he did about the death of her husband, he felt “a cold and unforgiving condescension.” (p. 245). Why didn’t he reveal her secret?

  25. Rupert’s relationships with women were either meaningless or filled with grief. Discuss some of Rupert’s relationships with women. Why did he have such difficulty in these relationships?

  26. By the end of the novel does it appear that Rupert has accepted UncleWilliam? Explain.

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