mother will attend to two broods at once. But the hatchlings aren’t even the same breed!I tell Luis to climb down from the tree quickly, and not to disturb the workings of nature. The boys all seem to think Luis’s matchmaking will work out well for the swallow chicks.
When Luis says I may eat as much fruit as I please, I notice how hungry and thirsty I am, and I don’t stop eating soft fruit till my stomach complains. Late in the day, with many pounds of ripe fruit picked and neatly stored in the refectory pantry, I drink a pint of water and take my leave of the Morisco boys. My guilt about Luis is partially relieved for if he sees me as a friend he’ll realise I had nothing to do with his incarceration.
After visiting the latrines, I return to the round tower in the hope of asking the painter Weddesteeg those questions that have been intriguing me. I make my way up to the first-floor studio, but only the monk and the horse remain in the room. The painting stands drying, aired by a breeze drifting through an open window. The shadow on the left of the canvas is unaltered. (So it is to be part of the scene then, the human cavity.)
The monk has his back to me when I enter. He’s wearing a painting smock so I guess he must be acting as Weddesteeg’s apprentice while the Fleming is resident in the convento. Harmen’s brushes have been cleaned and the paint jars sealed. I don’t imagine the painter would havedone these chores himself. The monk is squatting down in front of the painting, writing something on a piece of parchment. He hasn’t heard me come in. Standing and raising his arms to the canvas, he stretches a piece of white thread across the length of the horse. He’s taking the horse’s measurements, I suppose. I’ve done this kind of thing myself, with Pacheco’s paintings, when I’ve had to make copies of them.
The monk, wiry and supple, stoops down to the floor again. I decide to leave, but the monk hears my departing footsteps and I’m forced to explain my presence.
‘I have a couple of questions for Señor Weddesteeg.’
The monk shakes his head but says considerately. ‘He’s gone into town. He doesn’t take his meals in the refectory.’
‘I’ll come back another day,’ I nod, moving back a few paces, still transfixed by the painting.
‘Of course. But don’t come tomorrow. Father Rastro has invited the Castle inspectors to view the painting, and they might arrive any time.’
Colour floods my cheeks. Father Rastro’s one step ahead of Carlos Zamorana and his invidious spy then. He must have organised the Castle inspection some time back, if it’s an official visit.
‘Father Rastro’s taking every precaution. He knows the painting may prove contentious,’ says the monk gravely.
Part of me wants to rush away, and part of me wants to stay and find out more.
‘About the buyer…‘ I begin uncertainly.
‘Doña Fillide. A long-time friend of Father Rastro’s. And recently a patron of our Order.’
A private buyer, as I imagined. And a foreigner. I’m only surprised that it’s a woman.
But then I’m not. Rastro must be attached to Doña Fillide. That’s why he’s putting himself through this risky charade.
I’m not sure if I can ask the thing I now want to ask. But if the monk’s just a Morisco, I can perhaps afford to speak candidly. He seems obliging enough.
‘Father Rastro’s doing all this for her then?’
The monk doesn’t blink. He smiles, and gestures to the painting. ‘For that one, he is.’
So it’s to be with Paula. She has made fools of us all.
‘A wonderful painting,’ I say, in parting, feeling I should give it my own stamp of approval.
The monk nods, and says ‘I know,’ with such confidence (for a minion) that I find it a little disconcerting.
CHAPTER 5
At Home with Paula Sánchez
The sun is just beginning to set. I stand in my side-garden and pass a sprig of parsley through an open window to Prospera who reaches out to accept my
When Luis says I may eat as much fruit as I please, I notice how hungry and thirsty I am, and I don’t stop eating soft fruit till my stomach complains. Late in the day, with many pounds of ripe fruit picked and neatly stored in the refectory pantry, I drink a pint of water and take my leave of the Morisco boys. My guilt about Luis is partially relieved for if he sees me as a friend he’ll realise I had nothing to do with his incarceration.
After visiting the latrines, I return to the round tower in the hope of asking the painter Weddesteeg those questions that have been intriguing me. I make my way up to the first-floor studio, but only the monk and the horse remain in the room. The painting stands drying, aired by a breeze drifting through an open window. The shadow on the left of the canvas is unaltered. (So it is to be part of the scene then, the human cavity.)
The monk has his back to me when I enter. He’s wearing a painting smock so I guess he must be acting as Weddesteeg’s apprentice while the Fleming is resident in the convento. Harmen’s brushes have been cleaned and the paint jars sealed. I don’t imagine the painter would havedone these chores himself. The monk is squatting down in front of the painting, writing something on a piece of parchment. He hasn’t heard me come in. Standing and raising his arms to the canvas, he stretches a piece of white thread across the length of the horse. He’s taking the horse’s measurements, I suppose. I’ve done this kind of thing myself, with Pacheco’s paintings, when I’ve had to make copies of them.
The monk, wiry and supple, stoops down to the floor again. I decide to leave, but the monk hears my departing footsteps and I’m forced to explain my presence.
‘I have a couple of questions for Señor Weddesteeg.’
The monk shakes his head but says considerately. ‘He’s gone into town. He doesn’t take his meals in the refectory.’
‘I’ll come back another day,’ I nod, moving back a few paces, still transfixed by the painting.
‘Of course. But don’t come tomorrow. Father Rastro has invited the Castle inspectors to view the painting, and they might arrive any time.’
Colour floods my cheeks. Father Rastro’s one step ahead of Carlos Zamorana and his invidious spy then. He must have organised the Castle inspection some time back, if it’s an official visit.
‘Father Rastro’s taking every precaution. He knows the painting may prove contentious,’ says the monk gravely.
Part of me wants to rush away, and part of me wants to stay and find out more.
‘About the buyer…‘ I begin uncertainly.
‘Doña Fillide. A long-time friend of Father Rastro’s. And recently a patron of our Order.’
A private buyer, as I imagined. And a foreigner. I’m only surprised that it’s a woman.
But then I’m not. Rastro must be attached to Doña Fillide. That’s why he’s putting himself through this risky charade.
I’m not sure if I can ask the thing I now want to ask. But if the monk’s just a Morisco, I can perhaps afford to speak candidly. He seems obliging enough.
‘Father Rastro’s doing all this for her then?’
The monk doesn’t blink. He smiles, and gestures to the painting. ‘For that one, he is.’
So it’s to be with Paula. She has made fools of us all.
‘A wonderful painting,’ I say, in parting, feeling I should give it my own stamp of approval.
The monk nods, and says ‘I know,’ with such confidence (for a minion) that I find it a little disconcerting.
CHAPTER 5
At Home with Paula Sánchez
The sun is just beginning to set. I stand in my side-garden and pass a sprig of parsley through an open window to Prospera who reaches out to accept my
Similar Books
