The Girl Who Wasn't There by Ferdinand von Schirach Page A

blushing because she was ashamed, but the naked Maja was pale and did not look at anyone. She didn’t understand that, said the student, surely it ought to be the other way around? The teacher explained that Goya had painted the two pictures,
The Naked Maja
and
The Clothed Maja
, for the prime minister of Spain. They had been linked by a folding mechanism that allowed you to see either one or the other version, either the naked or the clothed woman. The minister had hung them in his ‘Erotic Cabinet’ of works of art. At a later date, the Inquisition had the two paintings locked away.
    The girl asked what an erotic cabinet was, and her teacher tried to explain. She said that
The Naked Maja
had been the first Spanish picture to show a woman’s pubic hair. One of the boys dug the boy next to him in the ribs and grinned. The teacher said something that Sofia didn’t understand to the boys, whereupon the first boy grinned even more and went red in the face, and one of the lipstick-wearing girls told him he was still a baby. The teacher stood up and led her students into the next hall.
     
    For a moment Sofia and Eschburg were left alone with the pictures. Sofia said that before that painting of the Maja, artists had portrayed naked women only as angels, nymphs, goddesses, or in historical scenes. Men could look at such images without feeling ashamed. ‘The Maja is different. She has large breasts, a narrow waist, lips painted red. She knows how beautiful she is, and she knows what she’s doing,’ said Sofia.
    Eschburg thought of the other man with whom Sofia had slept in this city. He thought of that other man touching her body, her skin under the summer dress, and the pale scar above the left eyebrow.
    ‘Goya was exposing the men of his time with that picture, if you see what I mean, Sebastian: they were staring at a naked woman, not an angel or a goddess. They had no excuses left. It was those men, not the Maja, who were shown naked,’ said Sofia.
    The wording on a panel beside the pictures told visitors, in both Spanish and English, that it was not certain whether the Maja was the Duchess of Alba or some other woman.
    ‘Who was the Duchess of Alba?’ asked Eschburg.
    ‘Probably Goya’s lover,’ Sofia told him. ‘Goya spent a summer on her estate after her husband had died. He painted a picture for her – it was a declaration of love. The duchess, all in black, is pointing to the ground, where lettering in the sand says
solo Goya
, “Goya alone”. But of course solo also means “only”. The duchess’s lover was “only Goya”, only the painter, a nobody. Many people do think that this duchess modelled for the Maja. Maybe they’re right, or then again maybe not.’
    They stayed standing in the small room in front of the two pictures for some time longer. It was warm. Sofia stood beside him, living and breathing and, here, belonging entirely to him. And then he felt afraid of losing her, because of the way he was.
    ‘Yes, the Maja is the right picture,’ he said.
     
    Later, they went into every antiques dealer’s shop they passed. At last she found what she was looking for: an old tin cigar box with a reproduction of the naked Maja on its lid. The colours were faded. She said these little tins used to be very common, and the cigars they contained were a brand known as ‘Goya’. The antiques dealer said they were still made on the Canary Islands.
    Out in the street again, Sofia took his arm.
    ‘Do you like children?’ she asked suddenly. She put the question as if that were all it was, just a question.
    Eschburg didn’t look at her.
    An old woman was pushing a shopping trolley along the pavement; it was rusty, one wheel was faulty and she couldn’t keep the trolley going straight. It was full of bags, plastic and fabric bags. All the old lady’s possessions, thought Eschburg.
    He put an arm round Sofia and drew her close. He was going to answer her, but she turned to him and shook her