Guy--Part Three

Splog # 8

Three

  The man started walking around Guy's parents like a browser in an art museum who was studying a couple of statues. Guy had wandered over to the boy while the man was moving him about like a clay figure or a puppet.

   Guy's eye glanced at the page the boy was turning and he was struck by the illustration of a woman on a large marble chair. The picture covered the whole page and pulled all of Guy's attention toward it. He knelt down to try to see it better. He had at first been struck by something in the woman that reminded him of his mother. He wasn't sure what it was because her face couldn't be seen. The woman was leaning to the side of the large marble chair she was sitting in. He wondered if it was a throne. It looked like heavy white marble, all straight edges and he thought it would be terribly uncomfortable to sit in - very hard and quite cold. But the woman seemed insensible to the physical aspects of the chair or throne. (It was so large it seemed foolish to think of it as a chair, but thrones were supposed to be golden with velvet cushioning.) Anyway, the woman was resting her forehead on the palm of her right hand, her elbow on the marble arm. She was wearing long flowing robes of dark colors - blues and purples - and had a hood of a light material covering her head so that no features could be seen. Not even the color of her hair.

   As Guy stared at the picture, he felt as if he knew this woman. He felt drawn to her as if he were someone who could help her with whatever her trouble was. He was sure she had troubles, else why would she be there in that hard seat and projecting such an atmosphere of sadness? And what was it that made him think of his mother? The only obvious similarity was that she was a woman. He was so intrigued that he tried to look closer and harder at the picture.

   He squinted his eyes and tried to block out everything around him so he could absorb every small detail. The woman's hand - there was a small white band on the little finger resting on her forehead. Her head was completely hidden but he could see the tiny dent where her left ear must be. Her left hand was resting on her left thigh. There was also a band on the little finger, but this one was red where the other was white. Her clothing hung in many folds and he couldn't tell if it was all one piece or if there was a cloak or something else covering her. Where her right arm came up to meet her head, the sleeve had fallen back and he could see her bare forearm. There was another band around her wrist and this one was big enough that he could tell it was probably metal. Gold, maybe. He could see just a bit of the toe of a black shoe, or whatever her footwear was.

   The feeling of knowing this woman, and of wanting to do something for her, was puzzling and yet overwhelming. He looked to see what kind of a background she was occupying. The marble seat took up most of the picture but there was some sky above it and a sliver on each side of the tall back. The sky was grayish blue, as if it were dusk. And there was something that made it seem there was a slight breeze. But there couldn't be a breeze in a picture. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the drapery of the woman's robes rustle slightly. But when he looked right at it, all was still and he told himself not to be so foolish. He looked to the sky again, as an experiment, but there was no motion. Or was there? Staring back at the robes, he assured himself that they were not moving. Then he tried to will them to move with his eyes. But of course that didn't happen. There was no breeze. Only his imagination. And the slight rising and falling of the woman's breath. It stopped for a moment and then he saw the robe over her breast rise slightly. It fell back and then stopped again. Rise. Fall. Pause. Rise. Fall. Pause. He very slowly put out his hand to stop the illusion that he was experiencing and it brushed a soft material and he pulled it back as though burned. He stepped back and he was no longer kneeling beside a little boy but standing in front of a large marble chair (or throne) in which sat a woman who inexplicably reminded him of his mother. There seemed to be a mist all around him so that only the woman was clear to see. Behind her, the black sun that he had glimpsed a few minutes before was just about to set, but behind what he was unsure of. There was no sound and when he looked around he could see nothing. So he stood and looked at the woman and tried not to be afraid.

   He watched her breathing. He felt a slight breeze and saw it rustle her robes ever so lightly. Then the sun sank and, as it went down, the woman raised up her head.

   She looked straight into his eyes and seemed completely unsurprised to see him standing there. Guy gasped abruptly when he saw his mother's face, but knew instinctively and immediately that this was not his mother. His mother couldn't possibly have ever looked so sad. He didn't think any human being could have ever looked so sad. And without thinking about anything else, he stepped closer and took the hand that was resting on her lap in both of his.

   Guy looked up at the woman and she looked down at him and they stayed that way for what seemed a long time.