The Night Watch

A story about an exceptional meeting in Amsterdam.

Last Sunday two days ago I landed in Amsterdam, I've visited Anna Frank home of course, the Dam, well that's the city's main square, and took the canals dinner cruise; I've seen the windmills I've forgotten to my regret the site's long and complicated name.

Not bad for just two days you would surely agree, but I don't know, something was amiss; it was my last stop before flying home, and I was bothered, tired and home sick. Why was I bothered and dissatisfied yet I wondered, scratching my head? I suddenly remembered that I've chosen to land in this city to accomplish a certain goal. Now don't rush into conclusion it isn't what you may think, the Rijksmuseum was my goal and I've almost forgotten it while getting lost among tulip flowerbeds.

Thus on my third day in this bustling city I've visited the Rijksmuseum. The museum wasn't crowded on a weekday despite the many tourists like me who visit this city. Thus I roamed the galleries, enjoyed watching the master pieces of the Dutch famous artists, and there're so many of them... I thought I've had enough and turned around towards the exit. But luckily enough I couldn't find my way out and entered a long and broad gallery with gigantic painting hanging on its walls, and I saw before my amazed eyes "The Surrender of Breda" by Velazquez. A painting of 144' on 120' and stood admiring it, but at my left was hanging Rembrandt's "The Night Watch", and to see this painting after its restoration I've come to this museum. I wasn't alone there, a small crowd stood under it looking upwards with admiring eyes at that huge marvelous master piece of 173' on 141'. I kept watching it for a quarter of an hour and decided with much regret to leave, it was getting late.

As I turned around I've bumped into an old man with a smiling red face and long gray curls on both sides of his cheeks. What was he smiling the… I didn't wish to insult him he was an old man after all, but he was blocking my way.

'Like, you like,' the old man mumbled in Pidgin English.

'Of course I like it but how do I get out of here?'

'Was, oh I show,' he said and moved aside to let me pass, and guided me to the direction of the exit; near the gallery exit he hastened his step and stopped near a museum guard. They were exchanging a few words in Dutch and kept glancing at me.

Is something wrong in my appearance I wondered?

'He no English,' said the man and off we went towards the main exit I guess; but I was getting tired and sick of that funny old man with his rather old fashion cloths.

'What is it all about, what do you want?' I asked him raising my voice. He doesn't speak fluent English or just a few words to be more accurate, but he did understand more or less what I said to him.

He raised his hand and rubbed his thumb on the tips of his fingers, making the very known sign of money.

'How did you get in then, if a ticket price is 15 Euro?' I asked him raising my palm with spread fingers and moving it to and fro three times.

He laughed aloud showing me his toothless gums in his mouth, 'Do you speak Italian?' He suddenly asked me, astounding me completely.

'Yes and how come you speak that foreign language?'

'Let me guide you outside and I'll explain it and more things that would certainly interest you.'

We made our way out side by side while he kept telling a short resume of his astounding life story

'I was educated in a Latin school and as I dreamed of travelling ot Italy, to Florence, Rome and Venice to see all the Renaissance master pieces, I learned Italian by heart.'

He made a short pause and watched me waiting for my reaction, but I was too astounded to react and kept quiet.

'Now this great master piece of mine "The Night Watch" that you admire so much was my downfall.'

'You must be pulling my leg! Why and what could have been the reason, which caused you alleged downfall?' I protested vehemently.

'This new style of light and shade that I've developed caused a decline in my popularity up to my bankruptcy, the public preferred bright colors paintings.'

We went out and walked through Amsterdam streets, while kept updating me on his needs.

'I would appreciate very much if you could help me?' He added as we stopped among the many passers-by on the broad pavement.

'There's my studio on the other side of the road.' He said showing it to me, and then he crossed the road while a tram passed right after he crossed the road, and I lost his sight.

I crossed the road and went to that house, but it seemed an ordinary living house not some public establishment. Nevertheless I knocked on the door and waited to him open it,

The door opened up and a tall middle aged nan looked at me with a face that resembled a question mark.

'Could I visit the studio? Is it open to the public or do I have to buy a ticket? I asked him in my mother tongue.

He burst out laughing aloud and turning back his head he called: 'Zelda there's someone here that wants to buy a ticket to pay us a visit…' He was laughing still as he shut the door in my fact.

© Haim Kadman April the 24^th �" all rights reserved.