Who was she? - Short Story #9

Let me tell you about the weird story of my life. It might sound absolutely insane and even irrelevant. But I am a little frightened and I need to take it out somewhere. A couple of years ago, I had gone to Blackpool on a holiday for a weekend getaway with friends. Blackpool is a fun place to chill. There's a nice beach, plenty of places to get booze, fun fairs, extravagant shows and plays, all sorts of pubs and clubs etc. It's like a carnival out there and a lot of crowd is present during the festive season.

We arrived on a Friday night, spent the evening in a pub and got ourselves drunk. Woke up late on a Saturday, walked around the place, explored the beach, swam a little and got tanned, spent the evening visiting various shows and got drunk again in the evening. The last day being a Sunday, I woke up early and in spite of a slight hangover, I decided to take a quick stroll and make use of the British summer. We were put up in a cozy hostel and all my friends were sound asleep.

The crowd never seemed to cease and the streets were packed with tourists. There were various street performers entertaining the crowd. Jugglers, magicians, drummers, men in giant bunny costumes, clowns on unicycles and all other fantasy world characters you can think of. Various cafes were open for business with the aroma of fresh coffee and croissants filling the streets, gambling houses, gypsy fortunetellers, candy stores. But one store caught my attention. 'The shop of Illusion'. Obviously, it was a shop that sold magic stuff. I went in to have a look as such things always fired up my enthusiasm.

The shop wasn't too crowded. There was an old lady behind the counter who smiled as I walked in. I could see all sorts of DIY magic kits, prank toys, candies, scented candles, souvenirs of all types, costumes for kids and adults, some books on magic tricks, odd show piece objects, grotesque looking statues and some artworks in really nice antique frames. Now art always happened to interest me. So I took time looking and most of them were actual hand painted artwork rather than printed canvas. Then my eyes fell on it. The painting that changed my life. 

It was a medium sized art piece, an oil painting with skilful brush strokes of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Trust me when I say this. That painting was so mesmerising it actually gave me goose bumps as I stood there appreciating the masterpiece.  There she was, standing on the balcony in a side posture with two hands on the railing facing the sea, with a full moon in the background, her face looking at me as if I had just called her name. It seemed as if she turned to see who it was that called, distracting her from the beautiful scenery she was enjoying. She was wearing a white sleeveless nightgown, face illuminated by the moonlight, which was radiantly glowing, the sea far away reflecting the moon and the beach empty but well lit in a night sans darkness.

But it was the face that made me fall in love with the painting. If she were a real woman, which I assume she is because the artist would have used a model, I'd instantly fall in love with that person. In fact, I think the woman in the painting was far more beautiful than the real life model would have been. This painting deserved to be kept in a museum. I was surprised to find it in a small shop that sold cheap magic tricks. I scanned the whole painting to find the name of the artist, there was nothing. I lifted the whole painting and looked behind, nothing again. The women from behind the counter who was watching me all this while walked up to me and told me it cost £30. I was shocked. 

I had expected it to cost no less than a few hundred pounds. Maybe even thousands. Any art lover would have wanted this painting. I wasted no time, I asked her to get it packed for me. It was the deal of a lifetime and I was so happy that I had walked into this shop. The old woman packed the frame with the painting on a large sheet of paper and tied it with some thin strings. I paid her the money. She told me that I was lucky because this was an original artwork by her own grandfather. I was shocked again. I asked her why was she selling off family property. She replied to me very slowly, her grandfather had hid this in his mansion and it was recently discovered as the place was being torn down. She had decided to sell it. I bet she knew nothing about art. I smiled at her and quickly snatched the package that was the painting and made an exit saying a hasty ‘thank you’. I feared she would change her mind and ask for the painting back.

I was extremely pleased with myself on the way to the hostel. My friends asked me what it was that I had purchased, but I let no one touch my newfound treasure and refused to show them what it was. It kind of irked them but they had other interests to attend to. We left Blackpool later in the evening. Off we drove to Cardiff, where the wall in my bedroom waited to be adorned with this beautiful painting.

The next day, I hung it on the wall. It was mine now. I stood there staring at it. Looking at it intently, I realised that the face was now smiling. I hadn't noticed that before. There was something about the beautiful face, it was so life like. I went on with my usual activities for the day. The next morning, I woke up and my eyes fell on the painting first thing because I had placed it right across my bed. She was smiling. I was damn sure now. It was a smile; maybe it was because I was getting familiar with the face. That day, I remember being extremely happy. My mood was elevated and I was strangely content with all the things in my life. I got all-philosophical about life and its greatness. I smiled at people, they smiled back at me. Everything seemed so in place. Every morning I'd wake up and glance at the painting. I never got tired of it. Never. The more I looked at it, I felt rich on the inside. Everything at work was good; my personal life was at its best. What more could I want? 

And it changed one day. I woke up as usual, happened to glance at the painting and got up to head to the bathroom when it struck me. Something was unusual. I looked at the painting. The smile. It was gone. I rubbed my eyes and went to have a closer look. The smile on the face was actually gone. It was now how I remembered it from when I first bought the painting. Expressionless. Emotionless. I shrugged it off as something psychological. I went to work the same day. But could not get the smile off my mind. Was I imagining things? It started to actually make me restless. When I got back home, the first thing I did was to have a look at the painting. Nothing had changed. The smile was gone.

I didn't dare mention about this to anyone in the house fearing I'd be the laughing stock. I woke up the next day to see the same thing. I called in my mother and asked her to have a look at the painting. So she did. I asked her whether the woman was smiling? She gave me a look and turned her head towards the painting. She told me that no one could tell if she was smiling or whining, it seemed perfectly normal, as in a normal expression. That's the thing that bothered me a lot. To me, the woman had ceased to smile and today, she looked cold. She looked sad. Definitely not happy. The other thing that bothered me was my own restlessness. Why was I getting so worked out on a mere painting? That day everything turned upside down. The company I worked for announced major cutbacks and told us that they would be letting 20 to 25 employees off. It was just the beginning. 

Every single day I woke up, the woman in the painting looked even worse. There was severe sadness on her face. Needless to say, things at work were not well at all. I became grumpy. There were rumours that my job contract would be cancelled. It was like the world was toppling down on me. A few people had already lost their jobs. The atmosphere at work reflected on my personality as well. I became angrier, got frustrated quite often and started to lose my temper at certain issues. In two weeks time, I got my bad news. I had lost my job. We all know the fates of those who lost jobs during the recession.

It took me a few days to realise the severity of what had just happened. I found myself applying for new jobs. I found myself unemployed. My family seemed to understand what was going on, but I failed to find solace in them. I started drinking. Soon, it became a regular habit. This affected my relationship as well. I lost my self-confidence. I was losing myself.

The painting. I spent hours in my room just staring at it. She was angry now. I could tell. She looked angry when I was drunk. She looked angrier when I was sober. And I knew for sure my eyes were not playing tricks on me. The painting was a reflection of my mood. One particular night, I got so drunk and on the way back home, I got pulled over by a cop. My alcohol level was obviously too high and I was told that I'd be arrested. I punched the cop in the face. It turned ugly and the next thing I remember was a bolt of electric current passing through my body making me numb. I woke up in jail the next day.

I was let out on bail after a week. When I came home, I realised the person I had become from the person I was. I had changed. I had changed a lot. Friends usually described me as a soft and shy person. Some even refused to believe that I had been arrested. I found the painting in my bedroom. The look on her face. She looked furious. It scared me for a second. I knew for a fact that this was not the face that was when I had purchased it. Definitely not. I had that much of sanity left in me to understand the fact that something was wrong with the painting. I took it down immediately. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. I did not want it hung on my room anymore. But I remember looking at it one last time. And I remember the woman looking back at me. She looked sympathetic. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. In a few months, I had forgotten about the painting. I was told later that it was sold off in a yard sale. Strangely, it didn't bother me anymore. Things were turbulent for a short while, but changes came. In a few weeks time, I found a job. It wasn't the best job, but considering the things that were happening around me, I was told I was lucky to land in a job. I served 100 hours of community service as punishment; at least the case was closed after. Years passed. Life went on.

Now, one week ago, something happened that gave me the shivers. I read about this tragic news in the paper. Some maniac in America, a lone gunman opened fire in a university killing 32 people. The newspaper had printed the photo of the suspected killer, a picture of a lean guy holding a baby in his arms. He was a normal looking guy, photo taken by his wife probably in his own house. What made me restless was not his picture, but the painting hanging on the wall of that living room.