‘No…’ Charles collects the beers and an opener poking out of the pen holder on the desk. ‘Well, sometimes, but I’m not good at it.’
‘Says who?’
‘Me. I wasn’t born with a natural gift so there’s no point.’
‘There’s a point if you enjoy it,’ Loris says, applying masking paper onto the completed parts of the drawing fixed on the plank.
‘It’s… It’s like piano. Or sports. It’s fun, but in my home, hobbies that can’t be anything more than hobbies, they’re not encouraged and— But it’s nice to do a bit of everything, depending on my mood.’
Charles shrugs offhandedly.
He can’t lament to Loris, who had his childhood dream snatched away from him, needs to play Tetris with his furniture, has so little time to devote to his passion that it infringes on his social life, and seems content with his lot.
Not to Loris, who has no reason to worry about him and needs to remain ignorant. Charles doesn’t want pity or concern from Loris. He wants teasing, gloating and childish grins that might uncloud more memories.
‘And writing?’ Loris grabs the beer that Charles is holding out to him. ‘Another pointless hobby?’
‘I guess it’s my natural gift. Next year, I’ll start submitting papers to economic magazines.’
‘Sounds smart. But what about fiction?’
‘Fiction?’
‘You said you write stories.’
‘No, I never said that.’
‘Oh, my bad... Anyway,’ Lorisraises his bottle, ‘cheers to natural gifts. And speaking of fictional stories, should we talk aboutThe Mind of Wonders?’
Charles lets himself fall onto the sofa with a dramatic gasp. ‘Low blow of an opening shot! But yes, argue your point. I’ll take it apart.’
‘The book makes my point. It’s extremely naive to believe it’s an autobiography.’
‘And it’s very cynical to distrust Pavel’s own words.’
‘I trust his words.’ Loris flips a silver pencil and tackles his drawing. ‘I trust everything he claimed until the day he released the book because he was shit-scared to pass into oblivion.’
‘He couldn’t have known it would happen.’
‘It was happening already.’
‘From his perspective or yours?’
Loris looks up, amused. ‘Can I lecture you for five minutes? To explain my perspective on his perspective?’
‘Suit yourself. You’re dying to.’
Charles smirks for show, but he’s dying to be lectured on Olwinski, regardless of the accuracy of the lecture.
‘Okay, so…’ Loris takes two more pencils and clears his throat. ‘Bratislava, 1923. Pavel Olwinski is a young aristocrat, freshly back from travels across post-war Europe. Really inspired, he creates six extraordinary paintings, inventing a flourishing world around his favourite cities. His well-connected father doesn’t waste any time and generates a lot of buzz around his son’s work. So less than a year later, Pavel and hisLandsare invited to Prague, Vienna, even Paris.’
‘Incroyable!’
‘Our Pavel fascinates crowds,’ Loris continues, smiling at the interruption without losing track. ‘He spreads his optimistic views at exhibitions, balls and royal courts. In 1928, the sixLands of Wondersare sold during a lavish auction. That same night, Pavel comes up with another stroke of genius. He announces that he’s never gonna paint anything else and, just like that, the value of theLandstriples. Over the next seven years, some of the paintings change hands frequently, and each sale is a social event where Pavel can shine and boast. Until… Drum rolls please!’
Poker-faced, Charles keeps on sipping his beer.
‘You’re no fun. Until the Olwinski frenzy dies down. His glass-half-full views were refreshing at first, but now they’re out-of-touch. The owner ofBudapestsells off the painting for half its price, because nobody wants to spend that much on an Olwinski anymore. One, then two, then three of theLandsare acquired by museums, which destroys the exclusive aura around the collection. So Pavel gets very frustrated. He puts on his thinking cap, and a solution hits him! He’s gonna write a book to explain theLandswith the saddest, darkest backstory he can think of. The goal? Twist the meaning of his art and astound everybody. He writes about parental abuse, mental disorders, traumatic events during his travels, and he claims that everything was noticeable in theLandsfrom the start. It’s well constructed, because genius once, genius always. The “wonderless truth” behind the series attracts a lot of attention, and Pavel fascinates again. Sadly, the world goes to shit in 1939, everybody stops caring about anybody else’s misfortune, and Pavel gets critically ill. So he jumps headfirst into the Danube, to die the way he lived. On his own terms, pain-free, spectacularly. And I rest my case. And my wrist.’
