‘Not anymore. But I coachkids on Sundays.’
‘For Hampstead RF Club?’
‘No. They can’t afford me.’
It’s not clear whether it’s a joke, so Charles exhales a laugh that works as a reaction either way.
‘I’m Charles.’
‘Yeah. You third-personed yourself last time.’
‘It wasn’t me, it was the tequila. Also responsible for leaving this behind.’ Charles places his hand over the pen and gets off the stool. ‘Thank you for holding on to it.’
‘Every pen pot needs a few useless pens. Why is it meaningful to you?’
‘Sentimental value...’
‘It’s Russian, right?’ Loris grabs a chopping board and a couple of limes. ‘The inscription?’
Charles nibbles his cheek, unsettled that he considers explaining.
Perhaps it’s because Loris’ interest is part of his job description. Listening to slices of life while he cuts slices of fruit, when the lone customer at the bar seems heavy-hearted. He will care enough to give Charles his full attention, but he won’t care to the point of passing judgement. A safe amount of caring.
As long as Charles manages to emphasise why he loves the pen without touching upon the reasons why he needs it.
‘I can’t promise it will captivate you.’
‘Try me.’
‘It’s Russian, yes. It saysThe Mind of Wonders. It’s the title of a book. Here it saysKaunas, the city in Lithuania. And this coat of arms almost erased, it’s the signature symbol of the painter who wrote it. The book. That painter wrote a book, but he was a painter, it’s… Alright, Charles, let’s be concise.’
‘Tequila’s fault,you said?’
‘Shut up.’
Loris rubs his grinning lips together, and Charles clears his throat.
‘I’m really into art. Fine arts, that is. And I’m a huge fan of a Slovakian painter from the 1920s, called Olwinski. He’s not well known, but he’s been one of my obsessions since I was a kid. He only created one collection of six paintings,TheLands of Wonders. EachLandwas inspired by a different Eastern European city, and they’re absolute masterpieces. The depiction of the cities is utopian and surrealist, but Olwinski also kept their essence and history somehow. They’re incredible. This man was a genius. And later in his life, he wrote an autobiography,The Mind of Wonders. It’s a difficult read. It’s raw and dark, but it’s fascinating to glean all the hardship he suffered and how he hid it in theLands. The book is like a map leading to all the treasures we missed in the paintings. It’s astounding. I love it. I… I truly love it.’
Loris is done cutting limes. He’s facing Charles, intense and inquisitive, his arms folded over his t-shirt.
‘And so, the pen… Five years ago, I went to State Hermitage, the museum in St Petersburg. Hence the inscription in Russian. They own one of theLands, and at that time they were exhibiting two. A loan from Le Louvre. And during the event, the gift shop sold limited editions of Olwinski-branded stuff. Notebooks, mugs, even socks. And pens. One for each painting. I bought and kept all six, but this one is special. It’s attached to the painting namedKaunas. I adore it, but I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. It’s owned by a private collector who secluded himself in Ustica, in Sicily. Which I find a bit wrong. In the 40s, Ustica was a prison island where fascists banished thousands of people, including homosexuals. And every true fan of Olwinski knows he was gay. So it’s a dubious choice to keep thepainting there. The island is entitled to redemption, yes, but of all places… And I went off topic.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘In summary, this cheap pen is precious to me because it’s the closest thing I have to a painting I’ll never see. Well, I have posters, which are closer to the real thing, but the pen was a limited edition so it’s as valuable as the painting. In a way. A cheap way. It’s— I’m terrible at making sense. But that’s why I’m grateful you kept it.’
‘Interesting…’
‘I believe so. Not my story, but Olwinski’s life, and his art. It’s fantastic, he’s criminally underrated and—’
‘Fuck, sorry!’ Loris’ eyes snap up. ‘Yeah, I’m coming!’ he shouts at the group of construction workers in overalls waving from the patio. ‘I’ve asked them to stay outside when they’re dripping fresh paint, but they’re not great at patience either.’
‘I’ll let you work.’ Charles puts the pen away in his bag. ‘Thank you for listening.’
‘That’s what I’m here for.’
Jack the illustrator is taking a break from his rest and watches them as they cross the room.
