Walking blindfolded through a busy gallery was a strange feeling, but I’d never felt more secure. At least, when it came to moving around safely. I was, however, terrified of failing at the challenge I had assigned myself.
Roux took a few more steps, turned right, and stopped.
“Okay. That one. What do you hear?”
The sounds of the painting came through clear as a bell.
Ha. Easy. “I hear cows. Munching, stomping, mooing. Cows in a field, maybe?”
Roux went totally still, then leaned in. His body heat enveloped me as he checked the blindfold.
“No peeking,” he grunted.
“I’m not. Those are cows, right?”
Without a word, he led me onward, then stopped again.
“Okay, now what do you hear?”
I strained to hear, but there wasn’t much. “Something in the distance…maybe a wagon on a road?”
Roux didn’t say anything, but I could tell I wasn’t far off.
“I hear flies buzzing, like a quiet day in the country…” I went on.
He scoffed. “You’re just guessing. That could be any of the landscapes in this gallery.”
I stomped my foot. “I am not guessing. It’s just a quiet scene. Oh!” I froze as a bell chimed.Bong… Bong… Bong…
“I hear bells. Like the church tower in Auberre at three-quarters of an hour.”
He went silent, and I waited.
“Well?” I finally asked.
“Van Gogh.The church at Auvers,” he murmured.
“See? I can hear paintings. Well, paintings made with skill and passion.” I turned my head, listening, then pointed. “There are two girls talking in a painting over there. And over there…” I cocked my head. “A horse. A kid. Maybe a wagon?”
“Gypsy caravan,” Roux murmured, dumbfounded. “By Van Gogh. AndDeux fillettes — Two Little Girls.” He checked my scarf again, then said, “You’ve been here before. That’s how you know.”
“Yes, I have been here before. But no, I didn’t memorize every painting in every room. I probably couldn’t if I tried.”
He led me onward, faster. We passed through one room, then another, where he turned me around three times. Then he took me through another few rooms and repeated the process.
“Okay, now what?” he demanded.
I bit my lip, listening. “Horses, over there.”
Silence, then a begrudging reply. “Degas.Le Défilé.”
“Ah, the racehorses.” I nodded. “No wonder they sound so nervous.” I turned in a different direction, following my ears. “And over there… Water lapping. A lake, or a slow-moving river, maybe?”
Roux’s stunned silence was as good asYes.
I went on. “A church. Big, heavy bells.” I cocked my head. “Oh. Big Ben?”
“Monet,Houses of Parliament,” he confirmed in a stunned voice.
