Da Vinci in Love

by Maysam Yabandeh

  “Good.”

  “—well, not yet I don’t.”

  “Do you like… build statues or something?”

  “I am a poet, and a painter.” Krishna’s voice is a bit hoarse after all that yelling.

  “Poems are not quite useful around here; we already have a thick book to read, if you know what I mean,” the monk chuckles, “but paintings, huh?” The monk is stroking his chin. He looks back at the empty wall behind him, and says: “This wall is indeed a bit naked, and your art can take care of it. Let me cut you a deal. You offer a good painting of Santa Maria, we put it up there, and tonight I will shoot up an awesome, top-notch, super prayer for you to get you exactly what you want.” The monk pauses. “What was that again?”

  “Ha, yeah, like your prayer is going to make a difference?” Leonardo says with a chuckle.

  “Of course!” the monk frowns. “My prayers are always accepted, 100% guaranteed. I see holy spirit every single night, in my dreams. People call me super monk around here.”

  “You?!”

  “Yes. Me!” the monk is a bit offended.

  “Like a genie?!” Leonardo asks mockingly.

  “Nooo! Like a monk. We are in the church. Now, quit nagging like a baby, and tell me what was it that you wanted?”

  Leonardo doesn’t quite believe the monk, but he likes the idea of painting Santa Maria; there is something calming in painting that attracts him. Besides, he is desperate and hopeless, so he might as well just play along.

  “Okay, why not?” Leonardo responds with a reluctant tone. “My art to be appreciated, by at least one of the God’s fine people.”

  “Appreciated, one, fine, you got it. Can you finish the painting by next Sunday?”

  You will get your painting, Leonardo thinks; there was no need for so much rambling, and bullsh**ing about prayers.

  “I can finish it tonight,” he says confidently.

  “Tonight?! Wow, you must be very good.”

  “Everything is in my head already. Pouring it on a canvas wouldn’t take long.”

  “Alright then. That is our covenant. Hmm, no, that is too biblical; let call it a deal. You bring the Santa Maria’s painting tomorrow, and I guarantee you will find your wish granted by then.”

  The monk is leaving. After a few steps, he stops, pauses for a beat, turns, and says: “Make her smile. Would be a good vibe for the church.”

  The Painting

  It is night, and Leonardo is about to do his first painting for the church, of Santa Maria, the virgin mother, the girl who was never touched. He picks up the brush, and doesn’t hesitate even a bit to start painting. He knows exactly what to draw.

  He starts with the eyes. The eyes are full of energy, as if they are emitting the light instead of receiving it. They look directly at you as if she is alive, and communicates with you through the painting. The eyes are widened as if she is smiling and happy, but there are also little drops of tears accumulated in the corner of the left eye. The wet eyes create a mirror effect, and you could see some reflections on them; the reflections are vague though, and each time you look at them you read them differently. It is as if the eyes are speaking with you, telling you a new story each time you watch them again; showing you what you should see or what you want to see. The pupil is as dark as night with a tiny image of a man reflecting from them. It is as if you are looking down into an endless well, looking for answers, but the only thing you see down there is your own reflection in the pure water at the bottom of the well.

  That was the eyes. Then, he adds ears, nose, lips and stuff, and signs Leonardo Da Vinci at the bottom.

  Leonardo takes a step back to see his painting from a distance. Could a portrait be more perfect, Leonardo thinks; could an art be more divine? His eyes are tired, but he couldn’t take them off the painting. He sits on his wobbly, wooden chair, slowly pulls his knees to his chest, hugs them, rest the side of his face on them, and stares at his painting. Minutes pass by, and he doesn’t make a move. He just stares at the painting, as if he is trying to find himself in her, and her eyes. An hour passes by, and he is still as stone, as if he is asleep or dead. His eyes are open though, and keep staring at his masterpiece.

  * * *

  Leonardo slowly opens his eyes. He has the biggest smile on his face. He is as happy as a child. It is as if he has just been resurrected from the dead, coming back to earth from Heaven. His eyes are seeing the ceiling. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to freeze the moment as long as possible. Gradually, he realizes that he is lying in bed. He remembers himself sitting on the chair though. Weird!

  Was it just a dream? He wonders.

  “The painting!” Leonardo says while worryingly jumps out of the bed. He looks at the easel, but there is no painting there.

  “Damn it, Damn it, Damn it,” Leonardo says while holding his head between hands. He notices a canvas lying on the floor on its front. He wishfully reaches for the canvas, turns it over, and yes, it is her, with the same merciful eyes staring at Leonardo. Leonardo hugs the canvas tight, and says: “I knew you were not just a dream. I knew it.”

  He cannot wait to unveil her to the world.

  * * *

  “Congratulations! This is the greatest piece of art imaginable,” Leonardo is having a shower-conversation with himself.

  “Master Da Vinci, what is the key to your success?”

  “If the artist is honest and truthful, and speaks from deep in his heart, then the art will also be pure and well-received by hearts.”

  “That was amazingly poetic. Are you also a poet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Painting and poetry are just different mediums that art flows in them. A true, free-spirited artist is never confined within a particular medium.”

  “Where did you get the inspiration?”

  “From sky, spring, flowers and you.”

  “Oh, that is such an honor, thank you.”

  “Ohhh you’re welcome.”

  “Oooh thank you.”

  “Ohhh you’re welcome.”

  “Oooh”

  “Ohhh”

  * * *

  Leonardo is wearing a smug smile. He is watching himself in the mirror. There is a look of confidence in his eyes. A towel is wrapped around his waist. As his eyes are still on himself, he pours some hair products on his palm, and comb it through his hair. After playing with his hair for a while, he wears perfume from an expensive-looking bottle. His eyes are still on himself in the mirror. “Watch out world, here comes Leo, and his art,” Leonardo says to the mirror.

  Leonardo has put his shoes on. The painting under his arm, he is ready to exit his home when he notices a note on the door that says, “Papa, Watch, Before Noon”. He is not thrilled by seeing the note. He goes back, and picks up an old-looking pocket watch from the table, puts it in his pocket, and leaves his apartment to reveal his masterpiece to the world.

  The Revelation

  “Eww, Is that supposed to be me?” Silvia says while making a disgusted face.

  “No. This is a portrait of Santa Maria.”

  “Then why are you showing to me?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Why is her nose is so fat?” Silvia touches her own nose to ensure of the difference. The beach towel that was wrapped around her shoulder falls off. She has nothing on but a bikini.

  “Look at the eyes—” Leonardo says furiously before he is cut off.

  “Have you seen the paintings of Dennis Wojtkiewicz?” Silvia says while picking up the towel. “They are like the ultimate paintings. They look so real, it is like a real photograph, it actually looks exactly like a picture taken by a camera.”

  “If a camera can do the same, why bother with the painting?”

  “Exactly!”

  “I know you want it. I know you want it,” The song is played abruptly from the Romeo’s car speaker. The car is a tasteless Lowrider, bouncing up and down with the song. Romeo is carrying an annoyingly-confident open mouth smile.

&
nbsp; Silvia turns, excited to see Romeo but not thrilled about the song.

  “Turn that off,” she shouts at Romeo. He, keeping the open mouth smile, slowly reaches over the speaker buttons, turns down the volume, and presses a button to turn off the hoping.

  “Hop on f*** buddy.” The open mouth smile now seems too forced.

  “I asked you not to call me that. That’s mean.” Silvia makes a dramatic, irritated face.

  “Beach is waiting. Coming or what?”

  “Aargh!” Silvia expresses a slight objection, but doesn’t hesitate to get in the car. Romeo doesn’t waste a second, and pushes on the gas pedal. The purple car moves ahead, and the large boat on the trailer that is being dragged behind it passes in front of Leonardo. The car suddenly stops. Leonardo sees Romeo on the car’s wing mirror, apparently asking him to approach. Leonardo ignores that, and takes his eyes off the car.

  “Hey buddy, could you come over for a sec?”

  “Me?!”

  Romeo nodes his head.

  Leonardo is hesitant. He wonders if he should just leave in peace with his dignity intact—well, almost intact. Finally, he makes up his mind, and the painting under his arm, cautiously approaches Romeo.

  “We are going to have a lot of fun at the beach, and Silvia needs someone to constantly reapply sunscreen on her, because you know, we wanna take care of this soft, sexy skin.” Romeo points to Silvia. She is biting her lips; she seems to be smiling.

  Leonardo swallows his spit. His heart is beating faster.

  “Silvia is looking for a handsome boy like yourself to help her. Would you like to join us?”

  “Really?!” Leonardo asks enthusiastically.

  Romeo says nothing. He just sneers, and turns away. Silvia cannot hold it anymore, and bursts into laughter while covering her mouth. Romeo drives away.

  “You are so mean,” Silvia says while playfully punches him on the arm. She is still laughing.

  Leonardo is frozen, taking labored breaths. He doesn’t know if he should be upset or angry. He is mostly mad at himself, for putting himself in this situation, for letting himself believe again. He watches the car driving away. All the hope with which he woke up this morning, was driving away with that car.

  The car has been gone for a while now. He finally snaps out of it, takes his eye off the road, turns away, and walks the opposite direction. His feet feel heavy; he barely can walk. He drags the painting behind him. The sound of the painting being dragged on the ground is like a music played for funerals, the departed would be Santa Maria.

  * * *

  Leonardo is walking in an endless desert. There is nobody, nothing in that desert except for the painting, resting under Leonardo’s arm. Leonardo feels sorry, not for himself, but for the painting for being unappreciated, uncelebrated. The ground is a soft, ankle-deep sand, which makes the pointless walking much harder. Gravity, as always, is not helping either, and his feet feel very heavy. He very much likes to stop, and to put an end to this endless walk. He does; he stops.

  A one-year-old baby rises up right before him, hanging in the air. The baby’s face is empty from any emotions, no smile, no sadness, nothing. The baby is staring at Leonardo, looking directly into his eyes. Leonardo smiles. The baby doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, perhaps out of desperation, he holds the painting in front of him, showing it to the baby. The baby glances at it, takes another look at Leonardo’s eyes, which were begging for some praise, and turns back while keeping the same emotionless face.

  Leonardo snaps back to reality. He finds himself standing in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green. A woman is waiting before him, with her baby in her arms. The baby has already turned back, but Leonardo is still holding the painting in front of him. “Is this the rock bottom?” he asks himself. The light turns green, and the woman crosses the street. Leonardo, however, is standing still, holding the painting. The baby is getting further and further away. Leonardo finds no reason to continue. What is the point? He wonders. This cannot be the end; there must be a silver lining somewhere.

  “Oh, my gosh, this is amazing! Did you do that yourself?” says a young woman in running tights, running shoes, and a sports bra. She is coming from across the street, looking directly at the painting.

  “Yeees, yes I did. Thank you,” Leonardo responds with highly dilated eyes, and a tired, happy smile that has been waiting for too long to finally surface on his face.

  “What was her reaction?” she asks while approaching him.

  “She didn’t get it. It is like—”

  “Did you tell her about my new dress?” she says while passing by Leonardo. He realizes that she was talking on the phone. Leonardo is frozen. He has absolutely no idea how to react. He is searching very hard in his brain, through all his learnings, knowledge, and wisdom, but finds nothing; nothing has prepared him for this coldest moment. He eventually chuckles, as if he has lost his mind; as if he has gone mad. My life was a comedy, I just had to learn to laugh; he remembers the quote.

  Something rings. Leonardo looks down. The sound is coming from Leonardo’s pocket. He is confused. He puts his hand in the pocket, and finds the pocket watch there. “Oh, papa,” he remembers; reluctantly presses the crosswalk button, and waits for the light to turn green.

  * * *

  “Oh good, the great Michelangelo is here,” Papa says sarcastically, without raising his head. He expects nobody would enter that door except for his son.

  “Hi Pa,” Leonardo says with an unenthusiastic voice. His dad is—as always—frustrated, uneasy, and full of hate. He is working behind his desk in a dark basement. The daylight is barely penetrating through a small window on the top corner of the wall. His desk is covered with screws, gears, springs, broken watches, and very-old-looking mechanical toys of all kinds. It is like stepping into a portal to centuries ago, to Renaissance era. He is wearing a watchmaker loupe on this eye, fixing one of the watches.

  Leonardo pulls the watch out of his pocket, and puts in on his dad’s desk. “Sergio said it is antic, be gentle with it.”

  “What that fat pig knows about being gentle!” Papa says while looking up. He notices the painting in Leonardo’s arm.

  “What is that? Another masterpiece of yours? Let me see that.”

  “Pa, can I just—”

  “Let me see that,” the father insists as if he is giving an order. Leonardo reluctantly holds the painting on the table, beside all the mechanical junks.

  “What is that? A nun! Are you getting paid for that? I didn’t think so. One of these days you’re gonna learn that the real women are not in paintings, they are all out there, and you can get them if you get a real job, that pays. And then maybe the greatest underrated engineer of the decade wouldn’t have to live in this sh**hole, burning his eyes out to fix fat, fu**ing Sergio’s watches.”

  “Pa, can I just go?” Leonardo shows no interest in engaging in this conversation. It is as he has heard it a million times, and he already knows how it would go.

  “Go, go, get out of my face, you are useless anyway.”

  Leonardo puts the painting under his arm, and heads to the door.

  “And take that sad painting with you too, I don’t want any of that sh** in my house.”

  Leonardo doesn’t react; he just keeps going towards the door. Papa is watching Leonardo from behind. He feels sorry for his son. He wishes his only son would stay a bit longer with his lonesome father.

  “Hang on,” Papa says with a softer tone. Leonardo turns to Papa. His look is down, waiting for his father to talk. Papa’s pause is taking too long; he thinks and thinks, but cannot find the right words.

  “Take the Nana’s glasses with you,” he says finally; “Tell her not to wrestle with the handles so much.” He points to the shelf by the door. Leonardo picks up the glasses, and leaves without saying goodbye.

  * * *

  Nana puts the glasses on. She is a wizened, weather-beaten, old woman. Her fac
e is covered with deep wrinkles as if she is a thousand years old. She now can see Leonardo very clearly. They are on the balcony. She is sitting on an old, rocking chair. The worn colors suggest that the balcony belongs to a very cheap apartment. It is very bright though, and the sun is shining on every object around Nana.

  “Thank God I can see again how handsome you are. What is that you are hiding behind you my dear?”

  “Nothing, just a painting, it’s nothing.”

  “Whaat?” Nana shouts; her hearing is impaired. Leonardo doesn’t bother repeating it. He holds the painting in front of him.

  “Oh, this is gorgeous, amazing. She looks a lot like me.”

  Leonardo chuckles.

  “I have never seen a painting like this. You are a true artist. I am so proud of you. This is the best I have seen in my entire life.”

  “And how many have you seen?” Leonardo says with a snort.

  “Whaat?”

  “I said how many paintings have you seen?” Leonardo speaks louder.

  “Thousands, maybe a million. Oh, my dear, you are a special man, and I have seen plenty. There was a day I could see, go places. I was once young and pretty. I love you my dear.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Whaat?”

  “I said thank you, likewise.”

  “Or whatever,” he murmurs.

  Leonardo is looking at a baby sparrow fallen off his nest. He is by the tree, looking up at his nest, and desperately tries to jump back up there. But his wings are too weak to fly, to escape from gravity. His painful chirrup is begging for help, but there is no one up there to help him.

  Nana kisses Leonardo on the forehead.

  Leonardo looks back at the baby sparrow; still in the same miserable state, hopelessly screaming for help.

  Her

  Leonardo is in the church, at the front. The painting is lying on the ground, and Leonardo is lying beside her. He has his right hand wrapped around it as if he is hugging her.