by Karen Woods
“Since your brother, obviously isn’t going to introduce me,” I said in a tone that was intended to be a reprimand. Setting down my suitcase, I continued, “I’m Alicia Jenkins. Monsignor, I’m so glad to finally meet you in person.” I extended my hand. Will took my hand and shook it.
“Is a handshake all I get from my future sister-in-law?”
I smiled. I walked over to him and gave him a hug and a peck on the check. “Is that better, Monsignor?”
Will smiled. “Yeah. That’s a lot better. And, except in ecclesiastical matters, you can drop the Father, the Monsignor. Among family, I’m Will. Some people call me Willie, others William. I prefer Will.” A mischievous look came into his eye, “Will matches my personality.”
“Yeah, I can see that: strong willed.”
Will looked over at Geoff. “You know, I like this woman of yours. She gets my jokes without my having to explain them to her. A definite improvement over the ladies, and I use that term loosely, whom you used to hang out with.”
Geoff looked at me and took my hand. Smiling, he replied, “Yeah, I think that I’ll keep her around for a long time.”
I chose to ignore the conversation. The grandfather’s clock in the hallway chimed at the half-hour. I looked over to see that it was now 7:30. Suddenly, I felt very tired. I yawned.
Father Will, seeing that I looked weary, walked over and picked up my bag. “Come on, you could use a few minutes to freshen up. I’ll show you to your room. You come, too, Geoff. I’ve put Alicia and you in the spare rooms right next to me.” He led them up the stairs and down a short hallway. “Alicia, my dear, you’ll bunk here,” he said opening the door. “I’m afraid it isn’t much in the way of a room.”
I went in, switched on the light, and looked around. I said, “It’s just fine. Thank you. I’ll take the bag. I’ll try to be down in fifteen or twenty minutes.” I took my case and closed the door. I placed the luggage on the floor. The room was very monastic and utilitarian. It was about ten by fourteen. A print of the icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help hung on the faded and water-stained papered wall. The furniture in the room consisted of a single bed sans headboard, a small table in lieu of a desk, a desk chair, and a Prie Dieu. A built-in bookcase in the corner held a collection of obviously well-read religious and inspirational books. I set the alarm on my watch for ten minutes and lay down on the bed.
Chapter 16
WILL
After leaving Alicia, I had showed Geoff his room. It was very similar to the one that Alicia was in, except that the religious picture was a print of the tilma of Our Lady of Guadelupe. I accompanied Geoff into his room and closed the door behind us.
“Well, little brother, it’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but to what do I owe the honor?”
Geoff told me the story in brief.
I sat there in silence for a minute. “Well, brother baby, I’m glad to see you, even given the circumstances. Do you think that Alicia would like to go out on the town, or would she prefer to sit around here and talk? We have to make this evening very special for her to make up for the bad weeks that she has had.”
“I asked her that question on the plane. She said that she’d rather see the two of us have some time to talk and enjoy each other’s company than to go out and party.”
“Is there anything that I can do to make this all easier?”
“Not that I can think of,” Geoff said. “Aside from distracting her a little. She needs all the distraction that she can get just now. Bad luck seems to be following her around. Somewhere between Fieldsburg and here, she lost her overnight case.”
“That’s hardly in the same class of thing that she’s been dealing with.”
“No, it isn’t. But, she was somewhat upset about losing it, since it was an expensive piece of luggage which she had bought for our honeymoon.”
“I can understand that,” I said.
“Seriously, now that you’ve seen ‘Licia, isn’t she everything that I told you she was?” Geoff changed the subject.
I nodded. “She is very pretty. Seems to be quite nice. Jack Douglass thinks very highly of her. That’s recommendation enough for me.”
Geoff looked at his watch. “‘Licia is usually fairly prompt. I’ll bet that she is waiting for us right now. Come on, I want you to get to know her.” Geoff opened the door to his room and went out into the hall. I followed. When we got to the steps, we heard Alicia’s door open.
“Alicia, you’re just in time.”
“For what?”
“Dinner,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind, but Friday night dinner is usually pretty light. A hearty soup and homemade bread, usually.”
“Sounds wonderful to me. I’m not a particularly fussy eater.”
Reaching the first floor, Geoff put his arm around Alicia’s shoulders. I looked at her as to ask permission. Alicia nodded. The three of us went off toward the dining room entwined in each other’s arms like three lifelong buddies.
Alicia giggled then said, “A rose between two thorns.”
I did my best Irish accent, “So that’s what you’d be thinking of me, eh?” All three of us began to laugh.
The laughter subsided as we walked into the dining room. Two young men, both dressed in black suits with clerical collars, were already gathered there. Alicia looked at the men. The first man was about five-foot, seven inches tall, weighed about one-hundred and forty pounds, had deep brown hair and a full beard. The other fellow was about the same height, but weighed about thirty pounds more and was very blonde and clean shaven.
The younger men stood as I walked into the room.
“Good evening, Monsignor,” the younger men said almost in unison. Their curiosity was evident.
“Good evening, Father. Good Evening, Brother. You know my brother Geoff. I’d like to introduce his fiancee, Alicia Jenkins. Alicia, this is Father Cecil Peters and Brother Louis Blaska. Alicia and Geoff came up to spend the weekend with me.”
The younger priest smiled as he stroked his beard. “I’m pleased to meet you, Alicia. It’s good to have company in the rectory.”
Brother Louis added, “Especially company as charming as Miss Jenkins.”
Alicia began to blush. “Thank you. I hope to be worthy of such a high compliment.”
I looked at my watch. “The others should be down here. Do you know where Sisters Dorothea and Bonaventure are?”
“Sister Bonaventure is in the kitchen. But, I haven’t seen Sister Dorothea since just before noon,” Brother Louis replied as though slightly irritated.
I wondered what Dorothea had done now. Brother Louis was a normally even-tempered man. He was hard to rile, but something had gotten under his skin. I would have bet a year’s stipend that the something was someone in the person of Sister Dorothea. At times, that woman had all the tact of a Marine Drill Sergeant, without the accompanying charm.
“Did I hear something talking about me?” a deceptively gentle voice said from the back of the room. Alicia turned to look. There stood Sister Dorothea. She was a small, young, brunette, about five-feet in height and weighing all of ninety pounds, soaking wet. The only semblance of religious garb that Dorothea usually adopted was to wear the emblem of her liberal order pinned to a t-shirt. Why she had decided tonight to appear in the floor-length black serge habit and veil her order had laid aside, but never officially abandoned, was anyone’s guess. I wasn’t fooled by the concession to tradition. The determination and spunk that people always saw in the Sister’s eyes announced that this was one woman who was to be reckoned with. I only wondered which of Sister’s schemes to drag the predominantly Hispanic congregation kicking and screaming into the twentieth century had upset Brother Louis and what exactly I was going to have to do to smooth over the situation.
Alicia smiled at the Sister. I made the introductions. Just as I had finished, a tall, older woman in a street length brown habit and black veil, Sister Bonaventure, entered the room carrying a soup tureen.
The i
nhabitants of the rectory went to the table. I placed Alicia and Geoff next to me, Alicia on the right and Geoff to my left. Alicia was sitting between Father Peters and myself. Geoff sat between Sister Bonaventure and myself. After grace, Sister Bonaventure struck up conversation with Geoff.
I noticed the surprised look on Alicia’s face. Sister Dorothea, who was sitting across the table, asked Alicia, “Is anything wrong with your soup, Miss Jenkins?”
“No, But, thank you for asking,” Alicia replied.
“It’s just that you looked so surprised.”
“I was just a little startled that there would be conversation at dinner,” Alicia said.
Father Cecil asked, “Why should that surprise you? Don’t most people normally talk over dinner?”
“I suppose. But, in the convent we always kept silence at meals. I assumed that it was common practice, even among secular religious. I don’t know why I should have done so.”
The silence in the room was deafening. I broke the silence, “Alicia left her order, with permission, before final profession, at the expiration of her final set of annual vows.”
“So, Alicia, what have you done with your life since leaving your order?” Sister Dorothea asked.
“Well, I taught high school for a year. Then, I completed my doctorate, and have been both teaching at the collegiate level and running my own business since then.”
Sister Bonaventure spoke up. “What’s your subject?”
“Computer Graphics and robotics, primarily. I also have a fascination for artificial intelligence.”
Brother Louis’ eyes lit up. “I teach computers and Math at the parish High School. Tell me more about your business.”
“Actually, Brother, I fear that I’ll bore the rest of these good people. It’s pretty technical stuff, for the most part,” Alicia said smilingly.
Geoff laughed. “You’ll probably recognize the name of her company, Jencomp.”
Brother Louis smiled broadly. “You’re brilliant, Doctor Jenkins. I’ve played with the Jencomp graphics interface. It’s exceptional.”
“Thank you. It’s been a good seller.”
“What are you working on, now?” the brother asked.
Geoff looked over at Alicia. “You know, she hasn’t even explained her latest tinkertoy project to me. She’s really tightlipped about it.”
Sister Bonaventure prodded, “I would like to hear something about it. You can always tell so much about a person by how they talk about their job.”
Father Cecil countered defensively, “I’m not sure that’s true. What a person does for a living generally doesn’t affect the kind of person that he/she is. For example, I worked on a construction crew to earn my way through college. Am I what you would character type as a construction worker?”
Sister Bonaventure turned red. I wasn’t sure if the reason was that Sister was angry or embarrassed. However, I really didn’t want to find out.
Clearly figuring that she’d diffuse the conversation, Alicia said, “I think what Sister meant is that when someone loves her job, you can hear it in her voice. And when someone doesn’t like the job, you can tell much about that person’s character by finding out why he doesn’t like the job. I really don’t think that Sister was type-casting anyone by career, or lack thereof.” Then smiling, she added, “Besides, Father, I don’t see that there is anything wrong with having been a construction worker. In fact, I’d be very proud of it if I were you. After all, that was St. Joseph’s and Our Lord’s profession.”
Father Cecil laughed. “Mea maxima culpa,” he uttered.
I looked at Father Cecil, trying to think of some way to change the subject.
Alicia, obviously feeling on the spot, sighed deeply. “If it will make you feel any better, I’ll tell you about my current project.”
As I watched Alicia’s face become animated, I thought that she was one of the most beautiful women whom I had ever seen. My brother was one truly blessed man.
“What it is that I am working on is a way of linking robotics, artificial intelligence, a graphics interface, and a few other components to create fine art, specifically paintings. I’ve just about got all the bugs worked out of an expert system that ties a unique electronic eye and a very special robotic hand together. The resulting system can scan any existing work of art and duplicate it down to the finest detail in oil on a canvass. Potentially, the machine could paint in the style of any of the great masters. Imagine that you could set any given subject in front of the machine, and you’d get a portrait of that person done in the style of, say, Cezanne, Renoir, DaVinci, you name it. My database is almost complete on the techniques of the Masters. The only one that I haven’t quite got down is Van Gogh. I never have been able to codify his brushwork. But, I’m working on it.”
Geoff smiled.
Brother Louis’ jaw had dropped open about half way through Alicia’s explanation. “Just how much of a system do you need to control all that?”
“Right now, I’m running it off of a machine of my own design. I’ve tied together neural nets with more standard technology. It’s been an ambitious project.”
“Whew! How do you interface between those diametrically different technologies? That had to be interesting,” Brother Louis asked.
“Yeah. None of this was easy. There were really a few difficult parts to the development. The first was in refining an electronic eye so that it could distinguish enough shades and intensities of color, as well as being able to quantify the texture. The second was in working out a robotic hand that would be flexible and sensitive enough to perform the functions required. The only other difficult part, really, was breaking down the thought processes of the Masters and codifying it into the database. I had to do a lot of painting, observing certified copyists, and thinking to accomplish that. Once that was done, most of the other pieces fell into place. I’m still having some problems with the robotic hand.”
“Like what?” Brother Louis inquired with more than polite interest.
“Occasionally, when it is trying duplicate a particularly emotional piece, its grip will become so tight that it either breaks the brush or rams it right through the canvass.”
I laughed. The rest of the people at the table, joined in the laughter. “Are you putting us on?”
Alicia smiled. “I wish I were, Will. I suppose that it does sound funny.” Becoming more serious, she added, “But please, I’ve been keeping my work very quiet, for obvious reasons. I’ve put too much effort into this to see it be duplicated somewhere else. I’ve spent a lot of my money on this research. The patents for the subsystems have already come down. The graphics interface which Brother Louis spoke of earlier was one of those subsystems, or at least, the commercial program was a part of one of those subsystems which I modified for commercial usage. The patent on the overall machine has been approved only a few days ago. I’m working on the paper to announce the development at a conference scheduled for this fall. So, please, I’m swearing you all to secrecy on this.”
All heads at the table nodded in agreement.
Sister Bonaventure remarked thoughtfully, “Sounds like an interesting machine. I’m a little worried that with machines like that and like music synthesizers that people will eventually forget how to paint and play music. I mean, why should we go through the hard part of learning to play or paint if a machine can do it for us?”
Alicia smiled. “I understand and share your concern. Machines are only good for what we choose to use them. Only our use of them can impart a moral nature to them. I envision a machine like mine used in teaching people how to paint. So many times in art classes, we look at fine works by the Masters and we wonder how they accomplished that one effect. I see this machine as a way of helping to create finer painters by showing them how the old Masters did the things that they did. In fact, I hope to have my machine declared to be a certified copyist by the Louvre. It is certainly more accurate than many copyists that I’ve seen.”
“If t
he machine is that good, won’t people be tempted to use it to make forgeries of paintings?” Sister Dorothea asked.
Alicia smiled. She had obviously been waiting for that question. “That’s a very good question. It deserves a good answer. There are many elements to a painting. First, there is the matter of a canvass. If the painting to be duplicated is very old, for a forger to do an acceptable job, he or she would have to have a canvass of approximately that age. He or she would also have to stretch the canvass using the techniques and materials of that time. Each master used slightly different techniques, for example DaVinci often painted on wood, instead of canvass. Finding wood of the appropriate era that hadn’t been already painted on is difficult. But, that’s another problem entirely.”
Alicia paused momentarily, before continuing, “The second important element as I see it is the paint. Until relatively recently, each artist mixed his own paints, often mining the pigments himself, from what was locally available. Put that together with a wide variety of binders used in mixing the paints, and you come up with something which is extremely difficult to duplicate exactly.”
Father Cecil smiled. “It sounds like you’ve thought of every way possible to forge a painting.”
Alicia smiled and laughed quietly. “Let’s just say that I try to stay one step ahead of the competition.”
“Suppose,” Geoff asked, “just suppose that someone went to the effort of getting a piece of canvass of the right age and stretched it properly and got the right pigments and mixed them the right way. Given those conditions, would your machine make a perfect forgery?”
“I’ve allowed for that contingency. Each painting begins with a routine to rule out any possible undetected forgery. The first step is to paint, or size, the canvass with gesso. That is pretty well standard modern procedure. What isn’t standard is that there is a microscopic amount of powdered white lead sprayed onto the gesso forming the letters C O P Y along the diagonal of the canvass. It’s microscopic, i.e. invisible to the eye, but believe me, any x-ray equipment will certainly pick it out.”