Painter of Time

by Matthew O'Connell

  Mackenzie thought for a moment and replied, “The only thing that makes sense to me is that Daddi and Lippi belonged to some type of secret society and they used the woman with the long finger and their signatures to pass along some message, or perhaps convey some type of membership or affiliation.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms, nodding his head.

  “That is actually a very plausible explanation. There were a number of secret societies that existed in pre-Renaissance Europe and continued on through the Renaissance and beyond. The Rosicrucians were one such group. The Illuminati were another. There were Masonic orders active during that time period as well.” Anthony paused. “But if that were the case, what type of message were they sending? Any ideas?”

  Mackenzie was energized again, having wiped away her tears. She was back to working on solving this puzzle and he was helping her.

  “Well, it still could be part of a secret society. Daddi died almost sixty years before Lippi was born. It’s possible that the society embedded other symbols in the paintings where the woman with the long finger appeared. I just haven’t been able to identify what those other symbols are.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. “Have you looked for the lady with the long finger in the works of other artists? If it were a society, you would likely have seen them appearing elsewhere.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. I scanned through every work of art in the international database from 1300 to 1550, specifically looking for a woman with an unusually long pinkie finger, but I didn’t find anything. I kept a log of all of the scans I reviewed. I have it at home. There were over eight hundred individual pieces of art covering nearly a hundred different artists. The woman only appeared in the works of these two artists during about a one hundred and fifty year period that used those symbols.” She paused and waved her finger. “What’s curious is that while the signature analysis would indicate that Berlinghiero was linked to Daddi and Lippi, the woman with the long finger never appears in his work.”

  “How do you explain that?” asked Anthony calmly.

  “I don’t. That’s the problem. The secret society hypothesis makes sense, but it’s too odd that we wouldn’t find similar symbols in the works of other artists of that era. A secret society of two artists, perhaps three, if we include Berlinghiero, none of whom overlapped with each other, doesn’t seem very plausible.”

  “Is there any other hypothesis that you have come up with?” asked Anthony.

  She looked down at the ground and then looked at him, slightly blushing.

  “There is, but you’ll think I’m nuttier than a Snickers bar. I’m actually embarrassed to even suggest it. I think it’s impossible, but the only other hypothesis I’ve come up with is that these were all the same person and they were marking something of importance to them in their paintings.”

  Anthony smiled. “That is a pretty hard thing to believe, is it not? I mean, like you said, Daddi and Lippi were almost two centuries apart, and if you toss in Berlinghiero, then you are talking about a three hundred year span. That is a pretty old guy, no?”

  She laughed. “Exactly, that’s why I’m stuck. My one hypothesis seems unlikely because it’s just too odd to assume that there were only two and maybe three artists in all of Europe over a three hundred year time period that belonged to this secret society. The other hypothesis I’ve come up with is totally crazy.”

  Anthony poured another cup of tea, took a sip and then scratched the back of his head. Then he looked Mackenzie squarely in the eyes and asked, “Do you think it is impossible for a person to live for three hundred years?”

  At first Mackenzie thought he was kidding, but he didn’t look like he was joking at all. She was clearly caught off guard and had no idea how to respond. Was it some sort of trap? If she said that perhaps it was possible, would he laugh at her and say are you crazy?, or worse, are you an idiot? She knew that it sounded ridiculous, but she also knew there were a lot of strange things in the world that seemed to be utterly impossible and ultimately turned out to be quite mundane.

  “Anthony, I don’t know what to believe. I can say that I’ve never heard of anyone living that long except maybe in the Bible or someplace like that. The oldest people I’ve ever heard of are 110 or thereabouts. But even then, we know that Daddi and Lippi weren’t old men when they painted.” She grinned. “I’d have to imagine that a 200 to 300-year-old man would look pretty rough.”

  Anthony laughed. “I would have to agree.” He paused, and then he asked her, “Do you think that there is life on other planets?”

  “What?” said Mackenzie, not sure what he was asking. “What does extraterrestrial life have to do with what we’re talking about?”

  “Humor me. Do you think that there is likely to be intelligent life somewhere else in the universe?”

  “Well, I was never great at math, but I have watched a couple of science shows and if there are billions of stars and billions of galaxies, then yes, I guess the odds would be in favor of intelligent life somewhere else.”

  “What about the concept of multiple universes?” continued Anthony.

  “What do you mean? Like there’s another me somewhere out there in a bizarro world where the other me does everything opposite of the version of me in this one?”

  Anthony chuckled. “I am not sure about the bizarro world. But among certain physicists, especially those who study quantum theory, there is a belief that there is no reason, at least none that breaks the laws of quantum theory, why there could not have been multiple Big Bangs. In other words, there could be many universes out there, each developing and evolving independently from each other, but with the same fundamental building blocks, like atoms, and charged particles. I want to know if you believe that to be possible.”

  “Well, you certainly have a roundabout way of helping me solve my riddle. But, yes, I think it’s possible that there are multiple universes. It sounds pretty far out, but two hundred years ago no one would have thought that we could split an atom, or that there even were atoms, or that we’d be flying or landing on the moon, or talking on phones that aren’t physically connected.”

  “I apologize if my questions seem obtuse. That is not my intention. I wanted to know how open you are to thoughts that are considered by most people to be quite extraordinary and impossible.”

  “Does that mean that I pass the test? Are you going to teach me the ways of the Jedi now, Obi Wan?” Mackenzie asked, laughing.

  Anthony laughed as well and then became quite serious. He straddled the bench to face her directly. He leaned forward to where his face was less than a foot from hers and looked her square in the eyes. “Mackenzie, I am willing to share something with you that I have shared with less than a handful of people. It is something incredibly personal. If I tell you, you may laugh at me and think me crazy. That in and of itself would not bother me, and in fact might be the best outcome possible. On the other hand, you may believe me. Either way, I need to know that what I share with you will stay between us. You cannot share it with anyone else, and that includes your father. If you do, then I will have to leave and we will never see each other again. I am being completely serious. I want you to think about whether you want to take on that responsibility.”

  She looked over his shoulder. A sparrow landed on the statue of St. Francis in the center of the garden. A chill fall breeze blew through the cloistered garden, ruffling the leaves the trees and bushes, including the lone Japanese maple.

  Mackenzie looked at Anthony without saying anything, trying to read anything in his expression. There was nothing.

  “Wow,” she finally exhaled, “you really know how to put together an ultimatum, don’t you?”

  Anthony broke a slight smile. “I am not trying to be melodramatic. Unfortunately, what I am asking is extremely important and personal to me. You could actually say that it is life and death for me.” He paused, most likely imagining the conflict going on in Mackenzie’s head at this moment
. “Listen, you do not need to make a decision tonight. Think about what I said, and when you are ready, let me know. Now, I need to get back to work. Besides, it is starting to get a bit nippy out here.”

  Chapter 33

  Mackenzie sat in her room that evening and agonized over the decision she found herself faced with. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know the answer; it was that she didn’t trust herself to keep it a secret. As far back as she could remember, she had never been good at keeping secrets. It wasn’t that she was a malicious tattletale, nor did she use secrets as weapons to hold people hostage in some trivial power struggle. She just let things slip because she wasn’t what her psychology professors referred to as a “good social monitor.” In other words, she pretty much said what she thought without first thinking it through. It was actually one of her endearing qualities. No one would ever accuse her of being manipulative. It just wasn’t the way she was wired.

  What if this time, even if she tried her hardest, she let slip whatever deep secret Anthony told her? He’d leave and it would be her fault. Maybe it was just as well that she didn’t know why there were unexplained symbols in the paintings. Seriously, grand scheme and all, who cared about a woman with a long finger on a couple of 600-year-old paintings anyway? Especially since she wouldn’t be able to tell anybody about what they meant even if she knew! What if her father asked her, which of course he would? “So Mackenzie, what did you find out about those paintings, and the signatures?” Would she be able to play dumb and pretend that they remained a mystery even though she knew where they came from and what they meant? She seriously doubted her ability to not cave and confess everything she knew. Then it would be too late.

  Anthony had essentially made himself into a human Pandora’s Box, an irresistible temptation. If he had just said, “You got me. No idea why the signatures match or why the lady with the long finger keeps appearing,” she would have been in a much better place. But here she was standing in front of the box, next to the tree of knowledge with apple in hand. Wasn’t it destiny? Hadn’t Pandora ultimately opened the box and Eve eaten the fruit? Wasn’t that the way these parables were supposed to go? Was there any other way? Would there even be a story to tell if Pandora had put the box away and left it forever or if Eve decided there was plenty of other fruit to eat? Of course not; Anthony knew this just as well as she did.

  Maybe he ultimately wanted to confide in her, to unload a burden he had held onto for too long. Why not her? Maybe this was some type of romantic game that Italian men played. She didn’t know any other real Italians or she would have asked them. Most of the Italians in New York were at least three generations removed from Italy at this point. They’d probably laugh at her and say, Oh yeah, the secret-I-can-only-share-with-you-but-if-you-tell-anyone-then-I-must-leave routine, classic! Old as Romulus. She sort of doubted that was the case. Anthony was a pretty serious guy in the first place and he seemed to be dead serious about this thing. But maybe he does want to share it with me, she thought. Seriously, what in the world could be so important that it had this much baggage attached to it?

  Eventually, after endless flip-flopping and second-guessing, she went to bed without having made a final decision. She crawled under the covers, trying not to disturb Octavius, who had already claimed his quadrant of the bed, which inevitably included her half, no matter which half she chose. Sometimes you just have to sleep on it. That’s what her dad always told her. It was usually good advice.

  Chapter 34

  It was a Saturday in late October. At work the previous day, Mackenzie had told Anthony that she could keep his secret. He had asked her to stop by his apartment around 5 p.m. the next day. Mackenzie showed up in the lobby of his apartment building and was greeted again by Jack the doorman and was quickly rung up to Anthony’s apartment.

  She got out of the elevator and walked to the door of his apartment. She took a deep breath, and then slowly let it out. This is it, she thought before ringing the doorbell.

  Anthony was dressed in jeans, bare feet and a light yellow sweater. It looked awfully soft, she thought. I bet it’s cashmere, or maybe even alpaca. Whatever it is it sure looks comfortable, and it looks great on him.

  She remembered to take off her shoes. Sitting in the entryway were a pair of violet colored, fuzzy slippers.

  “The carpets start getting a bit chilly in the fall. I thought you might prefer these to bare feet,” offered Anthony.

  She slid on the slippers. They were soft and warm and wonderful. “I must admit that I never had such nice slippers for my guests. I just make them walk around in their socks.”

  Anthony laughed. “I only offer these slippers to special guests. Everyone else wears socks. In fact, these are yours alone. I picked them up today at Bloomingdales. Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked as they made their way into the apartment.

  “Yes, that would be nice,” she said following him in. “I really enjoyed the wine we had last time.”

  He poured two glasses from a Grand Cru Burgundy that he had decanted earlier and handed her a wide bottomed glass with a stiletto stem. “I thought we might try a Burgundy this evening. I have been saving this one for a special occasion.” He held out his glass. “Cheers.”

  She took a sip. It was very different from the deep, powerful Malbec she had tried the last time. This was a very delicate wine with soft flavors of raspberries, cherries and rose petals that filled her mouth with a silky, round texture. It was amazingly complex and yet perfectly balanced. She’d never tasted a wine so refined in her life.

  “Oh my god, this is incredible!” she exclaimed.

  Anthony nodded. “I am glad you like it. It is one of my favorites.”

  Even though this was her second time in his apartment, she was still blown away by the stunning view and the paintings that lined the walls. She couldn’t get over them.

  He saw her staring at the paintings and motioned towards the hallway that led to his study. “If you are interested, I would be happy to show you a few more. I think you caught a glimpse of some the last time you were here,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Maybe I can give you a better showing this time.”

  She gave him an embarrassed look. “If you don’t mind. I’d love to see them.” She hesitated. “Again, I apologize for what happened last time.”

  “Do not worry,” he said, laughing. “I was just teasing you. I am pretty good at letting the past stay where it belongs.” He took her gently by the elbow and led her way towards the study.

  The door to the study was open and the light was already on. All four walls were covered with a collection that was perhaps even more spectacular than the living room. There were some Michelangelos, Titians, what looked like Botticellis, and some others that were hard to place but looked Venetian. There were also the stacks of paintings she had seen earlier. She leafed through some of the framed canvases leaning against the wall and through some finished paintings that remained unframed. There must be hundreds of paintings in here! she thought.

  “Did you paint these or are they originals?” she asked, somewhat out of breath from the sheer volume of artwork in the room.

  “Everything on the walls is original, as well as some that are against the walls. I painted a lot of the others that are stacked here, and definitely all of the ones that are just canvases. As I mentioned earlier, it is a hobby. Something I enjoy doing.” He paused and then led her out of the study, to the guest bedroom and the master bedroom. The walls of those rooms were stunning as well. The master bedroom was covered in works of late nineteenth century impressionists. There were some Renoirs, Sislers, and Degas as well of a few Monets and at least two Van Goghs. She would swear that these were originals, or the best imitations she had ever seen.

  “Are all of these originals as well?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, the ones hanging on the walls are,” said Anthony nonchalantly. “I have been collecting these for some time, so whenever I have an opportunity to find one that parti
cularly attracts me at a reasonable price, I try to pick it up.”

  “But if these are all originals, then this collection would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars,” said Mackenzie incredulously.

  “Probably,” said Anthony. “I am not really a collector from the perspective of trying to make a smart investment. I just really love some of these works and admire the artists who painted them. They are sort of like old friends to me that bring back memories, some very good and some painful, but memories nonetheless.”

  They slowly headed back to the main room. Mackenzie was dizzy and felt that she might pass out. Anthony sensed her discomfort. “Please, sit down,” he said, and pointed to the couch.

  Mackenzie almost collapsed into the leather couch. Her head was spinning. Anthony had the most impressive private collection of art that she had seen from anyone who was still alive. It was like walking through the Frick Collection, but probably more spectacular.

  “Well, you certainly know how to impress.”

  “I did not invite you here to try to impress you. I hope you do not see this as being crass or anything. I know that you are very appreciative of fine art and I thought you would enjoy some of these paintings.”

  “Of course,” said Mackenzie apologetically. “I didn’t mean anything negative. I’m just truly in awe of what I’ve seen.”

  “I guess it can be pretty overwhelming the first time you see them,” admitted Anthony as he sat down in the matching chair. “Mackenzie, I just want to make sure that we are clear on what we have agreed to. I am not trying to be melodramatic or anything, but this is extremely personal, important, and sensitive to me. I am sharing it because I trust you. You do not have to believe what I am about to tell you, and you may think that I am insane. But I need for you to promise me that you will not share what I tell you with anyone, whether you believe it to be true or not. Are you in agreement?”