Jackal

by Jackal in the Mirror (retail) (epub)

  Karla pulled Andrew to her and kissed him. “That was beautiful.”

  He kissed her back. “All because of you.” He turned to Sarah. “And you.”

  They stepped down from the small stage.

  “Sarah,” Andrew took her hands in his, “thank you for saving the book.”

  “You’re welcome. I loved reading it.”

  An elegant couple and a young man with an uncanny resemblance to Karla walked up to them.

  “Mom, Dad, Eric, these are the Thompsons, and James you’ve already met.” They all shook hands.

  “Eric has been a godsend this past year helping us with AlderCreek.” Karla kissed him on the cheek. “Since my little brother took over running our father’s firm, I haven’t been able to spend any time with him. It’s been great having him around.”

  “I’m glad I could help. But I can’t wait to check out Andrew’s creations. Catch you in a few. C’mon you two.” Eric locked arms with his parents and they headed to the back of the gallery.

  Andrew reached for Sarah’s hand. “Let’s follow them.”

  She held him back. “I’d like to meet Jeremiah, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re a fan?” Andrew asked.

  “No. I saw him through your mother’s eyes when Karla was searching for you.”

  “This thing you do is so—I’ll never understand it,” Karla chuckled.

  “Hey, Jer,” Andrew called out. “I’d like to introduce you to a very good friend.”

  Jeremiah excused himself from the group he was with and strolled toward them. He’d tied his hair back in a ponytail and gathered his beard with a chain adorned with a beautiful hanging crystal. He wore pale blue linen pants, a psychedelic linen shirt, and sandals—formal attire by his standards.

  “What’s up, baby?” He kissed Karla.

  “Jer,” Karla said, “this is Sarah, her husband Conrad, and this is James Horton, the one from The Hague that…”

  “Whoa! You don’t say.” He reached over and shook James’ hand with unbridled enthusiasm. “I read Karla’s piece. You’re her hero. Thought you were all but gone, though.”

  James laughed. “Not quite yet, thankfully”

  Sarah stretched out her hand to greet him, but Jeremiah picked her up off the floor and twirled her around. “The magical being!”

  James elbowed Conrad and winked. “Now we know what to call her.”

  “God, she’s going to be impossible,” Conrad said with a laugh.

  Once Jeremiah put Sarah down, he turned to Conrad and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, man. Hey, James, you get that Karla’s nuts about you, right?”

  “You’re going to embarrass him,” Karla protested.

  “Well, other than your crazy-talented hubby to be, nobody gets your wheels turning like this guy. I’m jealous.”

  James patted Jeremiah’s back. “No need for that, my friend. We’ve got no chance with this beautiful woman. We’re lucky she even notices us.”

  They laughed and Karla giggled.

  “Andrew, can we start in this room first?” Sarah asked. “If we’re going to understand the next room, we need to look at what you created before this past year.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.” He turned to Jeremiah. “Jer, I’d like your honest opinion of the portraits. No holds barred.”

  “Sure thing. Ladies and gents, catch ya later.” Jeremiah walked toward the back room of the gallery.

  The first room showcased sculptures of women and jackals, as well as paintings depicting many variations on the same subjects.

  “You can tell that they’re jackals by their size and their fiendish look,” Conrad said.

  “Both the women and animals possess a quiet intensity,” Sarah added.

  “Why jackals?” James asked Andrew.

  “I became enamored with coyotes at an early age. They’re known as the American jackals. Both species are opportunistic omnivores and for some reason that’s been very interesting to me. As a child, I was stranded in the woods when my aunt died, and somehow I convinced myself that they were my friends. Their howl begins with a high-pitched, long drawn-out cry, and I related to that feeling. I actually cried out myself as if I were one of them. It turned out to be a great relief. I could let go of the fear and join them in the call to the wild. I also liked to mimic the coyotes’ loud yelping barks. It made me laugh.”

  “That’s the song Daryl mentioned?” Karla asked.

  Andrew nodded. “It could be.”

  “You must’ve been terrified,” Sarah said.

  “I was.”

  “How long were you outdoors?” James asked.

  “I was told three days.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “I have no clear memories. Berries, I imagine. And there was the stream, so I’m sure I drank the water.”

  “Did you watch the coyotes?”

  “I’m not sure if it was then or later. Oddly enough, after that experience, losing myself in the woods gave me a sense of safety.”

  “Why the shift from coyote to jackal?”

  “Artistically, I liked the look of the jackals. They’re better subjects for what I visualized. It worked well to connect with their darker history and biblical implications.”

  James looked surprised. “You mean the devil?”

  Andrew laughed. “Not quite, but devilish. I endeavored to depict the duality of their ferocity and beauty.”

  James turned to the paintings. “You definitely achieved that, my boy.”

  “Did you have your brother in mind?” Sarah asked.

  A sad smile appeared on his lips. “Often. When I achieved the perfect balance of good and evil in the jackals. Particularly in juxtaposition to the females in the paintings.”

  “Did he ever see your paintings?” asked Conrad.

  “Not exactly, but he knew I liked to paint coyotes and jackals. Daryl used to make fun of me and tear up my stuff.”

  “Why?”

  “He said they scared him. My ‘friends’ he called them.” He paused. “Once I found one of my drawings—a jackal, fangs out—under his pillow. He said it belonged to him, that it was his drawing, his friend. At the time, I didn’t understand what that meant. Wish I had.”

  “Ready for the next room?” Karla asked.

  They entered the second gallery and Sarah gasped at the sight of the large painting of a jackal snarling at an unseen enemy while the dainty hand of a woman in the upper right hand corner of the canvas reached lovingly toward the beast. The gash on the painting had been repaired and filled with a ray of sunshine that illuminated a small pond.

  “This painting hung over the makeshift bed in your studio,” Sara said, “but without the ray of light and the pond.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened. “The bed?”

  “Oh,” Sarah said, putting a hand over her mouth.

  “Did you see us?” Karla asked.

  Sarah blushed. “I did catch a glimpse of both of you in the studio. Sorry.”

  Andrew and Karla’s eyes widened.

  “No, no, I didn’t watch that part. Don’t worry. But—”

  “Sarah, hush.” Conrad pulled her to him.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t—well I did get a glimpse of the two of you in your birthday suits.” She giggled.

  “Sarah, please.” Conrad insisted.

  James burst into irrepressible laughter, and soon they all joined in.

  To change the subject, Sarah turned to one of the sculptures of a jackal cradled against a reclining nude woman. “That one was in progress when I saw it. You hadn’t finished it.”

  The sculpture had been broken in half, and Andrew had added flower petals to cover the repair and join the two figures.

  “You said that the story came to you in bits and pieces,” Karla said. �
�When you saw us, was it the last time I saw him?”

  “As far as the story went, yes.” She turned to Andrew. “Did Karla ever model for you?”

  “No, I painted her from memory.”

  “What? And you didn’t tell me?” Karla pinched Andrew.

  He pulled away, laughing. “Oops, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Is it here?” asked Sarah.

  He winked.

  “Well, let’s take a look.” Karla turned, but Andrew held her back.

  “In due time. They need to finish this room.”

  “All right.”

  They ambled around the room, examining the paintings and sculptures. Andrew had repaired the damage to each with an imaginative use of color and design. Their appeal lay in their unique mixture of anger and forgiveness.

  “Andrew,” James whispered, “your mother is enormously proud of you.”

  Andrew beamed. “Thank you, James. It still shocks me that you can actually talk to her. I’m very grateful that you can share this with me.”

  “How about your mother’s portrait?” Sarah asked. “I don’t see it here.”

  “It couldn’t be repaired.” Andrew answered. “The gash was so violent that its ragged edges made it impossible to fix. So, I painted another. You’ll find it in the next room.”

  “C’mon.” Karla yanked Andrew’s hand and dragged him to the next room.

  They all followed.

  “Wow,” Sarah said, “it’s…it’s splendid.”

  White panels set at different angles divided the large room. Each one displayed a portrait of one of Andrew’s family members alongside an accompanying poem, individually encased in its unique frame and with its own distinctive font.

  The panels had been arranged to allow each and every portrait with its accompanying poem to be seen from the entryway. Karla’s portrait hung on the last angled wall; the only portrait not displayed on a panel hung on the back wall of the gallery. It was a stunning rendition of Martha McKinney surrounded by several poems arrayed on the wall.

  To one side of Martha’s portrait, a white stand held the book of poems, encased in an acrylic display case.

  Karla stood frozen in the entryway. “When—how—who…?”

  Andrew smiled and wrapped an arm around her. “Lucien,” he turned to his guests, “the gallery curator, designed this entire presentation.” He turned back to Karla. “What do you think?”

  Karla looked at him, her eyes full of tears. “I love it.”

  “Let me show you the poem I chose for your portrait.” He guided her to the back of the room.

  “They’re like kids in a candy store,” Conrad remarked.

  “I’d say,” James smiled. “What a creative way to showcase Gabriel’s poems.”

  The closest portrait to them was of Robert McKinney, with a background in mixed hues of grey. It presented a serious, detached, but elegant man in a striped dark grey suit with a yellow tie and matching pocket-handkerchief. His eyes expressed an indifference that bore no resemblance to Andrew or Daryl. The poem next to him read:

  MOOD

  Do you ever feel

  That some nights

  Are tailor-made for caring

  I do

  Tonight for instance

  As I look out into darkest dark

  I think of things that might

  Be said

  Or the joy there is in silence

  Tonight I’m in

  The caring

  Mood

  The holding onto life

  Mood

  The next one was of Gabriel McKinney. A stunning rendering with a stylistic background depicting Paris at sunset in deep red, lavender, and crimson tones, with a touch of muted orange and yellow accents. Locks of Gabriel’s shoulder-length hair caressed a burgundy velvet jacket. Gabriel’s unbuttoned rose shirt and the fuchsia scarf loosely tossed over his left shoulder, offered powerful juxtapositions. His masculinity emanated from the canvas despite the colors Andrew had selected. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Andrew and Daryl, his eyes filled with love and melancholy. The poem Andrew had selected fit him perfectly.

  MY LOVE

  It’s wondrous to see

  How you fill up my life

  With the things that my dreams said were real

  It’s grand just to feel

  That you’re there by my side

  All your warmth and your love just for me

  The things that you do

  Without asking you to

  Say that your love is one of a kind

  The things that you say

  On those cheer me up days

  Make me leave all my sorrows behind

  Bring in the rainbows

  And turn on the stars

  Fill the world with the colors of life

  “Does he know that Gabriel was his father?” Conrad asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes. He figured it out,” James answered.

  “He told you?” asked Sarah.

  “Martha did.”

  “How did Andrew react?”

  “I’m not sure, but Martha is not upset, so I imagine he’s okay with that.”

  The next portrait they came to was of Jennifer McKinney. This painting illustrated a sunrise in the redwoods filled with bright colors. Jennifer appeared as a young ethereal beauty, her eyes and smile conveying a combination of bliss and ache.

  LOVELY

  All throughout my lonesome life

  I looked for someone who would care

  A voice

  A hand

  A smile

  To save me from despair

  In every lonely dream

  I wished the

  Sun to shine

  But every lonely day said

  That wish would not be mine

  “Could she have learned about her sister and Gabriel?” Conrad asked.

  “It’s clear that Andrew believes so.” Sarah reached for her husband’s hand. “It’s so sad.”

  “C’mon, darling, be proud. Andrew has truly opened his heart through all the paintings and poems. For someone who’s been hiding from the public eye for years, he’s sure exposed himself now.”

  “That took a lot of courage,” James commented.

  They continued forward and stopped before Daryl’s portrait. Andrew had captured his brother’s duality by superimposing mirror images of the man, in profile, staring at a cabin isolated in the woods, his hand gently placed over a snarling jackal.

  “Wow,” Sarah whispered.

  “What a striking portrait… all in blues and greens,” James echoed.

  “What do you make of the faint touches of yellow and red?”

  “Daryl’s colors?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” Sarah answered. “His moods—happy, sad, and angry. The contrast of the ferocity of the jackal against the gentleness of his touch illustrates the intensity of his internal battle.”

  “Andrew’s very talented,” Conrad commented.

  Sarah walked up to the poem and read.

  ENOUGH

  Enough

  I say

  Enough

  Don’t color me

  The way you think I am

  Stop

  Making me believe

  What is untrue

  The image in your mind

  Belongs

  To you

  What you

  Expect of me

  I’ll

  Never meet

  I find it

  Hard enough

  To just be

  Me

  “These poems were meant for Martha,” Sarah whispered. “And yet they fit in so well with each portrait.”

  “I’m sure that in life Gabriel never
imagined that his poems would be exhibited in such a manner. Let alone that his son would pick certain poems for each member of the family. Martha is delighted by what Andrew has created,” James said.

  They walked up to Karla’s portrait. It was set in a nondescript futuristic background in tones found in deep space nebulae, saturated colors that contrasted with the pale tones of her skin and her loose auburn hair. A coquettish glare in her eyes conveyed an invitation to trouble.

  “What do you think?” Andrew turned to Sarah.

  “I’m in awe of your talent,” she answered.

  “We all are,” Conrad added.

  James nodded effusively. “Her lips, slightly parted like that, are a true enticement.”

  Andrew laughed. “You got it, James. That’s exactly what I sought.”

  “Enticement? Really? To what?” Karla protested.

  Lucien, the gallery director, leaned forward from behind Karla and rested his chin on her shoulder. “That’s what we’re all wondering.” He laughed and extended his hand to Sarah. “Hello and welcome, I’m Lucien Montenegro.”

  “Sarah Thompson,” she said, smiling.

  “Conrad, her lesser half.” Conrad gestured to Sarah as he shook Lucien’s hand.

  “James,” Lucien turned to him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Estoy feliz de verte.”

  “Y yo también,” James answered.

  “You two know each other?” Karla asked.

  “For many years,” Lucien answered as he patted James’s back.

  “My friend, you are to be commended,” James said. “Your design of this exhibit is tremendous. This room in particular is spectacular.”

  “All due to Andrew,” Lucien said with pride.

  “Well, you’ve created a magnificent way to show his work,” Sarah said. “Did you pick the font and frames for the poems?”

  “No, no. Andrew did all that.”

  “Excuse me a moment. I haven’t had a chance to read the poem he chose for Karla’s portrait.” Sarah stepped past them to the poem.