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Archive for January, 2022
The Haunted Lithograph
“When I first saw that print, boy, I said, ‘That’s going to sell on the first day.” Chuckled Dan, looking professorial as usual in his rimless glasses and trimmed beard as he sat content at our dinner table, awaiting dessert. I chuckled back in the company of old friends, comfortable with the rituals that come with aging in the company of each other.
Outside, the streetlights reflected back the settling frost that had just begun to accumulate on the narrow street. Stone and brick homes sat waiting for more of winter’s grace. I stood up to grab more wine and surveyed the two-tier pedestal of cakes and sweets as I passed the pale celadon green sideboard from the Vaucluse region of France. The array of cakes glinted, made more gracious by the vintage Royal Albert china, a rare one, called “Midnight Rose.” Two tiers of deliciousness. I reached for a twenty-five year old Bordeaux and pulled the corkscrew from the baker’s rack.
The chandelier accentuated my wife Alice’s gold-flecked diamond studs as she took away the dinner dishes, with the ever-helpful Melinda, Mel for short, Dan’s wife of twenty-two years. With two kids both in college, they had reached the pinnacle of a career, like us, as dealers of antiquities. Like Dan and Mel, my beautiful children are also all grown, with their hands and feet and the rest of their bodies off to some college, with my wallet in their pockets and my heart full of memories.
Time ticked fast for us, running away with our youth, with our own parents feeling even older like the vintage and antiques we sell. Businessmen and businesswomen they are: My parents, the grandparents of our children. We travel, buy, sell and collect all the world’s heirlooms, misplaced objects of great rarity and value.
As we talked business, Dan fell into a nostalgic moment as he lifted a forkful of millefeuille. I poured more wine as Alice signaled with one hand to stop. I smelled the coffee brew and corked the bottle, almost gone.
Dan leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, “Would you like the rare print?”
“But I thought it would sell in a flash?” I asked.
Dan exchanged a nervous tic, a strange one in the world of tics when a couple, used to their ways, mimic each other’s facial expressions. Mel replied back with a tic.
“It would. I think it’s best with you as it’s your style.”
“Where did you find it again?”
“Some shop in our last trip to New York. It’s a lithograph from some middle eastern country.”
That tic again.
Mel ticked back, a tad nervous.
“May I see it?” I said.
“I’m giving it to you, we decided.”
I was taken aback. We don’t usually give aways antiques unless it is a special occasion. This was just dinner at the end of a hectic month.
“Dan, how much?”
“Seriously, I’m giving it to you.”
Alice sat back down, arms on the table, pensive. “How old is it? Do you have it with you?”
“It’s old. Believe me.”
Mel nodded in agreement. “It’s at the store, but Dan can drop it off. I’ll wrap it up for you.”
Alice smiled. “Oh, Mel. That’s too generous of you both.”
Dan winced. “It needs to be wrapped – protected from the elements.”
“Of course”, I said.
“It must be pretty special. Are you sure?” Alice ventured.
“Yes, we are.”
That tic again.
“You can hang it at your shop or keep it covered.” Dan glanced at Mel when he said this.
“I’ll hang it here. It’s a gift from friends.”
A few weeks later, a parcel arrived and was left at our front door. Odd, as it didn’t require a signature. I opened it immediately and there it was. A framed lithograph of a castle, a grand one like you would see somewhere in France or Germany, with spires and turrets… and a girl on a swing, in the act of swinging, in the foreground. Pale, muted tones as if it was painted in watercolors. Beautiful.
I called Dan to thank him and got his message machine.
“Dan, it’s exquisite. I must give you something for this.”
Days went by and no call back from Dan.
Well, thank you, Dan, I thought. So generous of you. This looks very expensive, if not rare. 1900’s, it seems.
I showed it to my parents who smiled and didn’t really look as they were both getting cataract surgery.
“That’s great, son. It’s great to have good friends in the business.”
I hung the framed lithograph, proudly showcased in the drawing room by the baby grand where my father usually sat when they visited us here in Kittery. That’s where Dad sat after we picked them up after both Mom’s eyes were as clear as a pristine stream after her surgery. She marveled at how she saw now with the eyes of a child and like a child saw everything again, greedily taking in everything like a candy store on a Saturday outing. She paused when she got to the print, that lithograph from Dan and Mel. Dad walked over, one eye clear, the other needing some follow up. He too, peered at the print. Then, he frowned and she froze.
That was the last time I talked to Mom.
And then they were dead.
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