The Crow's Nest 8

8

            At the next visit, after I was admitted and seated AND the mother was seated, there was a pause, a silence and then direct eye contact from the mother.  “I expect that when I am no longer here that you will conduct business in the same manner… with the same courtesy and patience… with the representative of our family.  I expect I have your word on this without asking for it.  I expect you already understand this and understand that in the future you may have by far greater advantage in our business than you do now”.  She paused, then continued, “I believe you understand me.”

            “I do… OF COURSE.” I said.

            We then launched into the usual business ritual without any further discussion.  In fact we launched into the usual business ritual for at least two whole years without any further discussion.  At the end of about two years, at the end of our business one morning, the mother seemed a little furtive and cast glances toward the corner of the parlor where one would enter from the living section of the house.  She seemed to mark time in our business; to delay it’s wrap-up instead of her usual very brisk “TOTAL CASH PAYMENT DUE NOW” process.  At the next moment the door from the living section opened and Margaret appeared.  “Please show him the items we discussed” the mother said.  “Go with her and buy them if you want it.  The price is six hundred and fifty and you will never get a better pair for that.”

            I rose  and followed Margaret to the front stairs, then up the front stairs and then to the FIRST closed door upon the landing.  Margaret turned the key that was in the door lock and opened the door.  We entered, I following her.  The room was dark, cool and smelled like old moth balls.  I blinked to clear my eyes.  The dim light showed the thick velvet curtains nearly closed over the four windows, a pair of Civil War era twin cannonball beds of birch hardwood in their original old shellac finish, a later washstand style bedside table between them, old Empire style dressers to the side of each bed, a drop center Victorian walnut and marble topped dresser with a large mirror centered on the opposite wall and… a pair of formal style 1850’s portraits of a middle aged man and woman in their original frames hanging on the wall to each side of this dresser.  The portraits were dark.  Not only painted with a dark pallet, the old surface had darkened.  To my eye it was obvious that these portraits had been there since they were hung there …before the Civil War.  “She wishes to sell these” said Margaret vaguely gesturing toward the portrait of the man.

            I looked about the room.  There was NOTHING else in sight.  I looked at the rug on the floor.  It was a 1920’s era large Chinese style oriental rug that was lightly worn from the entrance to the room and up through the space between the beds.  It was “no good”.  I looked at the portraits.  First the man.  Then the woman.  The frames were gold gilt and perfect.  They had never ever seen sunlight or been moved since hanging.  The man was a cold, sober and well dressed gentleman with eyes that pierced and followed you.  The woman was softer but her eyes also cut with no quarter and… followed you.  I stepped up to each portrait, scrutinized them and did not touch them.  I noted that the upper inner edge of the bottom of the gold frames had their gold gilt worn off exposing the white gesso base appropriately from… one hundred fifty years of dusting.  The paintings had only been occasionally dusted for the past FIFTY years I guessed.  I noted too what appeared to be a very… very recent but very… very LIGHT dusting … probably within the last twenty-four hours.  The portraits had clearly “been there forever” and were, most probably …”ancestors” of the current owners.  Commercially they were just and ONLY that; “ancestors” or …”instant ancestors”.  I knew that at a glance and, evidently, so did the mother.  Hence the price and hence also the accurate admonition that I would “never get better for that”.

            “I will buy them.” I said

            “Good.” Said Margaret.

            There was a pause.  She looked at me.  I understood the queue and stepped to the gentleman, placed both hands at the lower sides of the frame, lightly pushed up and lifted the old fellow off the wall.  A deeper toned rectangle appeared on the faded Victorian wallpaper where the painting had hung.  I sat the portrait straight down on the floor leaning against the wall.  I stepped to the woman and repeated the process.  Then I picked up both portraits by the top of the frames, with the portraits facing inward, one in each hand and turned to Margaret.  The portraits were light and dusty.  NO ONE had EVER lifted them off the wall before.  Margaret turned, stepped out of the room, turned again and looked toward me.  I followed, turning and pausing outside the door while Margaret closed and locked it.  We then went down the stairs, I in front of her, and returned to the front parlor where the mother waited.  Upon entering the room I casually leaned both portraits together upon one velvet curtain.  They faced the mother.  I sat down.  The mother looked at the portraits, said “Good” and marked them down on her paper.