cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第25部分

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　　〃When　I　met　Mr。　Debierue；　that's　when。〃　She　smiled。　〃He's　the　nicest；　sweetest　old　gentleman　I　ever　met。〃
　　〃I'd　rather　you'd　wait　tifi　I　have　the　final　draft；　if　you　don't　mind。　I　want　to　get　back　to　New　York　as　soon　as　possible　to　finish　it。　So　after　dinner；　I'll　take　a　short　nap　until　midnight；　and　then　we　can　check　out　of　here　and　get　rolling。　If　we　trade　off　on　the　driving；　we　can　reach　the　city　in　about　thirty　hours。〃
　　〃You　won't　get　much　sleep　if　we　leave　at　midnight　。　。　。〃
　　〃I　don't　need　much；　and　you've　already　had　enough。　You　wouldn't　be　able　to　sleep　much　tonight　anyway；　not　after　being　in　the　sack　all　day。〃
　　〃I'm　not　arguing；　James；　I　was　just　worried　about　you…〃
　　〃In　that　case；　let's　go　downstairs　to　dinner；　so　I　can　e　back　up　and　get　some　sleep　before　midnight。〃
　　During　dinner；　Berenice　asked　me　if　she　could　see　Debierue's　picture；　but　I　put　her　off　by　telling　her　it　was　all　wrapped　up　securely　in　the　trunk　of　the　car；　and　that　it　wouldn't　be　a　good　idea　for　anyone　to　see　us　looking　at　a　painting　in　the　basement　garage。　I　reminded　her　conspiratorially　that　it　was　a　〃hot〃　picture；　and　we　didn't　want　anyone　suspecting　us　and　making　inquiries。　Because　I　halfwhispered　this　explanation；　she　nodded　solemnly　and　accepted　it。
　　The　food　was　excellent…medium…rare　sirloins；　corn　on　the　cob；　okra　and　tomatoes；　creamed　scalloped　potatoes；　a　cucumber　and　onion　salad；　with　a　chocolate　pudding　dessert　topped　with　real　whipped　cream；　not　sprayed　from　a　can…and　I　ate　every　bit　of　it；　including　four　hot　biscuits　with　butter　（my　two；　and　Berenice's　two）。　I　felt　somewhat　logy　following　the　heavy　meal；　but　after　drinking　two　cups　of　black　coffee；　although　I　was　unfortably　stuffed；　I　still　wasn't　sleepy。
　　I　signed　the　check　and　penciled　in　my　room　number。　〃After　all　that　food；　I'm　sleepy；〃　I　said。
　　Berenice　took　my　arm　as　we　left　the　dining　room　to　cross　the　lobby　to　the　elevators。　〃Wouldn't　you　like　a　little　nightcap；〃　she　squeezed　my　arm；　〃to　make　you　sleep　better…in　my　room？〃
　　〃No；〃　I　replied；　〃and　when　I　say　No　to　an　offer　like　that　you　know　I'm　sleepy　enough　already。〃
　　I　took　her　room　key；　opened　the　door；　and　kissed　her　good　night。　〃I'll　leave　a　call　for　eleven　thirty；　and　then　I'll　knock　on　your　door。　Try　and　get　some　more　sleep。〃
　　〃If　I　can；〃　she　replied；　〃and　if　not；　I'll　watch　television。　Let　me　have　another　one　of　those　good…night　kisses。　。　。〃
　　My　room　was　musty　and　close　again；　although　I　had　not　turned　off　the　overhead　fan。　I　didn't　want　to　go　through　the　too…hot…too…cold　routine　with　the　reverse…cycle　airconditioner…which　had　far　too　many　BTUs　for　the　size　of　the　small　room…so　I　cracked　the　door　again　and　clamped　it　open　with　the　brass　hook…and…eye　attachment。　I　stripped　down　to　my　shorts　and　T…shirt；　took　the　art　materials　out　of　the　closet；　and　got　busy　with　the　picture。
　　I　mixed　Prussian　blue；　adding　zinc　white　a　dollop　at　a　time；　until　I　had　a　color　the　shade　of　an　Air　Force　uniform。　I　thinned　it　slightly　with　turpentine　and　brushed　a　patch　on　the　bottom　of　the　canvas。　It　was　still　too　dark；　and　I　added　white　until　the　blue　became　much　bolder。　I　then　mixed　enough　of　the　diluted　blue　to　paint　a　slightly　ragged　border；　not　less　than　an　inch　in　width；　nor　more　than　three　inches；　around　the　four　sides　of　the　rectangle。　To　fill　the　remaining　white　space　with　burnt　orange　was　simple　enough；　once　I　was　able　to　get　the　exact　shade　I　wanted；　but　it　took　me　much　longer　than　I　expected　to　mix　it；　because　it　wasn't　easy　to　match　a　color　that　I　could　see　in　my　mind；　but　not　in　front　of　me。
　　But　the　color　was　rich　when　I　achieved　it　to　my　satisfaction。　Not　quite　brown；　not　quite　mustardy；　but　a　kind　of　burnished　burnt　orange　with　a　felt；　rather　than　an　observable；　sense　of　yellow。　I　mixed　more　of　the　paint　than　I　would　need；　to　be　sure　that　I　would　have　enough；　and　thinned　the　glowing　pile　with　enough　linseed　oil　and　turpentine　to　spread　it　smoothly　on　the　canvas。　Using　the　largest　brush；　I　filled　in　the　center　of　the　canvas　almost　to　the　blue　border；　and　then　changed　to　a　smaller　brush　to　carefully　fill　in　the　narrow　ring　of　white　space　that　remained。
　　I　backed　to　the　wall　for　a　long　view　of　the　pleted　painting；　and　decided　that　the　blue　border　was　not　quite　ragged　enough。　This　was　remedied　in　a　few　minutes；　and　the　painting　was　as　good　as　my　description　of　it　in　my　article。　In　fact；　the　picture　was　so　bright　and　shining　under　the　floor　lamp；　it　looked　even　better　than　I　had　expected。
　　All　it　needed　was　Debierue's　signature。
　　I　had　a　sharp　debate　with　myself　whether　to　sign　it　or　not；　wondering　whether　it　was　in　keeping　with　the　philosophy　of　the　〃American　Harvest〃　period　for　him　to　put　his　name　on　one　of　the　pictures。　But　inasmuch　as　the　burnt　orange；　blue…bordered　painting　represented　the　〃self〃　of　Debierue；　I　concluded　that　if　he　ever　signed　a　painting；　this　was　one　he　would　have　to　sign。　I　made　a　mental　note　to　add　this　information　to　my　article…that　this　was　the　first　picture　Debierue　had　ever　signed　（it　would　certainly　raise　the　value　for　Mr。　Cassidy　to　possess　a　signed　painting！）。
　　Debierue's　letter　to　the　manager　of　the　French　clipping　service　was　still　in　my　jumpsuit。　I　took　it　out　and　studied　Debierue's　cramped　signature；　sighing　gratefully　over　the　uniqueness　of　the　design。　Forgers　love　a　tricky　signature：　it　makes　forgery　much　simpler　for　them　because　it　is　much　easier　to　copy　a　plicated　signature　than　it　is　a　plain；　straightforward　signature。　There　are　two　ways　to　forge　a　signature。　One　is　to　practice　writing　it　over　and　over　again　until　it　is　perfected。　That　is　the　hard　way。　The　easy　way　is　to　turn　the　signature　upside　down　and　draw　it；　not　write　it；　but　copy　it　the　way　one　would　imitate　any　other　line　drawing。　And　this　is　what　I　did。　Actually；　I　didn't　have　to　turn　the　canvas　upside　down。　By　copying　Debierue's　signature　onto　the　upper　left…hand　side　upside　down；　when　the　picture　itself　was　turned　upside　down　the　top　would　then　be　the　bottom；　and　the　signature　would　be　rightside　up　and　in　the　lower　right…hand　corner　where　it　belonged。
　　Nevertheless；　it　took　me　a　long　time　to　copy　it；　because　I　was　trying　to　paint　it　as　small　as　possible　in　keeping　with　Debierue's　practice　of　writing　tiny　letters。　To　put　ebierue　inside　the　〃D〃　wasn't　simple；　and　I　had　to　remember　to　〃write〃　with　my　brushstrokes　up　instead　of　down；　because　that　is　the　way　the　strokes　would　have　to　be　when　the　painting　was　turned　upside　down。
　　〃James！〃
　　Berenice　called　out　my　name。　I　was　so　deeply　engrossed　in　what　I　was　doing　I　wasn't　certain　whether　this　was　the　first　or　the　second　time　she　had　called　it　out。　But　it　was　too　late　to　do　anything　about　it。　I　was　sitting　in　the　straightbacked　chair　facing　the　canvas；　and　I　barely　had　time　to　turn　and　look　at　her；　much　less　get　to　my　feet；　before　she　lifted　the　brass　hook；　opened　the　door；　and　entered　the　room。
　　〃James；〃　she　repeated　flatly；　halting　abruptly　with　her　hand　still　on　the　doorknob。　She　had　removed　her　makeup；　and　her　pale　pink　lips　made　a　round　〃0〃　as　she　stared　at　me；　the　canvas；　and　the　makeshift　palette　on　the　low　coffee　table。　The　sheet　I　had　used　to　wrap　the　once…blank　canvas　was　on　the　floor　and　gathered　about　the　chair　I　was　using　as　an　easel。　I　had　spread　it　there　to　prevent　paint　from　dropping　onto　the　rug。
　　〃Yes？〃　I　said　quietly。
　　Berenice　shut　the　door；　and　leaned　against　it。　She　supported　herself　with　her　hands　flat　against　the　door　panels。　〃Just　now　。。。　on　TV；〃　she　said；　not　looking　at　me；　but　with　her　rounded　blue　eyes　staring　at　the　canvas；　〃。。。　on　the　ten　thirty　news；　the　newscaster　said　that　Debierue's　house　had　burned　down。〃
　　〃Anything　else？〃
　　She　nodded。　〃Pending　an　investigation…something　like　that…Mr。　Debierue　will　be　the　house　guest　of　the　famous　criminal　lawyer　Joseph　Cassidy　in　Palm　Beach。〃
　　I　swallowed；　and　nodded　my　head。　I　am　a　highly　verbal　individual；　but　for　once　in　my　life　I　was　at　a　loss　for　words。　One　lie　after　another　struggled　for　expression　in　my　mind；　but　each　lie；　in　turn；　was　rejected　before　it　could　be　voiced。
　　〃Is　that　Debierue's　painting？〃　Berenice　said；　as　she　crossed　the　room　toward　my　chair。
　　〃Yes。　I　needed　to　look　at　it　again；　you　see；　to　check　it　against　the　description　in　my　article。　It　was　slightly　damaged…Debierue's　signature…so　I　thought　I'd　touch　it　up　some。〃
　　Berenice　pressed　her　forefinger　to　the　exact　center　of　the　painting。　She　examined　the　wet；　bemerded　smear　on　her　fingertip。
　　〃Oh；　James；〃　she　said　unhappily；　〃you　painted　this　awful　picture　。　。　。　！〃
　　
　　
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　　Looking　back　（and　faced　with　the　same　set　of　circumstances）；　I　don't　know　that　I　would　have　handled　the　problem　any　differently…except　for　some　minor　changes　from　the　way　that　I　did　solve　it。　Ignorant　women　have　destroyed　the　careers；　the　ambitions；　and　the　secret　plans　of　a　good　many　honorable　men　throughout　history。
　　It　would　have　been　easy　enough　to　blame　myself　for　allowing　Berenice　to　discover　the　painting。　If　I　had　locked　the　door；　instead　of　being　concerned　with　my　physical　disfort　in　the　hotel　room；　I　could　have　hidden　the　painting　from　her　before　allowing　her　into　the　room。　This　one　little　slip　on　my　part　destroyed　everything；　if　one　wants　to　look　at　it　that　way。　But　the　problem　was　greater　than　this…not　a　matter　of　just　one　little　slip。　There　was　an　entire　string　of　unfortunate　coincidences；　going　back　to　the　unwitting　moment　I　had　allowed　Berenice　to　move　in　on　me；　and　continuing　through　my　foolhardy　decision　to　allow　her　to　acpany　me　to　Debierue's　house。
　　And　now；　of　course；　caught　red　handed…or　burnt　orange　handed…Berenice　was　in　possession　of　a　lifelong　hold　over　me　if　I　carried　my　deception　through…with　the　publication　of　the　article；　with　the　sending　of　the　painting　to　Joseph　Cassidy；　to　say　nothing　of　the　future；　my　future；　and　the　subsequent　furor　that　the　publication　of　an　article　on　Debierue　would　arouse　in　the　art　world。
　　Berenice　loved　me；　or　so　she　had　declared　again　and　again；　and　if　I　had　married　her；　perhaps　she　would　have　kept　her　mouth　shut；　carrying　her　secret　knowledge；　and　mine；　to　her　grave。　I　don't　know。　I　doubted　it　then；　and　I　doubt　it　now。　Love；　according　to　my　experience；　is　a　fragile　transitory　emoti