Long time ago, when the killer in me was still unarmed, I found myself walking around Cambridge in guilt. I had been walking for hours, but the consequences of my decisions on others were still burdening me. I had crossed the bridge from Cambridge to Boston, back and forth, more than a dozen times. No matter how hard I tried to think of a plan, dark clouds still covered my horizons. No matter how far I’d run my future wouldn’t look any brighter. And Charles River couldn’t look any darker.
It was late and not safe at all to walk by the river alone. It was only recently that a girl my age had been raped somewhere around that area. Not that I was scared, nothing can scare you when you are young. But logic did hit me from time to time… I had to head home. My apartment was between Central and Harvard square, so I quickly started running down Mass Ave. I passed by MIT, saluted what would be my main asset for the next twelve years, and took a turn right to Kendall Square. I don’t know why I turned. Maybe it was the steam rising above the manholes that hypnotized me into changing my direction. After all, what could overshadow my problem if not the unsolved problem of turbulence?
So I let the steam lead me to Kendall square. It was so dark… Everything was closed. Normally MIT students leaving their labs walk by even late hours like that, but this time no one was on the street. No people, no lights, no sounds. The city had fallen into a deep sleep. Though fearless, I did feel sort of uneasy with this emptiness. This loneliness. I thought about going to my lab instead of heading home which was still 3 miles away, and that’s what I would have done if something really bizarre hadn’t caught my attention. A strange light suddenly flashed in my eyes. It came from an old parking lot, which used to be closed and deserted. A strong noise followed, and then voices… Something was going on there, but I couldn’t tell. I went closer.
A man appeared at the gate.
“What’s going on in there?” I asked.
“It’s the final of an art contest” he replied. “Two great artists compete for the first prize. Are you an artist?”
“Not really.”
“Maybe you could be! Why don’t you come in to check this out?”
So I did. And I became Alice in wonderland.
Two painters, sitting on what looked like giant footstools, were painting on two tremendously tall canvases that reached the sky. I tried to look up enough but my eye sight was shorter than the length of their art. Their artworks were unique but completely different from one another. I tried to take a better look at the artists, see if I could recognize them. It was then that I realized that the one sitting on the right footstool was holding a baby on his lap!
Oh my God, isn’t this dangerous? What if it falls? I don’t think I got to finish my thought and the baby slipped through his legs. As it fell from the sky, just a few seconds before it hits the ground, I instinctively stretched out my hands and caught it.
The baby stared at me in the eyes and smiled. I was so relieved and happy I had saved it! It seemed happy too. I turned my head up to tell its father everything was ok but he had disappeared. Both painters had disappeared. Everyone had disappeared. I was alone with a baby in my arms in an old empty parking lot.
Now what? I can’t leave it here, I can’t keep it! Maybe I should take it to the police. I held it tight in my arms and headed to the street. Right in front of the entrance, where the man was standing earlier, I saw a bag and an envelope with my name written with bold letters on it.
Inside the envelope there was a note.
“It is now yours. It smiles only when it’s in your hands.”
Inside the bag there was money. A lot of money.
I took the baby, and the bag, and started walking. They were so unbelievably heavy that every step was a struggle. Each step was a serious debate on whether I should give up the baby and the bag.
But then I looked at the baby and its paper boat shaped smile, and my arms became stronger and my legs became lighter. A promise filled in my emptiness; a promise of a better life. A promise that one day, together, we would reach the sky.
I kept walking until we reached home.
[Original Artwork; Acrylics on canvas 70x90cm, private collection. The painting was featured as a cover photo of my post Surrealism; Master of Resurrection, but only as an example of artistic style and among other artworks. This post is the sole post describing the story behind the painting. ]