TS3 Chapter 9

Chapter 9 

May 9^th 2014

Frankfurt am Main 

“This wasn't really necessary, Fefo,” Guntram said as his friend parked in front of the river. 

“It's in my job's description and there will be no other chance that I go inside a museum ever again.” 

“Are you really mentally prepared to survive it? It's a museum.” 

“I can handle it,” Fedérico shrugged and got out of the car. As usual Guntram was stalling, just like when he didn't want to go inside the Arts classroom back in school. 

“Come on, princess, I'm not opening the door for you,” he whined as Guntram remained in the car with his nerves eating him alive. 

“No, you pay the parking,” Guntram replied as he got out of the car. For him, going to the Städel was a huge foe. He was torn between his desire to see his creation hanging from the walls of one of the most famous museums and his fear to face again the woman who had made his life so miserable. 

“Fuck! Did you see this? Six euros per hour!” Fedérico yelled at the parking meter. 

“If you drive a hundred-thousand-euro car, you can pay for it. I think an hour will be sufficient.”

“No way I'm going to spend my day running in and out to pay for extra hours because you're drooling over a Monet.” 

“Fine. Pay the maximum,” Guntram growled. 

“It will be my pleasure to present this eighteen-euro ticket to his Excellency.” Fedérico said as he opened the passenger's door to carelessly throw the receipt over the ultra polished root wood dashboard, upside down looking, just to make the parking officer's life harder. 

“You've way to go before you match the bill for renting a plane,” mumbled Guntram as he began to briskly walk towards the large neoclassical building. 

“I'm trying my hardest.” Fedérico said as he caught up with Guntram.  

Both men entered in the large entrance hall and Guntram stopped to admire the large columns that supported the high ceilings, moving aside to let a large group of tourists to overtake them. The sight of the merry group of chatting old ladies made Guntram look at them with melancholy as it had been many years since the last time he had been in the “tourist mode”; walking carelessly around museums and monuments. 

“We were supposed to visit Frankfurt after we were done with Italy,” remembered Guntram suddenly. “Funny we're here today.” 

“It was just a slight detour.” Fedérico replied as he walked towards the huge round information centre in the middle of the room, once the group had cleared it. “I'll get the tickets and a catalogue.” 

Guntram frowned at the last word as he had never imagined Fedérico would even care about a catalogue. He saw him going straight to the museum's store and coming back with a large volume in his hand. 

“Nothing like locating what you want to see to shorten a visit,” Fedérico commented as he passed the pages quickly. “Here it is; New Acquisitions room. Third floor.” 

With a heavy heart, Guntram followed Fedérico, climbing the grandiose stairwell as slowly as he could. He didn't want to see again the painting and truly felt bad for Stefania if she was going to be remembered like that. 'She was a witch but she had a career and I ruined it.' 

'She drove me nuts and that's why I painted that shit.' 

'I'm going to kill Andreas one of these days.' 

“Hey, Picasso. It's in the other direction,” Fedérico caught Guntram by the sleeve when he walked towards the Gothic painters section at the end of the stairwell, ignoring the many pictures hanging from the entrance to the wings. 

“Oh,” was all what Guntram could say. 

“It's where the tourists don't dare,” chuckled Fedérico as they were ran over by a large group of retired people, hastily running after their guide. 

“It's good that grannies don't get to see it,” mumbled Guntram beginning to feel miserable. 

“No, they buy the postcards at the shop. I saw it,” Fedérico smirked and Guntram paled as he had never imagined that people could buy copies of the portrait for 99 cents. “Don't look so frightened. You're in a museum!” 

“Keep your voice down,” Guntram shushed Fedérico as an elderly lady dressed as a clerk looked at them disapprovingly. “We watch the thing and go home.” 

“Yeah, you always say that,” Fedérico mumbled as he strode confidently, already knowing where the picture was hung. Guntram had no other choice than to follow him through the corridors, slightly dizzy because he tried to see the pictures they were passing by but the figures meshed one with another, making him see a blurry mix of colors instead. 

The room was a very small one and placed between two flairs of stairs that joined corridors. There were only six paintings aligned over the walls and the room was obscure compared to the larger rooms. 

Stefania's portrait occupied the centre of one of the walls and it was well lighted from above, transforming it into the main focus point of the green painted room. 

Guntram stood aghast in front of the large portrait as he didn't remember it well. For him, it was like discovering a new painting because he had parted with it before the oil was dry. 

Stefania looked her arrogant self, enhanced by the Versace dress that Guntram hated so much because it was immodest and stupidly complicated. Whoever heard about using a window grille as a dress layout? The first time -and only one- he had seen it, had been an evening when Stefania decided that Konrad should be shown off a bit by taking her to the Opera -only for the first act- and she had come down the grand stairwell dressed with that. Guntram still remembered Konrad's sour expression upon seeing it and the clear frown written in Friederich's face. 

By sheer chance (or not) Guntram had been there with Friederich -in tow in his role as non-official peacemaker-, while Guntram asked Konrad to sign the boys' permission to go to a school trip. He was tired of sending the papers to Monika and getting them back unsigned with a “you should ask the Duke, dear. He says you should ask him personally.” In Guntram's opinion, the best moment to catch Konrad was when he was in a hurry; “unaware” or the “fait accompli” menacingly loomed over his head. After all, he wouldn't dare to leave his sons without the next day's excursion to the Museum. 

Konrad had agreed to sign instantly when he had finally seen the boy who had been carefully evading him for the past two weeks, vanishing into thin air each time he went to his sons' rooms. Finally, Guntram had seen reason and come to him to get what he wanted. His reluctance to engage with him in any kind of communication form was a clear proof that Stefania's presence in the house was beginning to undermine Guntram's stubbornness. 

But Stefania had to choose that specific moment, when Guntram was calmly explaining Konrad about the school activities, -and had even cracked a brief smile when the banker had asked if it would be necessary to pack the Picasso as compensation if the boys destroyed something- to make her grand entrance. 

The dark golden dress was too much for Konrad's taste. He frowned when he saw it, Guntram gaped at the tall figure at the top of the stairwell, horrified at the thought of what Tita or any of the ladies at the Opera would think but never say. She was making people talk and she knew it. Guntram hated her for the embarrassment Konrad would certainly face. Hating him or not, any scandal would undoubtedly impact on his children's good name. 

The glance of deep disdain Guntram received was the cherry on top of the cake. He took the papers from Konrad's limp hands and left the room. 

A few weeks later he was excluded from the Christmas holidays and the dam of his well contained fury finally blew up. 

“You painted that?” Fedérico asked in awe as he wide-eyed the large portrait. 

“In about a week,” a mortified Guntram replied. “I was really mad at her. She forced me to partly organize her wedding.” 

“She got what she deserved.” Fedérico shrugged. “Not bad.” 

“Not bad?” Guntram smirked. “It's in a museum.” 

“Therefore, not bad.” 

“It's one of my best works and now I see it.” Guntram said without knowing why. 'It's really good no matter who she is. I haven't done anything like this since I returned from Russia. No, I painted good things in Russia.' 

The sound of a camera startled Guntram and he turned around to see Fedérico holding his smartphone in front of the picture. “That cat is really something,” he commented as he used its picture for his Facebook profile.  

“His name was Pancho. I met him at the soup kitchen. He kept the place clean of rats and had a temper too. He would jump on you without notice and frighten the hell out of you.” 

“So you knew both models.” 

“Yes, I did. Both are dead now. I mean, the cat must have passed away after ten years or more.” Guntram fell silent, gloomily thinking on that. 

“Move away, Picasso,” Fedérico pushed him aside when two women entered in the room and began to take pictures of the portrait while they enthusiastically praised it among them. For Guntram it was an embarrassing moment and he pretended to look at the other artworks. 

“Those two look like they liked it.” Fedérico commented once they were alone. “Two postcards. Do you get money for them?” 

“I guess not. The paint was sold and then donated. I think I'm not entitled to any.” 

“I think you need a coffee and a postcard.” Fedérico said. 

“And you need a bourbon. You were in a museum for more than forty minutes.” Guntram chuckled and smiled genuinely in a long time. 

“Exactly.” 

The glimpse of a Renoir in the second floor made Guntram stop in his tracks and Fedérico sighed as his friend walked towards it. Without realizing what he was doing, Guntram began to walk around the rooms, admiring each one of the artworks hanging from the walls. 

For Fedérico it was no news that Guntram needed to see it all and perhaps it would be good for him to calm down before they took the plane back to Zurich that same afternoon. Slowly, he followed his friend, grateful for the huge benches in the middle of the large rooms and the catalogue which allowed him to sit and read, feigning he was interested in something. 

Once Guntram was finished with all the paintings, Fedérico just took him by the sleeve and dragged him to the cafeteria, quickly passing by the Museum's shop. Guntram seemed to be in a cloud, not paying much attention to anything, so Fedérico took the matters into his hands, choosing the table and bringing the drinks. He waited for ten minutes, but Guntram didn't communicate with the rest of the world. 

“How are you feeling?” Fedérico held tightly the Styrofoam cup, filled with his second steaming coffee from a vending machine, to get his suddenly very cold hands warm.  

“Overwhelmed.” Guntram grimaced at the first sip of the chemical hot tea. “This tastes awful.” 

“Coffee is the same if that helps you.” 

Guntram became silent again and his blue eyes clouded for a moment, deeply thinking about something. Fedérico let him be and rose for a moment to put more coins in the parking meter. When he returned, his friend was still engulfed in his thoughts. Without sitting again, Fedérico turned around and went for two sandwiches to the vending machine. 

“It was good to see it.” Guntram finally said, coming out of his reverie when Fedérico placed a well packed tuna sandwich in front of him. 

“Why? I thought you hated it.”

“I hate the circumstances around the painting, not the painting by itself,” Guntram answered tiredly. “Tuna?” he asked with a frown. 

“Caviare was over and this ham and cheese baby has my name written over it. Finders' fee.” Fedérico was glad to see his friend now really back from whichever hell he had been to. 

“I used to paint much better than now.” Guntram opened the plastic package and the smell of the moist mix of tuna and tomato purée reached his nostrils and he took a deep breath before he bit one of the triangles.   

“Well, you were under considerable stress for three years. That thing was incredible and you'll make more like that. It's like riding a bike. You don't forget it.” 

“My pinnacle was when I was with Constantin.” Guntram admitted slowly and nervously put the sandwich back in its plastic. Suddenly, the sight of food made him feel guilty about something he couldn't quite place. 

“We need a real coca cola,” Fedérico said and Guntram looked at him incredulously. 

The pop-fizz of the opened can somewhat relaxed Guntram's nerves and he drank a little, putting it quickly aside when the extra-sweet taste flooded his mouth. 

“One won't kill you,” Fedérico said. 

“I'm dull nowadays, just like at the beginning,” Guntram confessed. “I can't say it's the pills because I take none. When I was a real psycho, I created great things but I'm afraid to see them again. That's why I let the Russians keep them.” 

“Guntram you were always dull, except that time with that joint, but that was long time ago.” 

“Did you give me marijuana?” 

“I thought you knew.” Fedérico shrugged.

“I thought it was a fucking cigarette!”

“No, they aren't so funny. As a lawyer, I can tell you that that slight incident prescribed two years ago. So keep that righteous anger to yourself.” 

“What were you thinking?” Guntram whispered furiously.

“Nothing.” 

“I can tell that.” 

“Hey, Guti, don’t be so mad at me.” Fedérico winked and draw his best conciliatory smile. “We were kids.” 

“You could have told me.” 

“What for? You would have jumped at my neck shouting that it was wrong. Do you know what was wrong with you? You were too good for your own sake. God, being your friend was like living with St. Francis and the whole monastery.” 

“Is that me or Mirko who you're speaking about?” 

“You.” 

“Well, let's hear what you have imagined about me this time.” 

“If you were a better painter with Repin (if that’s true) it was because that you didn't care to look “bad” in front of him.” 

“Excuse me?” Guntram laid his back against the wooden chair and grimaced when the hard wood touched his sensitive spine. 

“You always pretend to be the nice Guntram, but believe me, inside you there's a Godfather ten times worse than Repin.” Fedérico said seriously.

“Incredible! My best friend thinks I'm a potential mobster with a brush.” 

“Guntram, you had quite an industrial forgery business going on... and you didn't crack in front of the teachers not even once in all the time I knew you. You live with Lintorff and all the Serbs are more afraid of you than of him, including Goran.” 

“Interesting theory,” seethed Guntram. 

“When you decide to be “bad” you drop all your barriers and maybe you feel more than what you usually allow yourself to. You wanted to kill Repin and you didn't care if it showed. Therefore you painted well, like that bitch's portrait.”

“You could....” Guntram bit his lips and glared at Fedérico. “All right, it's true.” 

“Glad to hear it, pumpkin. Start by being a little more honest to yourself.”

“Do you think that if I say to the winds that I'm no better that Constantin I will paint better?” 

“I don't know, but at least you'll be happier if you'd stop castrating yourself and being afraid of yourself. Repin never built a prison as strong as your own one.” 

Guntram was silent for a long time, contemplating Fedérico's words. His friend turned his head around and focused all his attention on the many moving racks at the shop's entrance. 

“You've told me more about myself than that wretched three-hundred per hour shrink.” Guntram admitted slowly. 

“I know you since your first crime and you know me since my hundredth gaffe.” 

“What should I do, Dr. Martiarena?” 

“Stop being so obsessed about what people think about you. You hated Repin and it seems your best period comes from that. Do the same.” 

“What?” 

“Now you play the idiot with me. It doesn't work. I've seen you in your underwear, baby.”

“That's something I'd rather forget.” 

“It's our secret. I'll tell nobody you wore grandpa underpants.”  

“You never gave me the address where you got those with the tiger print.”

Fedérico chuckled and patted Guntram's hand. “I missed you all these years.” 

“Likewise, asshole.” 

“That's better.” 

“I'll paint what I want and to hell with the consequences. Gulya came to me and I had no way to refuse the whole thing. Imagine, she's one of Sofia's best friends!” 

“Who's Sofia?” 

“Sofia Constantinova Repin. The girl is nice and has no second intentions but Goran and Konrad do and I got caught in the middle.” 

“Like always.” 

“Exactly,” pointed out Guntram. “I'm totally fed up with that.” 

“Refuse to do it.” 

“I would if I could, but the girl is as trapped as me and she's a nice person. I'll do my best and then, I'll refuse any other customer coming from them.” 

“Without mentioning that your fridge is full with two kilos of raw ugly things for the parrot. It's disgusting to find that shit in the mornings.” 

“Well Fefo, you know what to do if you don't like your lodgings.” 

“I'm still too heartbroken to look for another flat. In a month's time, pumpkin.” 

“I'll charge you big time,” Guntram smirked. 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” 

“You guess.” 

Fedérico chuckled very amused. “Then I'll pay rent.” 

“Just don't leave your dirty shirts in the living-room.” Guntram admonished Fedérico and fell again in one of his silences, remembering the past, the cold plains swept by the snow and the silver forest bathed by the sun in the Springtime. 'Siberia was beautiful.' 

“Not everything was bad with Constantin, you know,” Guntram spoke slowly and with an almost inaudible voice. “Sometimes I think that if I hadn't met Konrad first, maybe we would have got along very well. There was a time when we did. It was never love between us but some sort of deep friendship and affinity. I mean, when I fought with Konrad I was not even speaking to him, but I always spoke to Constantin, even during the first day when I woke up in Paraguay. I was terrified of him but deep inside me, I knew he wouldn't hurt me.”  

“Well, you must be the only person in the world who thinks that.” 

“I know. I never hated Constantin because I can't do it even now. I fear him but I don't hate him. Maybe we were friends or maybe not. I'm a mess about him.” 

Fedérico took a deep breath and looked inside his empty coca cola can, trying to find the right way to formulate what he had been thinking for many months. 

“You know, Guti, love isn't that fluffy image you have about it,” Fedérico started slowly. “When I was in love of you, I didn't feel the same things I felt for Mirko. You two are similar in many ways but then, you are completely different in many others. I imagine that loving you would have been like playing house.” Guntram looked at him in total disbelief. “Whereas loving Mirko was like playing Risk. Different emotions and outcomes and no recipe for the same thing.”  

“Are you telling me that I love Constantin?” Guntram asked in shock. 

“Maybe. I don't know. You two together don't seem the sending flowers type, like you and Lintorff do. I think that crazy Russian loved you in his own way. I wouldn't have done a third of what he did for you for anyone, not even for you.” 

Guntram averted his eyes and played with the pull tab, the metallic sound caused by his fingers falsely pulling it eased his nerves. 

“Love has no recipe like you say.” Guntram said very softly. “I'm always thinking on him whether in fear that he comes back or wondering what he'd have said to something I painted. I can't create without having him around. I never was so artistically free as I was during those three years. It was like a prison of the body but a release for the mind. I don't know if I'm making any sense now.” 

“Perhaps you two loved each other in your own way.” Fedérico said softly. “A self-destructive way.” 

“I know. I can't live with him but I need him in my life. How fucked up is that?” 

“A lot but it's more common than you think.” 

“I would never leave Konrad. I love him very much and the children too. I need him to feel secure and loved.” 

“The other is self-destructive and can't be but is good that you realize it. Maybe it's about time that you stop forcing yourself to follow what you consider the “righteous path” and be more human. Stop doing what is expected of you.” 

“I'm coming to terms that I love Constantin and that's already a lot. Don't ask anything more from me. I'm coming to terms that I'm crazier than I thought.”

“It's you who has to do the things. I'm fucked up with Mirko but I see that you're worse for wear than I do.” 

“I have to let go of Constantin. I owe him nothing; not Kurt, not the surgery; nothing. I can work on my own.” 

“Will you be able to do it?” 

“I have to,” Guntram replied. “I can do it and I must do it. I have to get over this fear that he might come back.” Guntram finally came to terms with himself. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking on him. I've said nothing to anyone, but that's killing me.”

“Those were three years. You can't delete them from your life.” 

“But I can't keep them with me.” 

“Guti, you already know what's eating you up. It's a first step out of darkness.” 

“I do. You're right. I have to be more honest to myself and accept my mistakes because all this mess was my fault, no matter what you all say.” 

“Maybe you were the cause but you didn't make Repin act like he did. He was a motherfucker since day one.” 

Guntram smiled sadly. “Yes, that's true.” Guntram rose from the table. The talk had been too much for his nerves and he needed to clear his mind of the ghosts lurking inside it. “Let's go. I still have to get something for the boys.” 

“Should we buy a postcard to take home?” Fedérico asked as he followed his friend. 

“No, I want the poster.” Guntram replied this time with a real smile.