The Secret of Lions (5 page)

She spent so much time studying the style of
this artist that she felt confident she’d recognize his other work
immediately. The problem was that she had already spent hours and
hours looking at other contemporary works. Yet she still couldn’t
find anyone who drew or painted in the same style as the unknown
artist. He was truly one of a kind and very well hidden. She, like
the rest of the art community, was stumped.

The only breakthrough that she felt proud
of, the only theory that separated her from other scholars was that
she believed that the artist had something to do with the war,
directly. Perhaps he even had some connection to Hitler.

And so, she spent the rest of her time
browsing the library. She read books on Hitler’s life. She read
books about his politics. She read
Mein Kampf
. She even read
a book that claimed Hitler’s death was actually a murder made to
look like a suicide. She guessed it was to save his honor. With all
of the research that she had done about Hitler, Barbara had become
an expert on him. Still, she was having trouble piecing it all
together. She was certain that she was closer than anyone had ever
been.

Barbara looked at an old, black clock that
hung from the wall. The time was 7:33 a.m. She looked down at her
sketchbook and thumbed through the pages. Frustrated, she
sighed.

Behind her she heard a noise. It was the
sound of a mop gliding across the stone floor. A bubbling sound
followed, like the mop was being dipped into a bucket full of soapy
water.

Barbara rose and walked beyond the exhibit,
around a set of portraits and one large Japanese sculpture. She
peered around the sculpture and saw the janitor mopping the floor.
She moved in a little closer. It was Evan. Apparently, he was the
janitor as well as the groundskeeper.

“Seems like you have every job on campus,”
Barbara joked.

Evan turned. He looked extremely startled,
almost unsettled.

“What’s wrong?” Barbara asked.

“I'm not used to being snuck up on anymore,”
he said, surprised.

“Snuck up on?” She looked puzzled. “Did
people used to sneak up on you?”

“Not really. I fought in the war. Still have
the jitters, that’s all.”

“Oh, how old are you?” Barbara asked.

“Twenty-four, I think,” he answered.

“You think?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay, well I’m working in the other room.
Is that going to interfere with your mopping? Because I can come
back later on,” Barbara said. She smiled at him intensely.

She was taken aback by his not knowing his
age. Maybe he is an orphan or something, she thought. She didn’t
want to ask.

“No. You can stay. I can mop around you,” he
said.

Barbara started to walk away.

“Wait,” Evan said. “What are you working
on?”

“My thesis,” she said. After a brief pause,
she was struck with an idea. “Hey, how long have you worked here?
At the college.”

Evan thought for a long moment. He looked
away from her. Then he said, “We’ve talked too much. I have to work
now. I’m sorry, Miss Howard.”

“Oh, okay,” Barbara said. Then she turned
and started to walk back to her bench and return to her work.
Suddenly, she stopped for a moment and turned back toward him.
“Evan, how did you know my last name?”

He looked up at her and said, “You said
it.”

“No, I didn’t. I’ve never told you my last
name. I’m positive,” Barbara said, puzzled.

“Oh. I think I heard one of your sorority
friends talking about you. Lucy something. That’s it. I must have
heard her say it in the hall. I hear a lot of things around here,”
Evan replied.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t think so.
Have you looked at my school records?”

“No,” he said. “I’d lose my job if I did
something like that.”

“Okay,” she said. “I believe you. I was just
wondering. Sure you don’t want to help me with my thesis?”

Withdrawn at first, Evan scratched the
stubble on his face. Barbara was rarely attracted to men with long
hair, but Evan’s hair fit his face. It was long, but still cut
above his shoulders. It cradled his face perfectly.

“I’ll listen for a minute until people start
coming in. Because then I’ve got to return to work,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

Evan leaned the mop against a blank space on
the wall between two portraits. He followed her to a familiar
painting,
The Secret of Lions
. His eyes widened as they
approached it. He hadn’t visited it in a long time. It was a little
shocking to see that it was the painting that she was studying.

“Are you okay?” Barbara asked, noticing when
he reacted strangely to the painting.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I’m sure that you know about this painting.
I’m writing a thesis on it. The challenge that I’m experiencing
with this thesis is that I want to write something profound about
the secret in
The Secret of Lions
, something that has never
been discovered, by anyone, like who painted it. However, I am
getting nowhere. The only leg that I have up on anyone else who has
investigated the painting is that I think that the positioning of
the painting is important. I think that it has something to do with
the war. Still I am lost.”

“Positioning?” Evan asked.

“The painting was placed here on this wall,
near the ghastly, Holocaust paintings, and also near some famous
works on the other wall. It struck me as symbolic,” Barbara
said.

“What do you mean, symbolic?”

“Honestly, it may be nothing, but I thought,
why would the university hang such a beautiful painting in this
spot? And I remembered a slide that Dr. Blake showed us in
class.”

“Dr. Blake?” he asked.

“He’s a new art professor,” she said.

Evan nodded. Although she suspected that he
had not actually seen Prof. Blake. A fact that was unusual since he
was such astute observer of everything else.

Then she continued, “He showed us a
photograph of Adolf Hitler standing in his office. Well, this
painting or a painting exactly like it was in the background. So I
think that the painting must have been painted within the last 10
years or so,” Barbara said.

Evan listened and his blood rushed through
his veins like a river of intrigue. For the first time, he realized
that he wasn’t as hidden as he’d thought.

Barbara could see uneasiness come over Evan,
but he stayed composed. So she continued, “I think that the
painting might even have something to do with Hitler.”

Barbara. You are going to discover me. You
are going to discover my secrets, Evan thought. I am not safe from
you.

“So I figured that perhaps the artist is a
friend of Hitler’s. Maybe he gave it to him as a gift. Maybe he’s
someone close to Hitler?” she said.

“You’re not from here.” Evan said, changing
the subject.

“New York,” Barbara said.

“Interesting,” Evan said.

“Have you ever been there?” she asked.

“I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I just don’t venture too far from Europe.
Besides I prefer European art. It has had a much longer life. It’s
had time to flourish. American art has not had a long life.
European art is divided into periods because of its long
history.”

“That’s true,” she said. “I never thought
about that, but even in the U.S. we study European art a lot more
than we do American.”

“Yeah, American art is better in other
mediums. America has a good canon of literature and philosophy,
unlike paintings. But don’t worry, America is still young.”

Barbara was fascinated by Evan’s academic
knowledge of the arts.

“Don’t look surprised. The people who clean
up after other people are usually well informed,” he said.

“Of course, I didn’t think that you were
stupid. I’m just a little shocked that you know so much about art.
You should enroll in classes. Why don’t you?” Barbara asked.

“Why pay the tuition when I can get paid to
be around all of these great, young artists? Not to mention that
with my job, I can come in here and stare at these paintings
whenever I want to. You may be the student, but I hold the keys,”
Evan said.

Barbara couldn’t tell if Evan was joking or
not. If not, his answer made sense.

“So, what are your thoughts of
The Secret
of Lions
? Do you think it’s worth all of the attention?” she
asked.

Although Evan seemed interested, he also
seemed put off by it. Yet, his interest was different from her
fellow scholars.

“It’s a good painting,” he said.

“That’s it. Hold on. A minute ago you were
giving me all this stuff about your love of art. And now you have a
short answer for this one.

“The way you were talking gives me the
feeling that if you were asked to, you could lecture a seminar
about Monet, Da Vinci, or Rembrandt.”

“Yeah,” he said. “This painting is
relatively unknown except in certain, elite circles.”

“That’s not good enough, Evan. Do you have
any idea about what the secret is?”

“I know the same as everyone else. The
painting was mysteriously donated to the school. And no one knows
who painted it. Sorry I can’t be more helpful. I’d better get back
to work. It was nice talking to you though,” he said. Then he
walked off abruptly.

Barbara was left facing two mysteries: the
painting and Evan.

For some reason, she started to wonder if
they were connected.

17

Evan stood with the blue hood pulled tight
around his head, nearly obscuring his face. The wind blew behind
him. He leaned against the girl’s dorm building. A rake with a
wooden handle was propped against the wall in front of him.
Earlier, he’d raked the leaves around the sidewalks. Now he was
waiting.

It was early on a Saturday morning. Evan
waited to see Barbara. Every Saturday morning, she got up before
everyone else and went for a walk. She liked to walk when there was
no one else around. It was a time for her to think.

He’d noticed her doing it a few Saturdays
earlier.

She ran across the campus and alongside the
river. A long path followed the river. It usually was crowded, but
not today. Today, the weather was bleak. A thick fog rolled in over
most of the ground. As autumn neared its end, cold weather began to
creep across the terrain. And so did the foggy season.

Barbara stepped out of her dorm wearing gray
pants and a green pullover with a hood. She headed off in the
direction of the river. She didn’t appear to notice that Evan
watched her. He left the rake and ran after her. He followed her
for a short distance and then stopped.

This is crazy
, he thought.
I can’t
chase her
.

He retreated.

Barbara glanced back and saw a figure moving
away from her through the fog. She knew it was Evan. She had
noticed him pretending to be busy raking. She smiled. For a moment,
the thought of chasing after him and confronting him crossed her
mind.

I could just ask him to join me for a
run,
she thought.

She stopped running and turned back again,
but he was already lost in the thick of the fog.

18

In the commons, Barbara sat alone. Although
some of her sorority sisters ate in the other corner, she still
chose to sit alone. A barren tray rested on the table in front of
her. All that was left of her salad was an empty bowl. She still
couldn’t get used to English food, so she usually just stuck to her
plain salads.

She thumbed through all of the scribbled
notes in her journal. Most were crossed out as dead ends to her
research. But one large scribble remained unmarked. It read:

1935?

She guessed the earliest possible date of
the conception of the painting. The canvas was slightly worn like
it had some minor age on it, but that particular type of canvas was
manufactured by an Italian paper company, and they had been in
business for only fifteen years. So the painting was definitely
created around the time of the war. Since she believed that the
painting was representative of the war, she suspected that it was
painted somewhere in mid to eastern Europe, probably Germany or
Austria.

The painting had undergone some obvious
changes from the one shown behind Hitler in Blake’s slide. Some
touch-ups. For no particular reason, Barbara suspected that they
were done post-war.

The war is part of the artist’s secret, she
thought. Maybe the artist escaped the war. Maybe the secret is
about that. Yes, he must have survived the war. Maybe he wants to
remain anonymous because he is a wanted criminal.

What does almost every artist dream of?
Fame, money, and an audience.

This mysterious artist has the talent and
means to acquire all of those. He could have been more than just
unknown. If he is still alive, why doesn’t he come forward and
claim the prize sought after by most artists?

Barbara thought about this for a while.

Why not come forward?

She concluded that was the secret. Not just
the identity of the artist, but the story of the painting. Most
great works of art had stories, and they were often dismissed. This
work of art had a story.

Barbara was determined to find out what that
story was.

19

Across the room, near the lunch line, Evan
sat at a high-top table. He sat alone. He held a pencil in one
hand. A sketchbook lay on the table in front of him. He flipped
through multiple pages of drawings. Each page displayed an
incredibly detailed image of one woman—Barbara.

20

The King’s College School of Music’s
orchestra played in the auditorium. Evan sat in the dark listening
to their practice session. Over the years, he had learned all of
the entrances and exits on campus.

Every semester the school orchestra
rehearsed on Tuesdays and Thursdays for their semester’s end
concert. The school orchestra was talented. Their concerts were
glorious, magnificent, and some of Evan’s favorite times of the
year.