An Absence of Light

Kalatis snorted and turned and stepped to another photograph. Several people milled into their aisle, and Kalatis continued on to the end of the exhibit panels without saying anything further. Burtell guessed he was taking the time to collect his thoughts. Burtell went past him and turned another corner. The maze of panels seemed endless and Burtell hadn’t paid any attention to where they had started.

Kalatis came around the corner and looked at the first photograph.

“I’ve seen these,” he said and went to the next aisle. It was empty, and again Burtell joined him.

“Do you think you could find out what Tisler was talking about?” Kalatis asked.

“Regarding the insurance?”

“Yes, of course,” Kalatis said with slight irritation.

“Maybe.”

“Find out,” Kalatis said. He stopped and looked down the curving wall of photographs. “I’ve seen enough,” he said. “This is depressing.”

The two men walked out of the main exhibition space, descending to the foyer, then to the lobby, and out the north entrance of the museum to Bissonnet Street. As soon as they were outside Kalatis stopped and lighted a cigarette. Without speaking they crossed Bissonnet and turned left along the sidewalk, passing scatterings of people strolling in the sweltering June night. They came to Montrose and Kalatis stopped. He looked to his left at the three lighted, circular fountains inside the traffic ellipse. South Main stretched straight off the ellipse, flanked by colonnades of massive water oaks, the underside of their canopies illumined softly by streetlamps that shrank to tiny, faint sparks as the lines of the boulevard converged in the distance. Kalatis looked at this scene a moment and then turned on his heels and walked in the opposite direction to the entrance of the Cullen Sculpture Garden.

They entered the walled garden which was laid out on the order of a small plaza with granite walkways, islands of emerald lawn, manicured shrubbery, and groomed trees. The sculpture sited variously within this environment was softly illuminated with special lighting that seemed to make some of the works hover in isolation out of the gray night.

Kalatis did not immediately stop to study these works. Still walking, though not so briskly, he swung his hand holding the cigarette in a generalized arc.

“A lot of modern stuff,” he said. “I’ve never liked the abstract What the hell is abstract anyway? Represents modern man’s confusion? His fragmented psyche? Shit The disorientation of the twentieth century? Alienation of modern man? Jesus Christ I don’t know.”

Burtell was patient He reminded himself that it was Kalatis who had contacted him. After a few turns on the pathways Kalatis suddenly stopped in front of a single, isolated sculpture bathed in a haze of warm illumination.

“‘Flore Nue,’ “he said, gesturing at the statue as though he were introducing Burtell. “Aristide Maillol.” His French pronunciation was fluid, subtle, perfect The bronze nude stood before them in uncontrived simplicity, her hands hanging straight down by her sides, one foot slightly advanced before the other, knee bent.

“This is real art,” Kalatis said.” Look at her. The way of her shoulders. The shape of her breasts, her stomach. The simplicity of the way she presents herself to me.”

To me? Burtell had been looking at the statues, but at these last two words he cut his eyes at Kalatis. The brute was almost salivating over the woman. He licked her with his eyes and smiled at her in a way that would have made a man who loved her want to kill him.

“Maillol knew how to shape a breast, and this little one… carries it very well.”

Kalatis studied the sculpture for a few more moments and then abruptly turned away, flicked his cigarette away into the dark, and began walking very slowly, his head down.

“I am worried about something from yesterday’s conversation, when we met with Faeber,” he said, his voice low.” The idea of Graver keeps crawling right up into my forehead. When something squirms into my thoughts that much I have to pay attention to it. I’m not satisfied, my friend, that Graver is going to ignore this… business of Tisler.”

He took a few steps.

“That’s one thing. Another thing: I know very well that you would like to be more, let us say, involved a little more in my business.”

Burtell’s heart jolted. Did this monster know more about him than he thought? Had he given himself away somehow?

“I am an astute observer of human nature,” Kalatis said. “For your information, I know that Faeber has… limitations, but what would the world do without such people? Think about it His intelligence is very narrow, but it is very uncommonly concentrated. He serves a purpose, that’s the most important thing. The second most important thing is recognizing when something does not serve a purpose… and getting rid of it. If something does not serve, don’t keep it around you. This is a very clean way to live.”

A few more steps, the rolled program still in his left hand, his right hand in his pocket.