Click on image to enlarge.
|
Rain, Steam and Speed [MultiFormat]
eBook by Steven Popkes
| |
Regular |
|
 |
|
Club |
| You Pay: |
$0.85 |
|
|
|
$0.72 |
eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: Franscois Gossic is a painter who has lost any inspiration to paint. He is invited to join the goodwill mission of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts to Centaurus but declines. That is, until he meets the pilot.
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Full Spectrum 2, 1989
Fictionwise Release Date: November 2005
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [254 KB], eReader (PDB) [36 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [23 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [22 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [81 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [93 KB], hiebook (KML) [114 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [54 KB], iSilo (PDB) [19 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [24 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [52 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [36 KB]
Words: 6948
Reading time: 19-27 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
The square was blurred by mist, darkened by night and highlighted by the streetlamp. Gossic leaned drunkenly against the lamp, watching. The rain-slicked brick was rainbow colored, jeweled and layered by water. He could smell bananas, apples, the archaic aroma of greek sausage, tobacco smoke, car exhaust. The quiet was spattered by the staccato of Spanish, slurred English, Chinese echoing inside itself like bells.
He drank some more wine, holding onto the lamppost. He wanted to sing. He saw brush strokes moving, pigment drawing what he saw into substance from the moment time. He didn't paint, he thought. No. It was more like applying turpentine or thinner to the pigment and the colors blended, ran and fell away. From beneath the paint came the picture. A paring away rather than a putting down. His cheeks hurt from grinning. He lurched away from the lamppost towards the subway. Briefly, he thought of burnt out and bombed Berlin--and moved deliberately away from that thought.
Home now, he ran up to his apartment two steps at a time. Inside, he threw down his jacket and grabbed a blank canvas, settling it on the easel. A fear entered him; he ignored it. Above him, the high ceilings were dim. Shadowy drawings and prints of paintings hung on the dark walls. All the images looked alike: different views of one city. All save two: a sketch of a woman's face and a print of a painting of the same city as the others, but filled with light.
He turned to the blank canvas, as broad as the world. Berlin? he thought. Elaine? He glanced towards the sketch of the woman and away. Darkness settled within him. He started to block in the framework of the painting, tried to capture what he had felt. The pigment became mere pigment: oil and solvent mixed with metal ores. He put the palette down and picked up the bottle of wine, moved to the window. He could feel Elaine's eyes upon him. he looked down and watched the few people walking along the street. The rain gutters were choked thick with mud and dissolved mortar. He finished the wine and stared out the window for a long time, listening to the night music. Nachtmusik, he thought sarcastically.
* * * *
Gossic sat on a bench outside of the Museum School absorbing the rare March sun like a supplicant.
"There you are!"
|
)
