STILL LIFE
III
answered. In the street he stood at the river wall, watching the dome
of St. Peter's in the distance. Maybe a potion, Fidelman thought, or
an amulet? He doubted either would work. How do you hang your–
self? In the late afternoon he went back to the house- would say he
was
sick,
needed rest, possibly a doctor. He felt feverish. She could
hardly refuse.
But she did, although explaining she felt bad herself. He held
onto the bannister as he went down the stairs. Clelia Montemaggio's
door was open. Fidelman paused, then continued down but she had
seen him. "Come een, come een."
He went reluctantly in. She fed him camomile tea and panettone.
He ate
in
a wolfish hurry as she seated herself at the piano.
"No Bach, please, my head aches from various troubles."
"Where's your dignity?" she asked.
"Try Chopin, that's lighter."
"Respect yourself, please."
Fidelman removed his hat as she began to play a Bach prelude,
her bottom rhythmic on the bench. Though his cold oppressed him
and he could hardly breathe, tonight the spirit, the architecture,
moved him. He felt his face to see if he were crying but only his
nose was wet. On the top of the piano Clelia had placed a bowl of
white carnations in full bloom. Each white petal seemed a white
flower.
If
I could paint those gorgeous flowers, Fidelman thought.
If
I could paint something. By Jesus, if I could paint myself, that'd
show them! Astonished by the thought he ran out of the house.
The art student hastened to a costume shop and settled on a
cassock and fuzzy black soupbowl biretta, envisaging another Rem–
brandt: "Portrait of the Artist as Priest." He hurried with his bulky
package back to the house. Annamaria was handing the garbage to
the portinaia as Fidelman thrust his way into the studio. He quickly
changed into the priest's vestments. The pittrice came in wildly to
tell
him
where he got off, but when she saw Fidelman already paint–
ing himself as priest, with a moan she rushed into her room. He
worked with smoking intensity and in no time created an amazing
likeness. Annamaria, after stealthily re-entering the studio, with heav–
ing bosom and agitated eyes closely followed his progress. At last, with
a cry she threw herself at his feet.
"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned-"
