The Secret of Lions (6 page)

The problem was that it was almost
impossible to get tickets to the concerts. They only performed two
shows—one on Friday and one on Saturday night.

However, Evan knew that they rehearsed the
entire week before––a dress rehearsal. So he snuck in backstage at
least once during their rehearsal week in order to listen.

The grandiose music rushed through his ears,
filling his core with images of passion and lust. He closed his
eyes and pictured Barbara. He fantasized about her body in his
arms, her skin beneath the prints of his fingers. He caressed the
slope of her back with the palms of his hands.

The orchestra raised the tempo and thus
infected his imagination with more passion.

Evan’s sketchbook rested on his lap. Even
though he sat in near darkness, his body felt illumination from the
music. The sudden illumination on the horizon of his life was
Barbara.

As he listened to the music he drew with his
pencil. He let the music guide him, listening carefully. He
absorbed the music as it absorbed him.

In the darkness, across from him, Barbara
stood in shock. She had seen him sneaking around earlier and had
followed him into the auditorium.

He draws. He’s an artist,
she
thought. She couldn’t see what he was drawing. She had never seen
anyone draw in the dark before.

The darkness,
she thought. Evan drew
in the dark, as though he was hiding his art from himself, like a
great secret.

Maybe he knows more about
The Secret of Lions
than he was letting on,
she
thought.

21

The next day, Professor Blake called for
Barbara. He asked her to be in his office as soon as possible as if
she were being summoned. He told her that it was about her thesis
project.

Barbara periodically reported to him on her
progress. He was the head of her graduate committee. She had told
him nothing about Evan, but she had reported some of her
breakthroughs, like finding out about the canvas company.

When Barbara arrived, she was greeted by
Professor Blake. He was not alone. Inside Professor Blake’s office
stood a tall stranger.

“Barbara, this is Mr. Kobnhavn. He’s a
lawyer from Denmark. He represents a group of wealthy collectors
there,” Professor Blake explained.

“How are you?” Barbara asked, shaking his
hand. She tried not to stare into his icy, blue eyes. Mr. Kobnhavn
was an attractive man, except there was something unsettling about
him. He had long, dark hair. Long hair on a man was very uncommon.
It got him a lot of stares, but no one inquired about it. He wore a
blue shirt with brown trousers and a tailored, brown jacket. He
looked like a professor, not a lawyer.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Howard,”
Mr. Kobnhavn said. He had a strong accent. It was a mixture of
German or Austrian. He was slightly muscular for a lawyer.

Barbara politely smiled.

“Barbara, Mr. Kobnhavn is searching for the
artist of your painting. I’ve told him that you will help him as
best you can to discover the identity of the painter,” Professor
Blake said. “Miss Howard will be perfect for the job that you are
requesting, Mr. Kobnhavn.”

“I thank you for your help, Professor Blake.
My clients are very clear. I am not to return to Denmark until I
have solved one of the greatest mysteries in the modern art world;
I must discover who painted The Secret,” Mr. Kobnhavn said.

“Barbara is a great admirer of the painting,
Mr. Kobnhavn. That painting has become her life this semester.
Don’t let her beauty fool you; she is reliable and intelligent. If
anyone can help you, it is Barbara,” Professor Blake said.

Barbara stiffened her shoulders and felt
proud of Dr. Blake’s compliment.

Charles Blake waved the two of them off as
if they were his loyal subjects. Barbara signaled for Mr. Kobnhavn
to follow her. The two of them walked out of Professor Blake’s
office and into the catacombs of hallways.

“I think, Miss Howard, that you will have
more success if you search for this mysterious painter on your own.
You don’t want me tagging along. So here is my card; there is the
number for the hotel that I am staying at on the back. Simply
contact me there when you discover something,” Mr. Kobnhavn said.
He handed her a card.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kobnhavn, but I’ve already
spent months looking for the artist. I don’t think that it will be
as easy as just finding him in a matter of days. You may be waiting
in your hotel room for a long time,” Barbara said.

They continued walking together down a long
hallway.

“There is something else, Miss Howard,
something that may energize your search.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“There are two things actually. If you find
the artist soon, my client is willing to fully fund your schooling
as payment,” Kobnhavn said.

“Mr. Kobnhavn, my schooling is already paid
for.”

“In Italy,” Mr. Kobnhavn said. He narrowed
his eyes as he expected that she would be enticed by this.

“Italy?” Barbara said. She felt faint. Italy
was rich with art history. Barbara dreamed of studying there.

Venice, Florence, or Rome,
she
thought.

“Or Paris,” he said, interrupting her
thoughts. “If you prefer. The second thing is sensitive. I need to
be able to trust you. Can I trust you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Barbara said, though hesitant.

Mr. Kobnhavn pulled a black cloth out of his
jacket pocket. The cloth was folded around something. It looked
like a book. He removed the cloth. It was a sketchbook with the
corners burnt off. The worst damage was on the bottom right corner
away from the spine. Barbara could see that it was important to Mr.
Kobnhavn. He held it like it was a precious artifact. He opened it
up to show Barbara something.

She stared at it, and her jaw dropped.

Mr. Kobnhavn had opened the sketchbook to a
faded drawing, identical to
The Secret of Lions
. A black
lion, drawn to perfection, just like the real one that hung in the
gallery. Barbara’s pulse raced. For a long moment, she could not
find her bearings. She leaned her hand up against the wall just to
stop herself from getting dizzy.

Her mind flooded with questions.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Miss
Howard. The artist of these drawings is the artist who painted
The Secret of Lions
. I can tell you what I know about him,
and then you will understand why you can’t tell anyone. You see the
artist of these paintings is a war criminal. He was involved with
the Nazis during the war. And if he is caught, he will be tried and
possibly killed. His real name is...” He paused for a moment and
studied both ends of the hall to make sure that they were alone.
They had walked a good ways and were now standing beneath a high
skylight in the foyer of Professor Blake’s building.

“Are you sure you want to know this? If I
tell you, you must vow to keep it secret,” Mr. Kobnhavn said.

“Yes,” Barbara answered. She couldn’t
resist.

“Okay, his real name is Willem Kessler. I
know little of him except that he was close to Adolf Hitler. We
suspect that he may be a close relative. Some of my partners even
suspect that he may be Hitler’s child. In certain circles, the
rumors about him are staggering.”

Barbara walked to a chair that rested near a
large, crystal clear window.

“I have to sit down,” she said.

“I understand,” Kobnhavn said.

“Wow,” Barbara said. “That is quite a story.
That would explain all the secrecy, why he wouldn’t want to be
known. Is he dangerous? I mean…is he safe to be around?”

“I have no idea. I’m not even sure how much
of the story is true. The only thing that I know is that he is
here.

“My clients wield considerable power. They
are also great lovers of the arts. They don’t care for this man’s
past. The parties I represent are neutral in matters of the past.
Hitler was a monster, and he is dead. We only want to discover the
truth of this painting.

“We feel that Kessler just wants to paint
and live his life. My client respects that he wishes to remain
silent. However, his art is unparalleled. It should be shared with
the world.

“If he has more paintings, they should be
shared. It is obvious from his talents that he is a progeny of art.
We just want to provide him with a safe environment to paint. We
want to give him a new identity. So, will you help me?” Kobnhavn
asked.

“Yes,” Barbara said. “Of course.”

Chapter
Two

Heart Sketch

22

Barbara awoke with a dry mouth. Her gums
felt as arid as a desert. She sat up in bed; narrow slits of
moonlight protruded through the blinds. She looked across the room,
letting her eyes focus on the heap on the next bed. It was Lucy,
fast asleep and snoring, as usual.

Barbara’s dorm room was on the fifth floor
in the corner of the building. She rose from the bed. At least they
shared a corner room. Most of the other dorm rooms were much
smaller. The corner rooms had the most space, including bigger
closets. She yawned and stretched her arms as high as her hands
would reach.

Barbara felt her stomach rumble; she had not
eaten much lately. She walked out into the kitchen, opened the
cupboards, and searched for food. She didn’t see anything that
interested her, so she decided to settle on coffee. She looked
above the stove and pulled out a coffee mug. She went to the sink
and poured water into it. She took a swig. The water was warm. It
soaked right into her gums.

After making coffee, she moved into a common
room and sat on a couch. The lights were still off. She sat down in
her nightgown and drank some of the coffee. Her mind opened to the
pages of the past few weeks, and she reflected. She thought about
Kobnhavn and Evan.

She thought about the amazing opportunity
that Kobnhavn had presented to her.

Barbara got up and opened the window. She
went back into her room and brought out a sketchbook and some
pencils. She sat in a chair by the window. The moon was full and
the light trickled in, illuminating the room. She loved to draw in
the moonlight. She had been trying to learn to sketch in the dark
as she had seen Evan do.

Barbara opened her sketchbook and flipped
through the pages. She looked at the details of Evan’s face. She
already had strong feelings for him. Every day, she went out of her
way to find him in one of his gardens or mopping the floors or
repainting the fence near the stream where she ran. She was now
running every other day, staying in top physical shape. Whenever
she saw him, she’d stop and chat. Their friendship had grown into a
real connection.

Her mother used to tell her, “A hero
perishes, and a sparrow falls. You will find your hero in time,
young sparrow.” She couldn’t help but wonder if Evan was her hero.
He was all she thought about, besides her mysterious artist.

She stared at her drawings of Evan as if he
really sat in them, listening to his music. She wondered what he
would think if he knew that she watched him when he was buffing the
floors. She wondered if he was the artist. The more she got to know
him, the more she suspected that he was Willem Kessler.

She asked others, but no one really knew
much about him. She wondered if people even looked at him as they
passed. She wondered if anyone ever acknowledged him.

How long have you gone unnoticed, Evan?

Evan reminded Barbara of the sparrow she
liked to draw. He was beautiful and quiet. Somehow, she could not
seem to stop drawing or thinking about him.

She flipped to an empty page in her
sketchbook. She started to draw when she suddenly heard a sound out
in the garden near her dorm. She looked out her window and down to
the street. Evan was out there. He was walking. He kicked a bottle
along the sidewalk.

What? What is he doing out there? Where
is he going?
She thought. She was certain that it was Evan. He
carried a knapsack over his shoulder. She saw his long, blond
hair.

Barbara wanted to follow him to discover
where he was going so late at night. She knew that she should’ve
left him alone. She also knew that it would look bad if she got
caught snooping around campus at night. Yet, she couldn’t stand it
anymore. She had to confront him about the painting. She was so
sure that he was the artist. It had to be him.

So she hopped up and went to her closet. She
pulled out a pair of loose pants. She put them on and slipped her
feet into some sneakers. She grabbed a dark scarf and pulled her
hair up in it. The top of her gown was still exposed, but she
didn’t have time to change into a shirt. She grabbed an old coat
from a chair in front of her desk. She neared the door and wrapped
herself up in the coat.

Barbara walked out of the building and onto
the street. She looked in both directions. She spotted Evan going
toward the far north corner of the campus. She followed him.

Barbara stopped at the corner of a building
and peered around it. She saw Evan standing next to a tall statue,
a monument to an archaic, university alumnus. He didn’t seem to
notice her and he walked out to the road.

Barbara followed him as he walked off the
campus. She was close behind. She stopped and looked back at the
campus, feeling slightly afraid. Then she kept following him.

They ended up in a cemetery. She started to
get worried. She wondered what he was doing in a cemetery in the
middle of the night.

Evan was sitting on a tombstone. He stared
at another headstone across the path from him. He held a pencil in
one hand and his sketchbook in the other. He was drawing.

Barbara watched him. She watched his pencil
strokes. She watched him switch from pencil to pencil. When one
edge lost its point he would retrieve another from his bag. Barbara
wanted to get a better look, so she snuck to a spot just a few
tombstones away from him.