CHAPTER ELEVEN : FREDERICK
Dwarg had learnt a lot thus far. All the learning over the past ten Human years and indeed all the knowledge he gained from Robert Kellor, Slig and other Whisps, did not prepare him for the shock he received when he first saw the painting of van Gogh’s Starry Night. Yes, there was some residual knowledge from Robert Kellor’s memories, but obviously Robert was never interested and had never even looked directly at this picture. Aggie had glanced at the painting hanging on the wall and as the image fluxed around her brain through impulses, transluting flashes and ionic stimulations, Dwarg also saw it. He didn’t see it as Aggie saw it. Aggie saw it as a colourful painting of greys and blues, of clouds, starlight and moonlight over a sleepy village nestled in the mountains. What Dwarg saw, was a black and white image of a Swirl Chaos.
Curiosity kept Dwarg active inside Aggie. To him, most difficult of understandings was in the area of Human emotions. He had identified many emotions, even worked out triggers, situations and conditions where emotions changed. He had still to identify how certain Human emotions arose, sometimes spontaneously from mysterious sources. Fright, fear, loss, foreboding, love, hate, even curiosity were some emotions he had already studied and had a little knowledge about. He had no idea that he himself would be the subject of what could be equated as a Human emotion – and that was one of shock. It was a realization that he may not have been the first Whisp to become physical.
He had absolutely no doubt that the painting had been guided, inspired, and certainly had some degree, of a Whisp’s involvement. As a result of this initial realization, Dwarg vibrated; causing Aggie some anxiety, dizziness and upheaval. It was difficult for him to explain the situation to Aggie and took some time for him to settle down. Robert Kellor’s legacy to Aggie came with an inbuilt safety sensor to which Dwarg was bound. In some inexplicable way, Dwarg was admonished for the disturbance.
Aggie had sensed his confusion and curiosity with that painting –her own inbuilt and faiI-safe mechanism had recognized the upset. Would she help Dwarg in his turmoil and help him work out what this is all about? - Of course she would. After all, he did do a nice thing for Butch.
Dwarg was puzzled for a number of reasons. The how, when, where and why of the image of the Swirl Chaos. He had never known of a Whisp contacting the physical before.
Who was this Whisp? Whisps in the Aura were never “lost” or failed to exist as Humans did. Whisps knew each other; sure they never counted their number to see if they were all there, it was taken as being so. How would a Whisp or Whisps know and understand if one of their number should disappear? Dwarg had no answer, just more questions.
If this picture of a Swirl Chaos was painted over a hundred years ago, well before the Human’s machines lifted off the planet, are the Humans innocent? Dwarg needed much more information - at this time, he could not call upon the Whisps – he would have to keep investigating and he would have to use Human resources.
“Frederick is not all that far from Washington” remarked Edna, “but I try to avoid driving through the Capital. Last time I went to D.C. I thought my pick-up would be squashed on the beltway. I was doing 60 miles per hour and between two big trucks. I swear they were doing over 80 miles an hour and somehow it seemed that the force of the wind or whatever, lifted my car and I was buffered along for quite a while. All the other traffic seemed to be going so fast that they flew past me. I wondered if my speedo was wrong. Those drivers in Washington think that because they have a half-decent freeway around their city, and if it’s not bumper to bumper traffic, they make-believe they are on the autobahns of Germany. Never a cop when you need one. How is Dwarg doing sweetheart?”
“Oh, he’s still a little confused, but he’s settled down a bit.”
Edna turned to Aggie and asked, “So any more about that painting or why it caused a stir.”
“No, not yet Aunt Edna, but sure looking forward to learning more about it when we get to Frederick.”
“Aggie, you know that nearly everything that there is to know, can be found on the internet? If you like, we can go and buy a laptop and you can look things up on it. I don’t have a computer at home – too much high tech for me. Aggie, Aggie?”
She was deep in thought, “no, thanks Aunt. I know Daddy had a good one and Uncle Dan will get it to me when he can.”
“OK, well there’s the town and here’s the turnoff – I’ve been to this motel before and it’s very nice – I know there’s a very big bookstore a block down from it. Would you like to eat at a fancy restaurant tonight, I know a great little Mexican place?”
“Do you mind very much if we have pizza in the motel? I’d like to do a little bit of studying.”
“Of course darling – I was hoping you’d say that.” Edna replied, lying through her teeth.
The young lady at the bookstore greeted Edna and Aggie as they entered. “May I help you ladies?” she asked with a charming and warm smile.
“Yes”, said Edna, “we’re looking for a book about Van Gogh – maybe about his life and a book of all his paintings.” The sales assistant maintained her smile, full knowing that Vincent Van Gogh had painted well over 900 pictures and numerous sketches and drawings.
“Yes we have quite a few books about him and his works – he painted hundreds of pictures and he’s my favourite artist. I’ve studied him while I was an art student – here we are, these three shelves are books about his life, there are a few books with the letters he wrote to his brother Theo and the next shelf are books with plates of his paintings – I don’t believe we have a book with everyone of his paintings, but if you are looking for a particular theme or a time in his life, I can find something for you.”
“Would you know exactly when he painted Starry Night?” asked Aggie.
“Well yes,” replied the assistant. “He painted The Starry Night in September 1889.”
“Did he paint more pictures of the sky?”
“Oh yes, there’s Starry Night Over the Rhone and another one called Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night – Vincent painted all of these when he was in Arles, France.”
“Would you know how and when he died?” Aggie asked.
“Actually he shot himself – it was July 1890 and his body is buried just outside Paris, France.” replied the now curious assistant.
“Well, if it’s possible, could you find some books about him from the time he spent in Arles to when he died, and a list of the paintings he did at that time? And that book of his letters too - I’m going to be a researcher – if that’s alright with you, Aunt Edna.”
Edna shrugged her shoulders, turned to the clerk and said “anything she wants – let’s go for it – I’ll buy that book out front as well, the one with the title Idiots Guide to Making Bird Houses – may as well do some research as well tonight.”
The store manager was very happy to see her sales girl processing such a large amount of books in a single purchase – thus far; it had been a quiet trading day. Both manager and assistant escorted their customers from the bookshop with broad smiles of appreciation. “Oh by the way ladies, the original painting of The Starry Night is in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.”
Edna and Aggie left the store, quite struggling under the weight of the books – it was only a block back to the motel. Edna hissed out loud, “Thanks be that I’ve got a pick-up, thanks be that Dwarg isn’t interested in elephants” – Aggie just giggled – both of them knew it was going to be a long night. Later, just before the pizza delivery guy came around, Edna called her neighbour Lisa and explained the situation. Lisa gave her condolences about Robert – she and Scott were relatively new to the area and had never met him – but she was excited to hear about Aggie’s recovery and her new home coming. Edna expected to be home the day after next, early afternoon.
The pizza was a bit gooey but tasty and Edna was fascinated just watching Aggie flick through all those books. Sometimes she would come to a page with a pa
inting and study it in depth, others she would just flick over without interest –just what was she, (or was it Dwarg) looking for? Not even a word, a gesture or any show of emotion apart from an impatient yet eager look – what did she say back at the shop? Oh yes, she was thinking of being a researcher.
“Find anything sweetheart?”
“Not yet, but there are a few things about this man that Dwarg thinks are a little strange – here, look at this sketch of Starry Night over the Rhone – he did this in October 1888. Look at the couple in the corner, look at the direction they face – directly at us - and the man’s stance and the woman’s left hand – now look at his painting of it which he did the next month – see the differences?”
“Well yes, their faces are now turned to the left, almost as if they had just heard a noise. They seemed to have moved one step further forward – oh, and the woman’s left hand is now by her side. Is that important Aggie?”
“Dwarg seems to think so; also the man is carrying something like a cane or a fishing pole in the painting but not in the sketch - its night-time they wouldn’t be fishing. In one of his letters, he says the couple are simply lovers on a walk – there is something curious about the way the woman has her right hand held by the man – almost if she was captive. Now look at this picture, it’s of a group of prisoners – they are walking around in a circle, probably exercising, look at the one looking back at us – he is Vincent and he is trying to say something, well not exactly, he is trying to give a message – he is trapped and if you look closely you can see two butterflies going up towards the top of the painting – that in itself is a message.”
“So what about The Starry Night – what’s the problem there?”
“Dwarg is having trouble trying to explain it. As best he can, he says that a Human mind can’t visualize and translate such a scene let alone paint it, even if he was looking directly at it. Dwarg’s conclusion is, and this is where the paradox arises, there is some evidence of inner-terrestrial involvement.”
“Good lord Aggie, could you say that again in English this time? - are you saying that Dwarg the ET, is worried about another ET? - where do these words come from honey?”
“Sorry Aunt, Dwarg is trying to say that Vincent van Gogh was a host to an alien – rather like me I guess.”
Edna snapped back, “So will you cut your ear off too?” and immediately apologized for the sarcasm.
“Dwarg would never do me any harm Aunt Edna – he exists in me, he is not an extra-terrestrial, he is not from outer space, he comes from this world. He helps me, I would be dead if not for him, and I know that if there is any trouble with him, – well, at the least, I can deny him. There are still a lot of things I have to explain to you Aunt; it will take time like I said before. Please don’t be upset, I’m alive and well and a growing little girl, I’m Aggie Kellor, niece of a tribal healer of the Abernaki - Edna Kellor. Now tell me all about fox-glove and its healing properties.” Aggie was pointing to one of Vincent’s paintings of Doctor Gachet. It was a picture of the good doctor sitting with a wistful look on his face. On the table, Vincent had drawn a sprig of digitalis, commonly known as fox-glove.
The hours went on and after a series of silly observations, coupled with yawns and stretches, Edna finally said, “Aggie, tell Dwarg that you are a little girl and a little girl needs lots of sleep – she can look through more books later.”
Aggie smiled and said, “Goodnight Aunt Edna and thank you so much for caring – I know what you must be going through.” She then hopped into bed.
“Thank you darling....and I’ll be watching you Dwarg!!” Aggie was asleep within seconds and the night was still and calm.
On the other side of Frederick, the night was also still and calm. The young woman stood on the back porch looking up at the stars. As she sipped the coffee, she thought about that little girl in the store asking those questions about Vincent – how mature was her conversation and how curious for a girl of that age to be interested in post-impressionist art. Oh Vincent van Gogh you are an enigma. You were once also a bookstore clerk, just like me. The stars had some affinity for her as they obviously had for Vincent.
She thought of her mother and remembered the words she used at her mother’s memorial all those years ago back in Houston. They were words that Vincent had written and she whispered them again as she looked into the great expanse of celestial starlight. . . Looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map. Why, I ask myself, shouldn't the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? Just as we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star.
“Good night mommy”......a tear fell from Megan Redcliffe’s eye as she turned and went back into the house.
Steve was at the kitchen sink towel drying the plates after dinner. “Everything OK, Megan?”
“Fine pop, I was just saying goodnight to mom.”
Steven Redcliffe peered through the kitchen window at the dark sky outside and silently whistled to himself; The stars at night, are big and bright...deep in the heart of Texas. He wiped off some tears before hanging up the tea towel.