Into the Lion's Den (4 page)

“Military coups are finished since a long time ago, Mr. Ivan Ivanovich.”

“If you're going to be formal and use my patronymic, it's only Ivan Ivanovich or Mr. Oblomov. If Mr. Repin allows you to call him by his Christian name, then you can call me Ivan.”

“Are you Mr. Oblomov? I thought, Mr. Repin was your secretary…” Guntram asked totally lost and dumbfounded.

“No, I'm his right hand. Secretary sounds too gay for my taste. I represent him and lead many of his businesses but he's the boss, believe me. We know each other for more than twenty years. Since we were in the Moscow University. We both graduated in Civil Engineering and I specialized myself in pipelines while he studied Chemistry. I married one of his cousins, Tatiana Gregorievna Arseniev. You certainly look very young, how old are you?”

“I'll be nineteen next October,” Guntram answered.

“You do understand that boss is after you, do you?”

“He likes my drawings and wants to have them. He's going to let me see this collection as a payment.”

“Not really, you can look at the collection and I wouldn't be surprised if he lets you chose something from there. He likes your art and you for yourself also. Do you understand me now, Guntram?”

“You mean he's… he's after me?”

“Took you some time to realise but it's for the best. You truly are a green one, aren't you?

“I'm not gay!”

“Have you tried it?”

“Of course not! It's wrong to do that! It's forbidden too!”

“Boss is going to have a lot of fun with you,” Oblomov smirked. “You look like a decent kid, not the plaything type. Might be a good change for once.”

“Tell Mr. Repin that I thank him for his invitation, but I'm going home.”

“Hey, kid, no need to run. It's not as if he's going to rape you under the Botero!” Oblomov laughed at Guntram's shocked expression. “It's only lunch and a show. If he makes any advance toward you, just tell him you're not interested. You won't be the first one who sends him to Hell!” He chuckled. “He likes you a lot as I have never seen him chasing a boy so intently, but he also likes a lot your work and perhaps only wants to remain friends with you, if the other is not possible. I only want that you understand the whole situation. You look like a good kid, my own son's age, nothing like the crazy and uptight artists believing they're the hottest, cleverest and most cultivated things on Earth, he normally hangs with. Those have neither talent nor the wit to realise they don't have it.”

“I don't want this. Let me pass.”

“All right, but consider at least a grant from him. You could be something good. If you already, well not you, that Dollenberg woman, got three-thousand dollars out of me for that landscape and two-thousand more for several drawings of ballerinas, you're good.

“
How much
did you pay? Are you out of your mind?”

“She's a good dealer and the husband didn't want to sell. Had to pay, but it's nothing. My wife adored those girls and put them in her studio and I made some points at home, if you get my meaning. Cheaper than going to Tiffany's or Harry Winston's,” Oblomov retorted with an irked voice at his judgement being so loudly and rudely challenged.

“This is too much. I'm going home.”

“No, you're going nowhere. Calm down, he will not touch a single hair from you, unless you want. Have lunch with him and the marchand, visit his gallery, and then, if he makes any move or insinuates anything, tell him clearly ‘no’.”

“Do you think?”

“Of course. Now, show me what you gave the boss. Perhaps I could convince him to sell me something more for my wife. She ordered me to bring her more, this time for her Aunt Maria Ingratievna.”

“Do you have a picture of your wife with you?” Guntram asked, surprising Oblomov.

“Yes, one with her wedding dress and another with her and my son when he was seven.”

“If you want to give me a copy, I can try to make her portrait from them in pencil and ink. Free of charge, of course. I already feel very bad that someone charged you so much money.”

“We are leaving in three days.”

“More than enough time. Do you have some white paper so I could make a preliminary sketch?”

“Where is the boy now?”

“On the terrace. I left him there with paper and two pencils,” Oblomov answered innocently.

“Why is he there?”

“He was very nervous after I explained him a few truths. Now he knows what you're expecting from him.

Told him that if he doesn't want, you still want to be friends with him. You'll have to play dove boss, if you want to catch this one.”

“Remind me to kill you if something goes wrong.”

“Why? If you play fair with this one, you'll save a lot of troubles and achieve results faster. He's a nice kid, totally innocent and naïve. He offered to paint my wife's portrait for free because he feels bad that I paid so much for his things.”

“You look very happy about it.”

“Of course. I've just saved twenty-five-thousand dollars, boss.”

“Only twenty-five-thousand? Do you still wonder why Tatiana is furious with you? A mistress makes more in a week than she!” Constantin chuckled. “My cousin’s patience has a limit and the minute she goes to a lawyer, you're literally dead. Perhaps that portrait will make you save much more than twenty-five grand.”

“Yes, boss.”

“One thing more. Guntram is off limits for any of you. Is that understood? No one but me touches a single hair from him or says a word out of place.”

“Very clear, boss. I'll tell the men.”

Constantin stood for a long time at the terrace entrance looking at the boy absorbed in his work, only taking brief glances at the two small photos placed on the table in front of him. The midday sun made his hair lighter than it was and his frown and deep concentration made him look younger.

The butler took him out of his reverie by announcing that the Arts dealer had arrived and was waiting in the library. Sighing, and still unnoticed by Guntram, he took the portfolio from the coffee table and went to speak with the man.

Guntram was more than fed up with the art dealer's haughty ways, informing everyone what they should do as if the Russians were ignorant. As it was not his fight, he decided to keep quiet and eat his dish because no one had ever asked him anything.

“I'm still intrigued by these drawings you showed me. Do you say the artist is Argentinean? The landscapes can only be from la Pampa and many of the birds you showed me are from here, but his style is more continental.”

“He was born in France if I'm correct but I could be mistaken. All his production was locally made. It was quite a surprise to discover him. Do you think he's good?”

“Technically, he's excellent. Although he's naïve, I couldn't place him in that category as his drawing is more appropriate for the XIX century. A real pity he was never discovered.” The barely contained laughter from Oblomov, told Guntram that something was amiss. “How much did you pay for the drawings if it's not too much to ask?”

“For the drawings nothing so far. There's another box—which I haven't checked so far—and that costed me one-hundred pesos,” Constantin said, making Guntram blanch.

“I can't believe it! You're joking with me. Those drawings could be valued much more. I could easily sell those landscapes for more than one-thousand pesos apiece. If you're interested in selling them, I know several people who would like to buy. Good painters with such level of attention to detail and economy of resources at the same time, are very rare these days.”

“No, I don't want to sell. In fact I'm trying to buy some more from him but the artist is terribly temperamental.”

“Don't tell me about it! This is why I deal only with consecrated and dead artists.” He laughed.

“Should I send him to school?”

“To school, Mr. Repin?”

“Yes, school or a private teacher. He's not exactly naïve; he's very young and still has to study a career.”

“You must be joking! Those paintings are made by a well trained hand!”

“I don't deny he has training and I was also shocked when I found out that it was made by a sixteen-year-old and those you just saw by an eighteen-year-old. You even saw Guntram working a few moments ago.”

“Did you paint them all by yourself?” The man asked in disbelief to a boy slouching in his high chair.

“If you mean the black portfolio with the Darth Vader's sticker on the left angle, yes, they're mine, but they're a present for Mr. Repin. He liked my other ones.”

“Do you study at the Prilidiano Pueyrredon School?”

“No. It's a hobby, nothing else.”

“You should study and come back in five years, and I'll see what I can do for you. I want to see what you were doing just now.”

“Just a sketch for later.”

“If it's not too much to ask, Mr. Repin, do you have a compass?” The dealer asked after he inspected for a long time the drawings Guntram had to fetch from the terrace.

“We should ask the butler if he can get us one. Why?”

“I want to try something with this young man, if you will allow me.”

“As long as you don't torture him with the compass. He's just out from high school,” Repin laughed.

After lunch, the art dealer insisted on checking Guntram's abilities, and gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. “Make a point in the centre and draw a circle around it.”

“What do I win?” Guntram asked jokingly.

“An ice cream,” Repin answered dryly, making Guntram flinch.

Thinking that it was a waste of good paper, as this one was certainly 100g weight, not the usual rubbish he was using.

He took the pencil and when he was going to make the point, the man repeated. “In the centre, please,” Guntram had a lot of trouble to suppress the grin almost escaping from his face. He made the point and a 12 cm radius circle around it. That was very easy as he was always doing it for his geometry class because he had lost his compass and didn't want to buy another.

The man took a ruler and traced the diagonal to check if it was well centred but “he missed by 2 mm,” he said very relieved and proceed to check the circle. “It's perfect. I can't believe it,” he said shocked.

“You missed with the diagonal. It's not well achieved. Try again and you'll see its fine. Boy, where were you when I had to draw all my blueprints? You would have saved me many headaches,” Oblomov said as Repin was looking in disbelief.

“So, will you pay for the ice cream, Ivan Ivanovich? But I'll tell you something, it wasn't a fair bet. I used to do this all the time in school for Geometry. I lost my compass in the sixth grade and didn't want to buy another.”

“Guntram, this is serious,” Repin scolded him. “Michelangelo won the Sistine Chapel commission only by showing that he was able to do what you just did. It's almost impossible to do it.”

The boy looked embarrassed and decided to focus his attention on the carpet, biting his lower lip, like a scolded child.

“I must congratulate you for your good eye, Mr. Repin. This young man shows indeed great promise if he decides to study.”

“He only needs to be convinced or encouraged in the right way.”

“Come Guntram, dine with me at home. It's almost time and I would like to speak with you,” Constantin said, after spending the whole afternoon at the gallery and deciding to acquire the lot for 11.5 million to be paid in cash in two days time. Guntram was still dazed because of the quality of the paints he had seen and the casual tone employed by Constantin to deal with such an amount of money.

“I think it's better if I go home now. It's getting later and I have to work tomorrow,” he answered, afraid of where it would all lead him.

“I insist. My driver will take you home after dinner. We should speak about your future.”

Back at Repin's place, Guntram noticed that Oblomov was nowhere to be seen and only a young maid served the dinner and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Although it was not a “romantic set” in the boy's mind, he couldn't feel more than apprehensive at the table for two, with some champagne and a light dinner.

“I've been thinking a lot about you, Guntram.”

The youth gulped as that was the world famous phrase for starting declarations and he had no idea of how to get out of this mess. “Constantin…”

“Let me tell what I want before you start to protest,” he silenced the boy in a rather dry way. “I was thinking hard in how to pay for your pieces as you let me set the price. First, I thought in a check for the equivalent of what this man valued your job, but now I think that would be a huge mistake. It's not that I think you would spend it, no. You'd probably put the money in the bank and save it till you finish your career or give it to the poor people like you did with your work. I've never seen such a waste of talent. Literally to the trash. I don't want to open that box because, I'll be very upset when I find out that you threw such beauties or worse, gave them to some brute to be sold per kilo.”

“I can't keep all that paper at home… and he has a family to feed,” Guntram defended himself feebly, unused to being in the middle of a fight.

“Be quiet. I simply don't understand why you don't want to do anything with your talent. It's very rare and unique. I saw you working today and your speed and accuracy is remarkable. My cousin never looked so beautiful in her life and in a way, it strangely fits her. She's an unselfish woman, quiet and loving her children and home. A real treasure as a wife. I don't understand how you have captured it if you have never seen her.”

“Mr. Oblomov told me several things about her and he showed me more photos he has in his phone. I imagined the rest, this is why I want him to check the preliminary draw before I make it in chalks or pencil and ink.

I'm not decided yet.”

“So I have decided to take you for a month or two to Europe. To London, where I live, Paris and Italy so you really see all what you have been copying over the years. If you don't want to become an artist after this trip, then I'll let you be. If you want to be one, I'm willing to pay for your education in England, at the University of London in Birbeck or at the University College London. Art History if you want security and encourage your career as your approach is so classical. You can't deny the world the opportunity to see your vision of it.”