Burial of the Dead

ICE

ICE

Charlie’s on his cell phone with his bookie. He won one and lost one and is trying to work out the differential. Matthew stares at his Bernini. He sees the progress, but wonders how difficult it will be to carve it in marble.

Charlie gets off the phone and curses something and sits on the edge of the table.

“You never explain nothin’ but you gotta’ explain this one,” Charlie says, as Matthew stands and moves some of the other figures about.

“Explain what?” Matthew asks.

“You know what I mean, this is the first time I seen you make something that wasn’t an angel or a Jesus or a Moses or one of them bible people. These people look almost normal with their clothes. So tell me, what’s the story with them?”

“No story,” Matthew says. “They’re just people.”

“You mean to tell me you spent the last fourteen days in here every day and night working like a mad man to make jes’ people?”

“I was working on the Bernini over there.”

“You were working on all of them, Matthew.”

“I was working mostly on the Bernini. I’ve got a patron now, Charlie. I’m in business. This is real stuff. I get paid for this now.”

“I know you get paid, Matthew, I was just wondering is all ….”

Matthew pauses. The seduction’s begun. He gets paid for this now, and the first effect has been to blunt the fine filaments at the outer edge of kindness. He looks at Charlie and stops moving the figures about.

“Okay,” he says, “what do you want to know?”

“I wanna’ know who this one here is,” and Charlie points to the guy in the fetal position, lying down in tall grass.

“That’s the lost sheep,” Matthew says.

“The what?”

“The lost sheep, you know, like in the bible where the good shepherd goes out looking for the lost sheep.”

“But that’s an old woman, that ain’t no Jesus.”

“That’s creative license.”

“Yeah, right, so then who’s this?”

Charlie points to the woman standing by the desk.

“That’s Ann,” Matthew says.

“Ann who?”

“Just Ann.”

“Yeah, but who is she?”

“I just told you.”

“And who’s with her?”

“That’s a security guard.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t have a name for him.”

“Okay, then so who’s this woman on the stairs.”

“She’s the one who thinks she’s a con-artist, but she’s really just a pawn. She gets by in life with a pout and a kiss. I guess you could say she’s the seductress.”

“She don’t look like no seductress to me.”

“Seductress doesn’t have to be the most beautiful woman in the room,” Matthew says. “She just has to have this thing where she can look at you and make you feel a certain way.”