The Wolf of Dorian Gray - A Werewolf Spawned by the Evil of Man

Chapter 13 - Romani Secrets Part 1

Dorian was in the midst of a leisurely breakfast of buttery haddock and ripened fruit when Sage was shown into the room.

She was breathing heavily as though after a brisk walk. "Dorian, thank goodness I have found you. I called on you last night, but they told me you were at the opera. I knew that couldn't be possible and how heartbroken you must be about the whole dreadful thing. But where have you been? Did you go and see the girl's poor mother? She must be besotted with grief. What did she say?"

"My dear Sage, how should I know? I was at the opera with Lady Helena. You should have met us there. Let us not discuss such horrid subjects. If one does not discuss a thing, then it has never happened. Now why don't you tell me about yourself and your latest paintings?"

"You went to the opera?" said Sage, in a slow-strained voice. "You went to the opera after you heard that Sibyl Vane had been brutally murdered in the street?"

Dorian leapt to his feet and yelled. "Stop, Sage! I will not hear it! What is done is done. What is past is in the past."

"You call yesterday the past?"

"What does it matter how long it has been? A man can master himself and end his sorrow whenever he pleases. I am not at the mercy of my emotions, but rather I control and savor them."

"Dorian, this is horrible! What has changed in you to make you so callous a person? You look like the same wonderful boy who used to sit in my studio, but you are no longer simple, natural, or affectionate. The world has spoiled you and you speak as if you have no heart or pity whatsoever. This must be Lady Helena's influence."

"I owe a great deal to Lady Helena. She has taught me so much about life. You have only taught me about vanity. Now what is it that you want?"

Sage regarded him sadly. "I want back the Dorian Gray that used to sit for me in my studio while I painted, for all those summer afternoons."

"You are so unfair Sage. You come here to console me and then you are furious when you find me consoled. I am no longer that schoolboy. I have developed new passions, new ideas, and a new understanding of beauty. I am much changed, but we are still friends—are we not? I am very fond of Lady Helena, but you are so much better and stronger. How happy we all used to be together! Please Sage, don't quarrel with me. I am what I am and there is nothing more to say."

The painter felt suddenly moved. She could not reproach dear Dorian any further. After all, he had been a great turning point in her art. "I shan't speak of it again. I trust your name will not be connected to this horrid affair?"

Dorian shook his head. "No, they don't even know my name."

"But surely Sibyl knew your name?"

"Only my Christian name and she never mentioned it to anyone. They were far too curious to learn it and she thought it a fun sport to refer to me only as her Prince Charming. You must make me a drawing of her sometime. I should like to have something more than just broken memories."

"I will draw you something if it pleases you. But you must sit for me again. I simply can't go on without you."

"I can never sit for you again Sage. I am sorry, but it is quite impossible!"

Sage looked at him with shock. "What do you mean? Did you not like the painting of the wolf cub I did for you? Let me see it. Is that what you keep over there behind the screen? It is the finest work I have ever done. Why do you have it covered up in such a way? It is disgraceful to hide my best work like that." Sage scowled and began walking towards the painting.

A cry of terror came from Dorian's mouth and he leaped between the painter and her artwork. His face took on a ghostly-white pallor. "Sage, you must not look at it. I forbid it."

Sage forced an unbelieving chuckle. "Not view my own work? You can't be serious."

"If you try to look at it Sage, on my honor, I will never speak to you again for as long as I live. I cannot explain and you mustn't ever ask me why. I am very serious about this and if you ever touch that screen, all will be over between us."

Sage was staggered and a look of pain came over her face, as if she had just taken a grievous wound. Her hands clenched and she began to tremble. Dorian had never seen her like this before.

"Dorian. If you don't want me to look at it, I won't. But it all seems rather absurd for me to not view my own work, particularly when I will be exhibiting it in Paris this autumn. It will need another coat of varnish beforehand, so I will have to see it eventually."

Dorian roared in disbelief. "Exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?" An unstoppable feeling of alarm grew in Dorian's chest. Was the whole world to see his terrible secret and know the most intimate details of his life? Impossible. He had to stop it at once.

"Yes of course. You shouldn't object to that. Georges Petit will be showing all my best works in a special collection in the Rue de Seze. It is set to open on the first week of October. The portrait will only be away from you for a month. If you keep it constantly covered by a screen, then you certainly can't care that much for it."

Dorian put his hand to his forehead and felt beads of perspiration gathering there. He was in horrible danger.

He put his face as close to her as it had ever been and fixed her with a serious stare. "Sage, I do have a secret. I will only tell you mine, if you tell me one of yours."

She drew back and quickly looked away. "Dorian, if I told you, you would think less of me and certainly laugh at me. I could not bear either. I will not look at the picture nor share it with the world if it will satisfy you. Your friendship is much dearer to me than any fame or reputation it could bring."

But Dorian was insistent. "No, Sage. You must tell me. I have a right to know the truth." His feeling of terror had been replaced with one of burning curiosity and he was determined to find out what secrets Sage might be hiding. If necessary, those secrets could be used to prevent the portrait from ever being displayed.

Sage's face looked troubled. "Let us sit down, Dorian." They moved to the other side of the room and both sat down in a chair. "Answer me one question. Have you ever noticed anything curious about the portrait?—something that revealed itself to you suddenly?"

Dorian, clutched the arms of his chair with straining fingers. "Sage?"

"I see that you have. Just listen to me for a moment and hear what I have to say first. As a girl, I grew up in a Romani caravan. I will tell you the tale."

As a young girl, Sage and her family moved constantly from place to place in a Romani caravan. They had a small horse-drawn Vardo with large spoke wheels on the side. It was home to Sage, her mother, and her father. It was cramped but comfortable, with a functioning chimney. It featured a tiny cast-iron stove and a narrow berth that all three shared in the back. Her favorite part though, was the brightly painted wood carvings on the inside walls. Sage's joy in life was painting the intricately carved designs, which her father made on the inside and outside of the Vardo. He was known as a master woodcrafter—when he could get the work. They were not always welcomed by all communities as they traveled. When work was refused to them, they relied on music and fortune telling in exchange for food or money.

Sage was never very good at either, but she loved to draw and paint. When she wasn't helping her mother with the cooking and cleaning, or with foraging for wild berries and nuts, she spent her time drawing. She created detailed animals and intricate faces on any surface available and with any instrument she could find. When her father would return home, the two would work long into the night together to paint the carvings of their home by candlelight.