The Moments in Life

By Cyrus Cyrus

Readers related to the characters in the stories - some readers might even be surprised that the story is about them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664160378

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Copyright © 2021 by Cyrus Cyrus.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/02/2021

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Contents

The Portrait

The Letter

Sounds & Voices in Nature

Listen to Silence

The Necklace

The Diary

Life & Death

Silhouette

The Shadow

Purgatory

The Cousins

An Arab at the gate of court of Windsor

The Creation

Mirage

So Much Love

The Present

Shangri-la

For

Flora

The Portrait

The portrait was put against wall as blood dripped from several bullet holes in her body.

Portrait

Nick, you are not a visitor, here, you work here. You have two other rooms with many other paintings to look after. This is the second time you are reported standing in front of a painting, daydreaming. Please go and look at yourself in a mirror. We require daily shave and bath here. It seems to me you have not slept last night. You look terrible. This is your last warning, next time we will not have this meeting. The curator of the City Museum warned Nick.

Nick was in the second week of his employment with the museum. The day he applied for the position of ‘attendant,’ he knew that he would never like the job. But it was something until he could find a better situation. He had never been inside of a museum before that day.

It’s a simple job, Nick, his interviewer, Nancy, told him.

All you have to do is to guard three rooms. You walk around in the rooms and make sure the visitors do not get too close to the paintings, and of course, absolutely, no touching. That’s all you need to do. Let’s go up I’ll show you the rooms.

The rooms were cold and the lights were dim. Nobody was in the galleries. The public entrance would not open for another thirty minutes. Nancy’s heavy footsteps on those high heels echoed around the halls. The galleries were on the second floor.

There are fifty two paintings in these three rooms, Nancy was telling Nick.

Eighteen in here. She stopped in the first gallery and Nick counted the paintings to make sure. She was right there were eighteen. In the adjacent room, she said: We have fifteen paintings here. Nick took her word for it and did not bother to count. In the third room she said:

And the rest are here. She turned to Nick but he was not with her. She noticed he was still in the middle gallery standing in front of a painting.

Oh, Nick, do you like that painting? She asked him.

He did not answer and followed her to the third gallery.

As I said before, the rest of the paintings are here. I have to run now, Nick. You have another twenty minutes. The café is not open yet but there are vending machines. Save your legs, the first day is the longest and the most exhausting, get yourself a cup of coffee and rest.

He watched her disappearance through the middle gallery, and heard her footsteps for sometime. He looked around the empty rooms; the stillness of the place mixed with the coldness of the air had created an atmosphere ripe for contemplation. He remembered Nancy’s advise, save your legs. He decided to go down to a have a drink and stretch his legs.

On the way down he felt something was strange in the middle gallery. Once he was close to the room the force of gravity increased by ten folds. His legs felt as heavy as the columns of Acropolis. He felt he was in the magnetic field of a powerful force pulling him toward the northern wall. Somehow he was dragged there by this phantom force. At the entrance to the middle gallery he felt his heart thumping strongly. Then the time stopped. Suddenly the space in front of Nick disappeared and a total darkness fell over the large hall. Only one tiny point, the size of a pin, was on the opposite wall which immediately started to propagate the most powerful light. The intense brightness blinded Nick for a few seconds. Nick closed his eyes and rubbed them with both hands. When he opened his eyes again, there in the middle of that frame she was. An ethereal image with her penetrating eyes looking right at him, and throwing the most beautiful smile with a thousand messages on her red lips. Although her hands were clasping a bouquet of pink roses, he felt they were reaching out of the frame, grabbing and drawing him toward her. He had no power of his own. He was mesmerized.

He stood in front of the painting and stared into her eyes. He was a little dizzy. His legs were much lighter and he felt no weight on them. He could not take his eyes off her. He had lost complete control of his senses. He was hypnotized by her beauty and was completely lost in her. What is this feeling inside of my chest? Is it the feeling I had read about in books and seen in films? Is it love that I had not experienced before? It’s such a terrible sweet feeling!

He must have stood in front of the painting for sometime, he heard voices around him and when he turned he saw visitors entering the room. With utmost difficulty he commenced his rounds through the three rooms. The first and the third gallery were no problem. There was enough air and he felt he had ample space to move around. The problem was in the middle gallery. There, he had to gasp for air and struggle for space. He knew she was watching him. He walked very slowly in the first and the third galleries, but once he entered the middle gallery he picked up his pace and tried to avoid looking at the northern wall. The more he resisted her eyes, the more he thought of her and the attraction grew stronger. He did not count the number of his walks through the galleries, but it must have been in the first few turns that he had lost his resistance. He walked swiftly from the third gallery and rushed to the middle room. Some visitors were alarmed by his actions and thought something was wrong. A couple followed him to discover the reason for his strange behavior. To their amazement, the attendant himself was pushing those standing in front of the painting aside to secure a place up close.

Nick, I am John, I relieve you for lunch. It’s noon now, I’ll see you at one. Nick did not know how time flew away. It was two hours later and he was amazed where the time had gone. Reluctantly, he left for lunch but he did not go to the café. He was not hungry for food, he was starved for information about her. All he knew about her was what the small card next to it read: NO. 25, NOT TITLED, ANONYMOUS DONOR, 1979.

He walked quickly to the office and asked the gray-haired lady behind the desk:

Where do I get information on the paintings in the galleries? I am Nick, I just started to work here. She looked at his nametag and replied:

On one painting in particular, or you would like general information on any gallery?

What, I am interested, is painting No. 25 in the gallery upstairs, second floor, room No. 18.

She turned her back to him, pressed a few keys on the computer in front of her and then reached out for the print out.

Here is the information you are interested in, she said giving him the print out. He looked disappointed, seeing that the print was a copy of the title card next to the painting: PAINTING NO. 25, NOT TITLED, ANONYMOUS DONOR, 1979.

Apparently, nobody knows anything about this painting. He said to her.

Why? She asked, as she reached to get the paper back. Oh, the anonymous one, you are right, that one is our big secret, the only one in the entire museum! It just arrived one day with nothing attached to it. You can make your own title for it. Every- body calls it by a different title.

What do you call it? He asked her.

The first time I saw it, I named it ‘waiting.’

Waiting, waiting he repeated to himself several times. But there was something more commanding about the portrait, of course, the smile. The smile! A smile more captivating than of the Da Vinci’s painting. What was her name? The name of that famous painting? He pressed his mind to remember, but failed. Only the image and the smile of the painting No. 25 flashed in front of his eyes. The smile, the smile, that is the name of the painting, he repeated to himself.

He climbed the steps two and sometimes three at a time until he reached the second floor gallery. Breathing heavily he walked swiftly toward the painting. The old lady in the office was right; she was ‘waiting’ for him. He stopped in front of her and was drowned in her heavenly smile. A tap on his shoulder broke his preoccupation.

What are you doing here, Nick? You just left. It was John, standing behind him. He had no answer for him. He gave him a cold look and walked grudgingly out of the gallery.

Nicholaus lived a solitary life and since he graduated from college of music two years earlier, he had worked at different jobs, nothing permanent or exciting. He loved music and played flute very well. There was not much demand for flute players. He always wished that his mother had played some other instrument, like the violin, or piano instead of flute. When Nicholaus was in middle school every day after school she was waiting for him at home to start his flute lessons. They did not eat until their sessions were over. His father came home when the food was on the table and the sound of flute was not heard in the small yard outside. He knew exactly when to arrive. It was a simple but good life. They lived in a small one-story house located in the best part of Budapest in Hungary. After dinner, his father sat on his favorite lounge chair, lighted his cigar, and sipped his favorite schnapp, while the mother and son played a duet.

It was four years earlier when Nicholaus’ uncle had sold all his belongings and immigrated to the United Stated with his wife. Since their departure, Nicholaus’ father had plans for his son to join them in the United States to pursue his college education. This would have been in five years time upon graduating from high school. Of course things never happen as planned.

The Russians invaded Hungary in 1952 and in the massacre of Budapest, among many innocent bystanders, Nicholaus’ parents were gunned down. Many Hungarians fled to Vienna including Nicholaus’ neighbor who took him along since he was orphaned. Soon, arrangements were made with his aunt and uncle and Nicholaus who at the time was only twelve years old arrived to the United States with a small suitecase which contained few pieces of old clothing and his only and most valuable possession a shiny silver flute that he had taken from their burning house the day the Russians set the entire neighborhood on fire.

Nicholaus grew up fast. His interests were limited to playing his flute and reading Eastern European literature, especially Kafka. The Russian invasion with the mass destructions and the carnage had placed a permanent scar on young Nicholaus character. The colorful and joyous life of his childhood had changed drastically to the grim black and white life of despair and solitude. Frequently the nightmare of fire and explosion of bombs haunted him late at night and shattered the tranquility he was so desperating seeking. He would wake up in the middle of the night trembling and sweating with his hands pressed against his ears to stop the evil uproar. He did not study much but he always managed to make good grades. He was not popular with girls in high school, although, he was very good looking. In the earlier time when he went on dates he found them silly and the girls thought him a nerd. In his solitude he played his flute and found it as a very good company.

Upon graduation from college he left the house of his aunt and uncle. When he was leaving, his uncle gave him a sum of money that he had kept from the sale of his brother’s land where their house once stood.

Nicholaus, this is your house, here, you don’t have to leave. The door is always open for you to return anytime you wish. His aunt kissed him at the door.

Nicholas did not move far from them. He stayed in the same town that he attended college. He shared a larger house with five other people. In college towns, like the one he was living, houses around the campus were rented to students. Each student had his or her own room and shared the common areas of bath, kitchen, and the living room. He was happy to be on his own, although, physically not much was changed, from the room that he had in his uncle’s house he was moved to another with more or less the same amenities.

He did not remember if he had lunch or not. He was in such a hurry to be back, upstairs in the middle gallery. He was early as he returned to get his job back from John. He felt something in the heavens is guiding him and wants him to be with her. He felt much better when he came near her. This was a new feeling for him. He had never felt like this before. It was a mixture of ultimate happiness with deepest sorrow. It were layers of joy entwined with layers of sadness. When he was with her, in the middle gallery, the joy of life was upon him, when he was not with her the world seemed empty and life was not worth living.

When the first day came to an end and the museum was empty of visitors, the staff and the attendants happily quit their positions and headed for the front door, Nicholas was still upstairs with her. He was happy to have her all to himself. It was her and him alone in that large room filled with her smile. But he knew he had to leave her and go home for the evening. Physically he left her, but in his heart he carried her home with him. In her presence, time and space ceased to exist. It was only she. The dreadful time of the past disappeared in her presence. The empty space of present filled with her smile and promises of happiness.

It was the worse night of his life. Even worse than the night his parents were killed and he was left alone outside of his burning house. All night he walked back and forth in his modest room and looked through the window for daybreak.

He was early. The doors were still locked. He looked around and nervously walked back and forth peeking through the large glass door. Finally, he lost his patience and knocked at the glass door. No one answered. He was frantic and hysterically started hitting the glass door with both of his fists.

What is wrong? What is going on? He turned to see who was talking to him. He was too emotional at that moment to recognize anybody. With a blank face he looked at the man behind him.

I have to get in there to see somebody, I have to.

The man looked at Nick’s nametag and said. Nick, take it easy, it’s too early now, nobody is in yet. He pulled his keys out and looked for the key to the front door. As he opened the door he told Nick. O.K., but as I told you nobody is in. You know the museum opens at 10:00 that’s another half an hour from now. He stepped aside to let Nick in and locked the door behind him. When he turned to Nick he was already on the stairway climbing the steps three at a time to the middle gallery.

As he expected she was there, waiting for him. He walked close to her and a smile came to his face. He felt more at ease then. He stretched his hand and touched her on the shoulder. She was wearing a black dress with the transparent lace top over the shoulders. She smiled back at him. Her smile assured him of her approval. He reached for her hand and held the girl’s hand in his. He felt ecstatic inhaling her scent.

There were noises and people were walking around him. It must be after 10:00, he thought. With much difficulty he left her and started his rounds, guarding the paintings. He felt more relaxed than the day before. When he passed by her, he smiled at her and when he saw her smiling back at him, he was content.

Nick saw him first, walking toward the painting. He slowed his pace and watched him from the corner of his eyes. He was a young man of his age. He had a long dark coat on with a folded newspaper hanging in his pocket and a purple scarf around his neck. The young man stared at the painting for the longest time and then he left for the next room. Nicholas watched him closely during all that time. He was relieved when the visitor left her. Another feeling that he was experiencing was jealousy. He never had that feeling before until he met her. He felt more at ease with women around her than men. Now that the young man was gone he felt better. Impatiently he watched a group of noisy tourists in the third gallery. When they were gone, quickly, he went back to her.

He saw the young man in the long coat again, standing close to her. His blue eyes narrowed with hate. He heard them talking and laughing and saw her smiling at him. Outraged at the scene he rushed toward the man:

You have to move along. He told the man in a commanding voice. The man turned and looked at him. But nobody else is here except me. What’s the reason? The man asked.

I don’t have to have a reason, you either move along or I will call security. Nicholas firmly expressed.

The man was flabbergasted. He was not mad, at least did not show it. He was confused; he just threw a pitiful smile in the direction of Nicholaus and walked away.

That evening when he arrived home he was mad of the whole world especially himself. You are an utter lunatic, that’s what you are! Look at the way you carried on in the museum this morning. Nicholas was pacing in his room blaming himself for the feeling he was experiencing since that morning, jealousy.

The moon was high in the sky and a strong wind began to blow. He was in bed but could not close his eyes in fear of losing her. He jumped out of the bed and looked out of the window of his room and watched the leaves flying in every directions. He missed her painfully. His heart chased the falling leaves as her silvery smile was engraved on each one of the leaves. For the rest of the evening he watched her dancing outside of his window. The first ray of the morning forced him to close his eyes and to his utmost ecstasy he could still see her, not with his eyes but in his heart.

Their relationship grew stronger when she demanded more of his time. One afternoon, when the gallery was empty of people, he was astounded when she asked him to stay the night with her. He was gazing at her smile when she broke the silence:

It’s so lonely here at all the time, especially, at nights. It’s cold and gloomy. If you ever stay with me an evening I will entertain you. I will dance for you if you play your flute for me, please.

He did not have to make that decision, it was already made for him. The grace of her smile was the most powerful force to guide him. His only wisdom was losing himself in her and feeling fulfilled in her presence. His smile assured her that her wish will always be his command.

Where could he hide himself in order to stay with her when the museum was closed? He had to hide somewhere after the closing time. He needed a plan. He kept on walking, swiftly in the first and third gallery and slowly in the middle gallery where she was watching him. He found her alone in one of his rounds. He stopped near her and suddenly felt a delicious thrill of pleasure. She gave him the plan.

He came to work early and prepared. His face was clean shaven and his clothes were fine for his first date. He had taped the flute to his leg. He looked a little nervous, but her smile calmed him down. It was the longest day of his life. The anticipation of being with her alone slowed the time to a crawl. Finally the closing time arrived and the galleries were empty of the intruders. He walked to the men’s room and waited. He knew that Mr. Anderson, the security man, would walk through each gallery, office, and the bathrooms before locking up the museum. Fifteen minutes after closing time Nicholaus hid himself and hoped not to be discovered. He sat on the commode with his feet placed on the sides of the seat, in case Mr. Anderson would look under the door. Another twenty or thirty minutes passed that seemed like an eternity. He stopped breathing when he heard the door opened. Mr. Anderson’s heavy steps echoed loudly in the large empty room. The sound of the footsteps stopped for a while as Mr. Anderson used one of the stalls. He flushed and quickly left the restroom. The sound of water prevented Nicholaus from hearing his fading footsteps and closing the door. He remained frozen in his position for another twenty minutes to make sure that the security man was gone. Mr. Anderson was not coming back.

He had strange walk coming out of the men’s room. Sitting in that odd position had stopped the blood circulation in his legs. He was limping and did not feel his legs until he reached the galleries, upstairs. He looked around. There was no one and no sound. An absolute quietness. Quietly he entered the middle gallery. She was there with her heavenly smile waiting for him. He ran toward her. She opened her arms and welcomed him in. He had found the eternal bliss and love.

Time did not exist and space had lost its dimensions. The loneliness had flown out of the window. His world was completed. They changed positions, she moved into his arms. He held her tight. They stayed in each other arms for quite a while without saying a word. The only sound in the large room was the beat of their hearts assuring their love forever.

She broke the silence, I promised you to dance if you play your flute, you did bring your flute, didn’t you? She asked him. Her laughter filled the room as he watched them transformed into flowers of all colors with the fragrance of paradise. He unwrapped the tape and took the flute out. He played a slow piece first and watched her from the corner of his eyes.

He remembered, once long ago, leaving the church, he asked his mother about God. Would I ever see him? How would I know it is God? Have you ever seen him? How do you know it’s God? His mother stopped walking and hold the child in her arms and said, Oh, you know it’s God if you ever see him. Now, all these years later, his mother’s voice echoed in his ears. And to his amazement it was not a ‘he’, it was a ‘she’ and God was present right in front of him.

He played his flute and gradually changed the music to a piece his mother used to play; the tempo was faster with rhythms for dancing. With the sound of the first note she began to move on her ivory legs and danced for him. Several times she touched his hands and once she kissed him on the cheek. Through the melody he felt her smooth skin with the promise of strong muscle underneath. She had dancer’s legs, long, unhappy at rest, eager to lift, to spread, to wrap themselves around him. This was another sensation he was experiencing. He continued to play and she answered each note of the music with her magical move. He did not remember when he stopped playing and when she stopped dancing, but dawn was crawling through the window and when he reached for her she was gone, she was already in her place. He walked to the painting. She bent down through the heavy gilded frame and kissed him passionately on the mouth.

It was a short hiding in the bathroom until the museum’s doors were opened and a long day for him but a happy one started. He walked around the galleries smiling and still feeling her soft skin. He walked happily about and inhaling her fragrance. He was in the middle gallery talking to her when he was summoned to the office of the curator and was told of his dismissal. He was only given to the end of the week to clear out. It was only three days away.

He touched his face leaving the office of the curator, she was right he needed a shave. He looked at his clothes, she was right they needed a good pressing. He should have looked at himself when he was in the men’s room this morning. He knew he looked terrible, but he felt very happy. At the stairway, he took the steps three at a time and climbed up to the galleries.

He had something to tell her and could’n wait. As usual several people were standing in front of the painting when he entered the gallery. He waited and then nervously walked around the group looking for an opportunity to talk to her, but it was a busy day. Then, he remembered it was Thursday, and there was no admission fees on that day. Finally able to bear it no longer, he pushed the people aside and manuvered his way to her. Before he could say anything to her, she spoke:

Nick, take me home with you, please. It’s so lonely here without you. Please! It was so good last night when we were together. I want to be with you forever. Nick started to laugh and said:

I was just going to ask you the same thing when I came up here. Would you like to come home with me? The people around the painting left them alone.

On the way home, he stopped at a market and bought a bottle of wine, candles, cheese, and more. He picked some flowers at the corner and when he arrived home he went straight to the kitchen while whistling a popular tune.

He was seldom in the kitchen and never brought anything to put in the refrigerator. His section in the refrigerator was always empty. He took a large glass and filled it up with water and put the flowers in it. He put the wine, cheese, and the salami in the refrigerator and then stopped whistling. The few housemates who were in the kitchen at that time were staring at him with astonishment. They seldom saw him in the house, and almost never in the kitchen. When he was in, he stayed in his room. Nobody really knew him, but every body knew his music. Every night around 10:00 he played a short piece with his beloved flute. By then everybody was in their respective rooms and whatever they were doing they would stop