CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – MEGAN
“Hello – is that you Edna? – it’s Megan here – can you hear me?”
“Yes Megan, how wonderful to hear your voice, where are you sweetheart?”
“I’m ringing from the American consulate in Amsterdam, I’m in a bit of trouble, I’ve been mugged, robbed – I’m OK, no injuries – I wondered if you could help me.”
“Oh that’s terrible Megan, of course – anything.”
“It’s just that I didn’t want to say anything to my dad, I know how he’d react – he’d be on the next plane, come and get me and take me home. Luckily I still have my passport, but my backpack with all my stuff and money has been stolen. The police here have taken me to the embassy but they don’t hold much of a chance of getting my gear back. I can’t access my bank account because it’s all frozen now and I’ve only got one paid night left at the hotel. The embassy here can give me some emergency money, but apart from that, I’m stuck.”
“Don’t panic Megan, of course we’ll help you out. We’re in a little town in France called Beaulieu-Sur-Dordogne – the closest city would be Limoges. Tell you what, why don’t you come down here and meet up with us – I’m sure Aggie can organise the fares and flights for you from this end – that’s unless you want to stay in Amsterdam for a while longer.”
“Gees, that would be fabulous Edna, I must admit I’ll be happy to see the last of Amsterdam and be with some smiling faces for a change – you are a life-saver.”
“OK, leave it with me, stay right there and we’ll get straight on the net and make the booking – just give me some of your details and I’ll ring you back.”
Edna was quite the European driver now – rude, aggressive and unpredictable. She had learnt all the various finger signals to tell other drivers of her thoughts as she barged the car through busy and not so busy, streets. Occasionally she would have a relapse and smile as she allowed a pedestrian to cross the road. “Should be fun to have Megan along, poor dear, I could just imagine her father in a tizzy fit. You know Aggie, that town back there would have been one of the most beautiful places on earth and that church on the river bank was mind blowing. Did you see the plaque with its history? They even found stone-age axes and arrowheads when they were digging and restoring the crypt - so even ancient man lived on that spot. And the beautiful river and the overhanging balconies of those crooked buildings – so glad we took a wrong turn back there in Brive.”
Aggie was glad that Edna was having a good time and she had to agree that the vacation was going well. She also looked forward to seeing Megan again – “Next turn left aunt, finally we have road signs with planes on them to guide us to the airport.”
They hugged like long lost sisters. Edna drove out of the airport car-park employing her usual devil-may-care driving skills. “Aunt Edna, I think we owe that cabby who took us from Paris airport to the hotel, an apology - he was not the worst driver in France – just look at poor Megan’s being tossed around back there.”
Megan sat amongst bags, packages and the general paraphernalia that tourists gather after days on the road. “Goodness” said Megan “you’ve really done some shopping girls - even bought this...um...interesting photo portrait of an undertaker?...looks very old.”
“Yes a few interesting things have happened on our trip Megan” said Edna turning to a nodding Aggie, “young missy here, the backseat driver, nearly got us thrown into jail. Seems back in Paris, she had a hankering to go and touch one of Vincent van Gogh’s paintings and we both got hauled off with a nice kick in the ass.”
“That was you guys? I heard there was a scuffle at the gallery – heard that someone was trying to damage a painting, but the efficient and alert security guards stopped her in time and saved the day. The story goes that a woman was high or drunk and tried to stab one of the Van Goghs. The guards were going to be rewarded for their bravery or something.” Edna and Aggie giggled like naughty children.
“Did you get to see the exhibition Megan?”
“Oh yes, it was brilliant, didn’t like having to wait in the long queues though. But I’m happy that I got to see the paintings. The Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam was great as well – I took so many pictures, but I guess someone else is enjoying them now. Not the best thing to happen half way through a hard earned vacation. I really appreciate you taking me under your wings – I’ll pay you back as soon as I can organise a money transfer from my bank.”
“Relax, put that behind you, we still have a week to go and when we get to the hotel in town, we’ll organise your return tickets and stuff. Have you spoken with your dad yet?’’
“I tried to ring last night but couldn’t reach him, so I phoned Darren and told him everything. He couldn’t believe that we had met up on the way to Paris. He’d just come home from a guitar lesson at Dan’s place, so he’s going to talk to dad. Guess I’ll get an earful when I ring him tonight – are you sure this is our hotel?”
“The Mercure I hope, yep that’s it. This time I’ll get all our stuff out of the car and do a repack. What a shame, we may have to do some more shopping, we need more bags and suitcases – and something to wrap that oversized photo of sad sack in. Are you sure we need to keep it Aggie?”
“Can’t you imagine that wonderful photo on our dining room wall, Aunt Edna? – right next to the cuckoo clock?”
“I know there’s a joke there somewhere Aggie, but no, I can’t imagine that. How about on the wall of the converted outhouse?” In a whisper, Edna added, that should scare the shit out of anyone. “What the hell do you see in it Aggie?”
“It’s history aunt; and Megan, would you believe that this photo was taken in Arles, about the same time that Vincent was there. This is Claude Orrslet and he probably knew Vincent personally. When we passed through Arles, we met his great grandson Anton, who gave us this photo ...and other bits and pieces” Aggie looked at Edna whose lips were already pursed.
“Wow, you really have been on an adventure. I didn’t think of going to Arles because there’s nothing too much of Vincent left there – just some tourist traps and a few landmarks and I’m not really into Roman ruins.”
“Just hope this joint has a decent restaurant, all this driving has made me hungry and we need to power up for the mall.”
All three sat around on the terrace that evening just people watching and enjoying the ambiance of a French street at sunset. The hunting and gathering of the day had seen a few more carry bags, another suitcase and more tourist items, including some fine collectable porcelain from the district of Limoges. “Well Megan, Aggie has got me really interested in Vincent’s letters – I’ve still got the book you sold us. He did write wonderfully well for a loony and I reckon I know exactly what happened when his ear was cut – would you like to hear my version?”
“Please do, there are so many versions nowadays.”
To the amazement of the girls, Edna then proceeded to offer her theories with a snooty upper class accent, obviously trying to imitate Sherlock Holmes. “I don’t believe it was an act of love for his woman Rachel. On that Christmas Eve, Vincent and Paul Gauguin had a fall-out – they were crazy drunk, just like the night before, don’t you know. Gauguin was an amateur fencer – I read that somewhere else. The argument became more hostile, Vincent grabbed his cut-throat razor, Gauguin grabbed his fencing sabre, Vincent lunged, and Gauguin parried the razor which ran across Vincent’s ear, severing the lower part of it. Seeing this, Paul Gauguin panicked and ran away thinking that Vincent’s throat was cut as well. Vincent (luckily for him he was well and truly soused), somehow bandaged the side of his face with a piece of linen from his bed, picked up the bit of ear and wrapped it in some newspaper and went to report Gauguin’s assault to the police – (he had assumed, incorrectly, that Gauguin would have already gone to the police). On the way, he changed his mind, reasoning that he may have good evidence to somehow blackmail Gauguin. So instead of reporting the crime, Vincent called on Rachel and asked her to look aft
er the package (his evidence) until he could work out some plan – it was never his intention to offer it to Rachel as a gift. With me so far children?”
“Why Aunt Edna, you’re quite the detective – more please.”
“Vincent wanted Gauguin to stay with the studio, which he hoped would develop into a school of modernistic impressionists, but Gauguin had already indicated that he wanted to leave Arles and especially get away from Vincent. If the police were to take Gauguin away, all would be lost, but now Vincent had a trump card – incriminating evidence (don’t forget that Gauguin was a swordsman).”
Edna continued; “As the evening went on, Vincent became weaker and the local mailman, whom Vincent had befriended, found him and took him to the hospital – by then the police were looking for him because Rachel had notified them of the severed ear. No charges were ever made, the ear was returned to Rachel who promptly disposed of it. Gauguin left for Paris the next day.”
She continued, “In Vincent’s mind, it was all Paul Gauguin’s doing, yet he bore no grudge. Reading all his letters of those times to his brother and to Gauguin, there were only clouded and vague references to the episode – never a mention of blame – you could almost sense a little embarrassment. It’s certain that Vincent’s brother Theo and Paul Gauguin would have discussed the altercation with the Police and the whole episode would have been put down as...as... Oh what’s the term Aggie?”
“Delire alcoolique?”
“Sounds right. Vincent continually stalled with sending Gauguin’s fencing masks, gloves and other infantile toys of war back to him in Paris despite Paul’s repeated requests. Seems there were still subtle thrusts and parries well after the brawl. And that, dear ladies, is the tale of the ear, in a nutshell – or maybe in a pretty metal tin.”
“Well Edna, I guess that all makes sense and I’ve heard bits and pieces much the same, although I’ve never heard that he may have given his ear to Rachel for safekeeping as evidence of Paul Gauguin’s involvement. But that makes sense as well – one word of warning though, if you tell that story to anyone working in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, you will probably get what you got at the Musee dÓrsay, plus a sound beating as well.”
Dwarg of course knew that everything Edna said was very much correct. What he still could not comprehend was the admiration for these bits of canvas with paint and stains splashed on them – he still could not interpret colours, but even given that, it all appeared to be so inane.
The photograph - that was another matter. Here was a true and accurate representation of something. It was perfection, it captured a moment in Human time, yet here were these Humans apparently failing to realize that a photograph, when taken, actually made time stop in its tracks. Those other images, painted over a period seemed to please the Humans more – again Dwarg felt that he would never fully understand. As to Megan, Dwarg had become aware that the rocket, in which her mother had died, was the same rocket that Slig used to attempt his escape from the Aura.
The time-line of the picture of the Swirl Chaos was all wrong; unless of course, that the entity could see ahead of the now, or that the Swirl Chaos was not of this Aura. His concerns about the intruders from beyond were ever increasing. These beings were certainly capable of eradicating all life on the planet – more disturbing was the fact that the Aura would also be in danger. His study of the migration of earthly microbes from continent to continent concluded that airborne viruses can and do occur. Microscopic dusts and particles carrying “bugs” are forever circulating within the Aura – and that is quite natural – but a virus from beyond the Earth’s atmosphere is another matter.
Dwarg knew it was becoming vital that he return to the Whisps’ Aura – they must be alerted. He had to find a way of continuing his mission of stopping the rockets, yet he must leave the physical - and Aggie - and her world.