A Love of the Art

Dusseldorf. Afternoon. Late Summer, 1853: I am lying in bed, dressed in my purple velvet suit, my beautiful, beautiful suit, and I don't want to meet with Hans Gude**. At the other side of the room, next to the red leather armchair where I do most of my reading these days, lies my solitary suitcase containing my other suit of clothes, a pair of brown leather dress shoes, a large green curly wig, and a selection of oil based face paints: white, red, green, blue and yellow. On the small mahogany end table next to the chair lies an unfinished copy of René Descartes' Meditations On First Philosophy. I am enjoying the treatise very much, but at the present moment find myself with more pressing matters to contend with. Hans is waiting downstairs and one really shouldn't keep a potential employer waiting. Slowly, I sit up in bed and place my feet on the carpeted floor. After a brief moment breathing deeply and trying to calm my nerves, I complete the rest of my preparations and proceed to the hotel café to meet Mr. Gude.

My shoes are quite difficult to walk in. The only way to achieve any sort of forward momentum is to move in a fashion that I can only describe as a waddle. The movement, I have often thought, isn't all that dissimilar from the gait of an emperor penguin. Sometimes when I am wearing my shoes, I like to pretend that I am a penguin, as it makes the entire affair more comfortable from a purely psychological perspective. As I cross the busy lobby to the café several people cast curious, amused glances in my direction. I tell myself that penguins don't care what people think. Of course, I also realise that I am about as conspicuous as it is possible to be. I catch sight of Mr. Gude reading a paper and drinking a cup of tea from a little china cup. A matching china teapot sits on the table in front of him. He is wearing a very elegant and expensive looking suit, with equally elegant and expensive looking shoes. His dark hair is oiled and slicked back in a very fashionable manner, and his moustache sits neatly over his upper lip. He glances up from his paper as I approach and catches my eye. He looks me up and down and shuffles uncomfortably in his seat as he lays the paper across his lap without folding it, and removes his round, gold-framed spectacles.

“Mr. Gude” I say as I offer my gloved hand. “Mr. Werner” he replies as he takes it. “Very good to...”. His sentence is cut off as my fake wooden hand comes away in his fist. I wait for a reaction, straight faced. “Hmm...yes, quite” he says dryly. “Mr. Werner, this is a business meeting, and if you don't mind awfully I would very much appreciate you treating it as such. This is not an audition, sir, I am quite familiar and satisfied with your act. Kindly take a seat and remove that ridiculous wig”. I feel quite small as I take the seat across from Mr. Gude, and immediately remove my wig. I take out a string of brightly coloured handkerchiefs from my breast pocket and attempt to clean off some of my face paint as Mr. Gude continues his speech.
“As you know sir, my circus is in Dusseldorf for the next fortnight, and unfortunately for me, I am short of a clown due to a lamentable incident involving one of the tigers. Suffice it to say that Mr. Jellybottom shan't be in a fit state to perform any time soon. I need someone to take his place for two shows every day, one matinee, one evening and having no other contacts in this part of the world, I am left with no choice but to request your assistance.”
“I am very glad you thought of my Mr. Gude”
“Yes, well. Can you fill the obligation Mr. Werner?”
“Oh, yes sir, I believe I can.”
“Excellent, excellent. Now Mr. Werner, I am afraid that I am obligated to broach a rather, shall we say delicate subject; the ah...unpleasantness which forced me to terminate our working relationship on the previous occasion...”
“Please, sir, I understand your concern, but let me assure you that it was a previous chapter of my life which is firmly closed. I have not indulged in that vulgar business for some time now, and have no intention of ever indulging in it again.”
“That is wonderful news Jacob I am sure, but can I trust you? A lot of very good performers felt it their moral duty to leave the show afterwards and I simply cannot take another loss like that. I must make myself abundantly clear on this point; I am hiring you because I am in a bind, and the show must go on, as they say. But, however much an incomplete act would hurt my business, another scandal like the Mannheim Incident would be irreparable.”
“I understand very well Mr. Gude. All I can ask is that you trust me one more time.”
“Hmmm, yes. Well then, as I have already said, I have no choice but to trust you. You know where the big top is set up I trust?”
“I believe so, yes”.
“Very good, very good. I expect you there at seven o'clock sharp tomorrow morning.”
“I shall be there at six forty five.”
“Glad to hear it. Now I really must be on my way. Good day to you Mr. Werner.”
He stands up, puts on his coat and hat and folds his paper neatly under his arm. “Honestly Jacob”, he says, “I cannot fathom why a man of your wealth demeans himself with this kind of work.”
“It is merely a love of the art Hans.”
“Hmm...yes. Well, auf wiedersehen Jacob. I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Auf wiedersehen Hans. And thank you.”
“Hmm.”
Hans Gude leaves me sitting alone in the hotel café with half a cup of cold tea, wearing my beautiful, beautiful purple velvet suit, with oil paints streaked across my face and a green wig clutched in my lap. I sit for a while and smile quietly to myself as passers by point and laugh.

**Note: The opening line in this story is taken directly from "Melancholy" by John Fosse (Dalkey Archive Press, 2006). It was used as a writing prompt, and the rest of this work is a 100% original composition.