The Portrait of Mrs Charbuque by Jeffrey Ford Page B

hindrance to me. I went to my bed-room and retrieved my sketchbook from the trash pail. A few minutes later, after dragging my drawing board around to face the back wall, I heard the front door open and close. Two sets of footsteps approached down the hall-way from the parlor.
    "Piambo," I heard Samantha say, "this is Emma Hernan."
    "Hello," I called, having to remind myself not to turn around.
    'Hello, Mr. Piambo," said the voice of a young woman.

Page 32
    'Are you ready to have your portrait done?" I asked.
    "Yes," said Emma.
    "Please do not be upset if I miss the mark."
    "She understands the situation," said Samantha.
    "It will be somewhat awkward, but if you two will simply engage in a protracted conversation and allow me to eavesdrop, I will try to capture several quick images of both of you," I said.
    "Do you mean gossip, Mr. Piambo?" asked Emma.
    "We shouldn't have a problem with that," said Samantha, and the two laughed.
    They settled themselves on the couch and began to dis-cuss the previous evening's performance, in which one of the principal actresses had not shown up due to illness and Emma had had to fill in. Even if
    Samantha had not told me that Emma was young, I would immediately have identi-fied her age by the
    clarity of her voice and the enthusiasm she exhibited in talking about the craft of acting. I listened intently for a time, moving my hand and the charcoal inches above the page, unable to commit a line. Closing my eyes, I pictured Samantha speaking, and slowly brought into view her respondent. At first there was merely a shadowy form sitting next to her, but then the conversation turned to the inadequacy of the poor
    Derim Lourde, and Emma's figure grew in my mind out of the sound of her laughter. I saw long, wispy blond hair with red highlights and smooth skin, devoid of wrinkles. I made a mark, and that first difficult line gave permission for another.
    From the hapless amnesiac ghost, their talk turned to the particulars of a grim story the newspapers of late could not get enough of, namely the trial of Lizzie Borden. There was something vaguely erotic in the way the young woman recited that song all the children were singing about forty whacks. Emma's lips and perfect nose, her small ears, and the curving lids of her wide eyes came to me through that tune.
    Then for a time they spoke and although I heard what they were saying I did not register it but was lost to my drawing. I saw them clearly, Emma in a long orange-colored skirt and white pleated blouse. It was a certainty that she wore a ribbon in her hair. One of the things I dis-covered after the second preliminary sketch was that she had a light dappling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her body was thin and athletic with the newly evolving modern look; a contrast to Samantha's fuller figure. I knew that if I were to paint this young woman she would be situated in a lush green garden in full sun-light, sitting on a marble bench. She would be wearing a summer dress, rendered with a number 4 filbert in a translucent quinacridone red, holding a book and staring off as if rapt in a daydream of herself as one of its char-acters.
    I was putting the finishing touches to the sketch, now rendering a quick profile of Samantha's braided hair, when a snippet of the conversation drew me abruptly away from my work.
    ".. . weeping blood," Emma had just said.
    "Bizarre," said Samantha. "That's dreadful."
    "Who was weeping blood?" I called out, and nearly turned around.
    "A woman in an alleyway. I had been at W.&J.Sloane on Nineteenth Street buying fabric. On the walk home, I passed an alley on Broadway and happened to look in. There was a woman not too far down the way, leaning against the wall. She seemed to be unwell, so I stopped. She noticed me and looked up. I could be mistaken, but it appeared as if she were crying blood. Her tears were red, staining her white jacket. The second she noticed me she turned away as if in embarrassment."
    "What