The Memory Painter

The opening was tonight. It would be his first show in Boston since he had moved from New York, and all week he had been toying with the idea of going. But then he would dismiss it just as quickly. He could not justify the risk. Being surrounded by so many people, having to stare into their eyes as he shook their hands—his paintings a screaming backdrop—would most likely trigger an episode. And how could he explain that?

When he hadn’t appeared at any of his openings in New York last year, the press had pounced, portraying him as some kind of arrogant recluse who spurned the public, when nothing could be further from the truth. He put his work out there with the hope that someone, someday, would recognize his paintings for what they were, that someone else in the world suffered from the same curse. But maybe that hope was delusional. He had been searching for years and was beginning to feel it was a lost cause. Hundreds of paintings and not one answer.

Bryan rubbed his eyes. He could feel a headache setting in—the need to shut off his thoughts had become too great. Maybe he should take the day off, go outside for a long walk.

But first he wanted to go to the exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. All week, colorful banners had been waving in the wind next to the streetlights downtown, announcing its arrival: “Mysteries of Egypt and The Great Pyramid.” Every time he saw them, it felt as if the last remaining Seventh Wonder of the World had come to Boston just for him. He’d been planning to attend, and today would be the perfect day to go.

He grabbed his keys and left, passing one of his neighbors in the hallway—a young woman he had seen only once or twice before. She lived at the opposite end of the hall with her husband, and she was looking at him with a mixture of embarrassment and allure.

With a faint smile, he murmured a quick “Hello” and turned around to go back inside. He had forgotten to put on a shirt.



TWO

“The amount of stone in the Great Pyramid could build thirty Empire State Buildings, or a three-foot-high wall across the entire country and back.”

Linz gazed up at the projections, wearing her headset, astounded by the facts the prerecorded guide was ticking off.

“The stones were cut with a tolerance matched only by our best opticians today. Every stone is the same. Expert stonemasons think ancient Egyptians must have used tools with a precision five hundred times greater than a modern drill. The exactitude they achieved is astonishing.”

But how is that possible? Linz asked herself, growing more perplexed by the minute. The self-guided tour seemed to pose more questions than answers.

“Ancient Egyptians were purportedly unaware of the Earth’s shape or size, and yet the Great Pyramid stands exactly one-third of the way between the equator and the North Pole. Its height and perimeter are in perfect ratio to the circumference of the Earth and radius of the poles. Its axis aligns to true North–South—even more accurate than the Greenwich Observatory in London. It is the largest and most precise structure ever built in the entire history of our civilization, and even today we cannot re-create it.”

Growing restless, Linz took off her headset, abandoning the tour. The truth was she hadn’t come to the museum to see this exhibit, but for a far more personal reason. Linz had only been a baby when her mother had passed away, and almost thirty years later she still felt drawn to this place that her mother had loved so much.

Linz had spent the last two hours roaming every gallery, but by the end of the morning she still felt melancholy. Maybe I’ll go play chess at the park, she thought. It had been several months since she had moved back to Boston and she had not yet made the time to return to her old haunt at Harvard Square.

Heading toward the exhibit entrance to return her headset, she stopped to look at an exquisite Egyptian armband, meant not for a woman but for a warrior. A little smile flickered across her face. It looked just like the tattoo hidden under her sweater.

Just then another person touring the space came to stand beside her—not too close, but close enough to make her look up. He was the most arresting man she had ever seen with eyes an electrifying blue. They both stared at each other for a suspended moment. Then he walked on.