He
Didn’t Recognise the Mona Lisa
by Hannah Retallick
water-turned-wine
They knew they
were in the right place. Crowds draw crowds, but the boy was a drawer not the
drawn; notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other. A serious frown.
Wondering.
The painting of a
woman. Imprisoned by bullet-proof glass, half-mooned with a wooden barrier, and
protected from the pilgrims by guards with our swinging identity badges. Heads,
endless heads.
The boy
turned.
The Wedding Feast
at Cana rose above him,
biblical in subject and scale. A chaos of colour. It covered most of the huge
wall. Maybe the boy’s jaw dropped, maybe it didn’t, but he didn’t move for a
good long while. Floods of celebration, guests basking in the water-turned-wine;
musical instruments and animals and rising stone pillars. Christ was in the
centre.
The boy turned
back, smiling.
Mum, look at this!
Hang on, gotta get a good
photo.
His smile dimmed, forehead
crinkling. She lifted up her camera, moving it from side to side until she found
a gap between heads. They were all at it, always are. Zooming in.
Drumming the pencil on his drawing
book, the boy waited for his mother to see. A serious frown. He sat down on the
floor, crossed his blue-jeaned legs, and began to sketch.
About the
author
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