I woke up suddenly to the sound of the phone and the remnants of a nightmare stuck in my mind that I couldn't remember. A headache wouldn't leave my head, and a pang squeezed my heart when I remembered what had happened last night. I picked up the phone to see who was calling. The contact person was unknown, so I answered while half asleep:
- " Hello? "
This excited voice came to me from the other side:
- " Dr. Adam, I'm sorry if I woke you up . "
I yawned, rubbing my eyes.
- " Who is speaking? "
" I am Ramez , the oncologist, since last night . "
I said, "I'm listening."
His excited voice came from the other end, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to bear it.
- " Good news about your condition, Dr. Adam. Spend me in the hospital, if you would be so kind. "
- " Good news? "
I said thoughtfully:
- "The tests were inconclusive or what? "
He replied:
" No, sir, but perhaps there is another way to recover. I have a short time until my shift, please don't be late."
I glanced at the wall clock, it was eleven in the morning, I must have overslept.
Damn, didn't I say I wouldn't sleep?!
On the way, I stopped at my daily stop, La Longuet, and, unusually, I got out of the car and headed towards the exhibition with almost confident steps. I was determined to meet Sama and reveal to her the secret that she did not know, the secret that no one knew, which is that she is the lasting dream and the happiness that overcomes the pain of illness inside me.
I waited so long, spending my days in hesitation and excuses, only to be kissed by my anxiety that I would lose this feeling.
Now, what's the worst that could happen?
I crossed the street, looking right and left to avoid any car that might rush to run me over.
When I reached the door, I pushed it open quietly and went inside. One of them noticed, got up from her desk and gestured warmly for me to go ahead. I nodded and then started walking around the place.
I looked around the boards left and right, pretending to be looking for something.
At the end of the corridor, Sama was standing, smiling... my luminous painting, my beacon in the midst of the roaring waves, attracting me like someone falling from the top of a building by the force of gravity... My eyes embraced her, and with great difficulty I prevented my arms from doing the same.
Oh God! Let time stop at this moment, this moment is the first time we exchange glances, she sees only me, her eyes are fixed on me only, she waits to address me only.
What a blessing it is to a mortal! The angel of good news appeared to me, I leapt high until my fingers touched the edges of the kingdom. I examined it boldly; an innocent childish face, an intoxicating eye, a small nose, and plump lips... all were arranged on a charming wine-coloured skin, painting for me a vision coming to me from my deepest dreams.
My cells' electrons raced around the nuclei, my blood was coursing through my veins at a hundred kilometers per hour, my heart was pounding violently, begging to jump out from between my ribs...to her.
- " How may I serve you, sir? "
You grabbed me..and I smiled.
I remained silent for a long time, and she smiled hesitantly. She had planned everything except this moment.
I looked away randomly, pointing to a painting.
" How much is it please? "
It was a painting of a family gathered around a table, looking happy. She walked over to it and said, literally:
" The Happy Family" was painted by Julian Wade in the early 19th century, and you are now looking at the original .
- " Excuse me, the original? "
She nodded, "Yes," and I smiled at her with a look that almost gave me away, barely tearing my eyes away from the warm bath of her eyes on a December night.
" I bet it has quite a few zeros. "
She smiled and did not comment. I nodded, and she leaned towards me so I could smell the perfume that had struck the aortic valves with a heavy hammer. I said in a low voice:
- " Inquiry, how many zeros, please? "
I raised my three fingers, she smiled and shook her head, my eyes widened as I pretended to be surprised and raised my fourth finger, she raised five delicate fingers in my face, I looked at the board again, then said:
" I think its colors won't match the living room, let's look for something else . "
She let out a loud laugh that her manager noticed and looked at her in distress, so she continued laughing while putting her hand over her mouth.
I'm glad I made her laugh, we have some chemistry now, good job Adam, you're making progress.
I looked around again, examining the paintings, and she accompanied me lightly, not yet knowing that it was the desired painting. I pretended to be somewhat serious as I looked right and left, not forgetting to widen my field of vision to include my slender gazelle. I watched the movement of her small, delicate hand as it stroked her hair, and her body that moved but did not walk, accompanied by an orchestra of the sounds of elegant black shoes with a thin heel on the floor.
We walked together, not in the halls of the exhibition, but in lush gardens colored with thousands of colors that human eyes had never before comprehended.
Oh my dear, if the gods could dream, they would surely dream of you.
I pretended to look at the paintings one by one as slowly as I could, stopping suddenly without warning and then she would hit me, and I would feel lightning strike my limbs, a beautiful fever (if there was such a thing), and I kept walking around with her and asking her about this and that, turning over the hanging paintings, telling a joke and she would laugh.
This happiness continued until the moment I froze in place, a curse from heaven struck me and I became like a pillar of salt. Perhaps Lot's wife did not feel what I feel now as I look at that painting, that cursed drawing that brought me back to reality by order of a fallen heavenly angel.
Is it a sign? Or is fate playing tricks on me?
Before me was a painting of a tall, gloomy-looking grey creature with long hands and feet, and hair carelessly flowing off his head, standing outside a building in the middle of the night, staring through a lighted window. The painter had mastered the extremes of gloom.
But I stood there for a long time without noticing, so she fidgeted, then added:
- "A painting by the Russian artist Yaroslav Benashka, painted in 1900, entitled..."
I interrupted her, saying:
" Death is staring out the window."
She smiled and said:
- "exactly".
I said, without taking my eyes off the painting:
- "The painting depicts death waiting outside a patient's window, waiting to take his soul."
She said with obvious surprise:
- "Well, I'm impressed."
She shared with me the contemplation of the painting, saying:
" This kind of art is only appreciated by the elite."
As for me, I did not want to and could not tear my eyes away from the painting. Rather, I felt my soul gradually separating from it, slowly tearing out my being, pulling me towards it, and that the creature was about to turn to see me. I felt it screaming and its screams gradually getting louder.
- " Sir, are you all right?"
This was what brought me back from the world of the painting. I looked at her and found her pointing at me with tissues. I didn't understand at first, until she pointed to her nose, then pointed to my nose. I wiped it and found that the tissues were stained with blood.
I thanked her for her time, then left, the mangy dog barking nonstop as I reached the car.
****