Page 98 of Rivals
Just as I thought, we were the first ones down here and the bus isn’t here yet. I lean against the building, propping my foot behind me to wait while Revna paces in front of the doors. I watch her as she fidgets with everything on her body. “Are you excited or nervous? It seems like it’s starting to blend into one.”
She stops and spins on her heel to face me. “Yes?” She says, and resumes pacing. The bus pulls up, and everyone else finally filters out of the building and hops on. I plop down next to Revna and rest my arm behind her as she looks out the window. I look around and realize we don’t know any other competitors, not even their names. I don’t care to know anyone but Revna, but the point remains.
We arrive at the Vatican City, and Revna almost leaps out of the bus, following the tour guide’s directions. They hand us our tickets and we get in line to see the Sistine Chapel first. We’re here early, so it won’t take us long to get through it, but I can tell she wanted to sprint in.
We’re next in line, and we pass through security quickly. She steps into the chapel and sighs. Her head is tilted back in awe, and her eyes glitter with tears. I decided yesterday, before we walked into the Gesú that I would watch her reaction to everything we saw before I looked for myself.
She is generally always angry or numb. She doesn’t give me much unless I pull it out of her. There have been very few times I’ve seen her so emotional in this way. It makes my soul sing in my chest to see her in total awe of the beauty around us. I almost fall to my knees, seeing something that isn’t pain, anger, or heartbreak all over her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers. We walk up and down the length of the chapel. The over-five-hundred-year-old fresco is a sight to behold. The story painted into the ceiling tells of the Bible is almost chaotic. The tour guide explains that the frescos are not technically in order of how scripture is written.
She explains that Michelangelo was at his wit’s end towards the end of the project since it took him over a year to do. He had help, but he did the majority of the work. She points to the self-portraits of himself. One is with his head severed, and the other is his face depicted in St. Bartholomew’s skin hanging off his body from whips. Something about that anguish, either from irritation or something else happening within him, makes sense to me. I can’t imagine the level of patience it took to do this. I know, without a doubt, I would have lost my mind. Knowing this about him makes me feel like it’s the condition of an artist, even if it was five hundred years ago. You are a slave to your own creativity.
Revna listens with rapt attention to the tour guide as we follow her. She points to each painted panel on the walls and ceilings with the Saints lining the top edge. The guide finishes her speech, and Revna keeps her head tilted back, studying the figures that look like they are coming down from the ceiling.
“Ready for the next one?” I ask her. The group is starting to filter out.
“Yeah, I guess,” she sighs.
“What?” I ask.
“I have that feeling like I’m close to an idea. I don’t want to leave before I get it all. I’m afraid it will disappear,” she says, glancing at me. Her eyebrows furrow at the ceiling.
“Maybe the idea will get stronger instead,” I suggest.
She shrugs. “Who knows, maybe it wasn’t one worth exploring anyway.” I rub her back, and she keeps her head tilted, taking in every detail she can. I lean over to kiss her, and her eyes are still closed as I lift away. They opened slowly, and a slow smile formed on her face. Warmth builds in my chest.
“Come on, let’s go,” she nods, and we walk out the door to our next stop.
***
We walked through the atrium of St. Peter’s Basilica, and I kept my eyes on Revna. Her jaw drops, a gasp passes her lips, and her eyes widen in reverence. I take her in before I even look at the massive cathedral. “Wow,” she whispers.
I pull my eyes away from Revna and gawk at the basilica. It’s not only massive, but its extravagance is breathtaking. We walk around together, going in the direction of the audio tour. The first stop is Michelangelo’s Pieta. Revna and I look at it behind the bulletproof glass. Its intricate carving and direction of two different figures is unusual and incredibly difficult to do. Marble makes it challenging to work in two different directions. The fact that he did it in this fashion, on such a large scale, isn’t only impressive, but his workmanship was ahead of his time.
I follow Revna as she picks and chooses the places we stop throughout the opulent cathedral. The solid gold, bronze, and marble encase us in ornate patterns with mosaics lining the walls.
We stare at the canopy in the center of the monumental dome, and I look at Revna as she looks at me. Excitement is bright in her eyes, but I think it’s because we are here, not because she has an idea. I still want to use sculpture for our next piece, but Revna is right. Realistically, we couldn’t create a sizable sculpture to the level this competition demands with the time that we have. We’re going to have to come up with something else. We need to think outside of the box.
***
Revna throws herself on the bed and sighs when we get back from the basilica. “That was truly stunning, I’m still in awe. But I still can’t think of anything else.”
I smile at her relaxed in bed. “I can’t either. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. If we tried sculpting, I would have to teach you and work nonstop. We go to Florence in a few days, and if we do one, it would have to be small, which wouldn’t pack the punch we are looking for.” Revna shakes her head, and I toss my boots by the door.
I go over to the bed to lay next to her, looking at the plaster ceiling. “So, what should we do about it?” she asks quietly. I know what she’s thinking, but I won’t say yes. I don’t know if we could find someone who is trustworthy enough. Plus, there is the language gap. I’m not willing to risk her safety by taking drugs we aren’t sure about.
“I don’t know, but we will figure it out.”
“It surprises me. We’ve seen some of the best art in the world and still haven’t come up with anything solid. I thought it would come to us pretty quickly. But I’ve got nothing, and I’m frustrated.”
“I am, too, but we have only been here for about four days. There is a lot to see and a lot to learn. Like I said, we’re going to Florence, where they claim the High Renaissance started. Maybe we will figure out something there,” I offer.
“I guess,” she sighs.
“Maybe we should just make something together and see what comes of it.”
“Yeah, ok. That would be cool,” she says and gets up. I watch her undress and rifle through our dresser to find a paint-covered shirt as she pulls it over her head. “Ok, ready.”
I sit up and slide my hands to the back of her thighs, pulling her between my legs. I squeeze the back of the muscles as she grips my shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”
