Page 17 of The Splendor of Fire
“Wide set. The other eye should start here.”
She traced the left eye. His son began to take shape on the page and he had a hard time disguising his enthusiasm. “Yes! Just like that.”
She paused and tapped her head, then looked at him.
“Do that again.”
Repeating herself, she mouthed the word, but he still didn’t know what she meant.
In the space where she would fill in hair she wrote a faint word.Thoughts?
“What does he think about?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Does that matter?”
She nodded, insistent.
He scratched his beard and thought back one year. “He loves boats and is inquisitive about everything. He finds insects in the garden and brings them home…” His throat constricted and he stopped.
Her expression went soft.I think I understand.
With the tip of her charcoal she filled in the eyes. Over the space of several minutes Gabriel’s eyes came to life, a look of wonder and curiosity shining in them. She moved back to his cheeks and skin, sketching shadow, light, and texture. She paused to sharpen her charcoal then reached out, touching Léo’s hair.
“It’s short but a little bit longer on top. Well groomed, always. It is the French way.”
A thick eyebrow arched and her eye moved slowly over his appearance before returning to the page.
He chuckled. “The French way when one is not stuck in the hell of prison.”
A smirk touched the corner of her lips. Pausing to sharpen her charcoal every few hairs, Gabriel’s tresses began to take shape. She lifted her hair and then pointed to his.
“No curl or waves. It’s straight, just as his mother’s was.” She nodded and touched her hair and then his again. She mouthed something.
“Repeat that.”
Her eyebrows knit together and she lifted the long strands of his hair and held it against her own, moving charcoal between his hair and her own.
“Color?”
She nodded.
“Dark brown, not like yours or mine. Like his maman.”
Her eyes softened and she took her time filling in each hair and then deepening the color. She considered it for a few moments and then added a few out of place strands, as though he’d been playing. She paused to finish his neck and shoulder, shading everything in, then blew the dust away and presented it to him.
Gabriel’s happy face looked into his own as if he’d just run in from the garden to show him a cricket, and emotion overcame him. He placed a hand over his mouth and studied the cheerful chubby cheeks and the hundreds of questions brimming in his son’s eyes about the world. He brought the paper to his lips and kissed his boy, longing to hear him call him Papa.
“Moira, I don’t know how to thank you.”
She placed her charcoal down and dusted her fingers, then swept her fingers away from her chest, mouthingwelcome.
If only he could hold his child. If only he could tell him that his father wasn’t dead and would return to him one day. An idea formed and he dropped his voice. “Do you have more paper?”
She nodded and picked up another piece and her charcoals. He tookher charcoal and mouthedno picture,and pointed to the guard at the door. She nodded.
“Can you reheat my stew? It’s gone cold.”
