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His procrastination in completing his paintings had many reasons.
When Hedy returned, she was holding a piece of paper with a grid drawn on it, meticulously filled with small squares.
"I was just—" Da Vinci tried to explain himself, hoping to make her understand. "I was just helping a friend."
Hedy remained calm and unbothered, finishing the grid and showing him the paper.
"What is this?" Da Vinci asked.
"It’s the months, sir," Hedy said slowly. "There are twelve months in a year. If we assume we can live for seventy years, that’s eight hundred and forty squares."
She looked at the brown-haired youth, then began shading in a large section of the squares with charcoal. "Sir, you are twenty-six years old, so three hundred and twelve of those squares are already gone."
Da Vinci looked at her in shock as she filled in nearly half of the squares, attempting to stop her. "No, no, that can’t be right! There must be more than that left!"
"It’s exactly like that."
"Are you sure? There’s at least half left, right?"
"No, sir," Hedy replied with a somewhat regretful expression. "This is all that’s left."
She added under her breath, “By the time you’re in your eighties, you might not even be able to hold a pen.”
Da Vinci stood still for a moment, staring at the grid, before suddenly standing up and walking out.
"Where are you going?"
"To Palazzo Vecchio!" he said without looking back. "I’ll finish that fresco today!"
Hedy couldn’t help but laugh, calling after him, "I made dinner for you to bring along!"
"Don’t forget the orange juice!"
"Got it!"
The fresco he was working on depicted shepherds paying homage to the infant Jesus in Bethlehem. His use of color was restrained yet thoughtful, and he focused much of his energy on the perspective of the near and far landscapes. The baby was depicted with remarkable realism, even the chubby little hands looking lifelike.
Hedy watched the fresco evolve from the sketch to the finished work. As she handed him tools, she asked a few questions.
"Was the baby modeled after someone?"
"Yes, my half-brother."
She paused, surprised, and then politely said, "Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that."
Da Vinci didn’t stop working, but glanced at her with a nonchalant expression. "It’s nothing to worry about."
Hedy felt awkward asking about his family background, so she turned her focus back to the fresco.
Suddenly, she thought of the purple pigment she had seen at the apothecary and asked curiously, "Sir, why don’t you use purple in your fresco?"
Noble orders were generally generous; even if gold leaf was required, it would be sent in advance. The Medici family, being a banking family, certainly wouldn’t be stingy in this regard.
Da Vinci, now blending the light and dark contrasts on the fresco, spoke in a rather indifferent tone.
"Because it smells."
"Smells?"
