Jose Somoza - Art of Murder

This thought led her to relax. Uhl threw himself on her, and started licking her chin and throat with his tongue. But then he stopped once more.

Clara was still lying breathless on the floor, while Uhl struggled to his feet. They looked like two athletes at the end of some violent exercise. She stared him in the eye, but could make out nothing in his face apart from his weak gaze hidden deep behind the lenses of glasses that Uhl had just put back on with a neat gesture. A few moments later, the painter stepped back, and left the room, heading for the front porch.

Things had taken such a spectacular turn that when it was time for lunch, Clara scarcely wanted to eat. She did not want to have to break off from the sketches to immerse herself again in cold routine. She forced herself to do so, because she knew it was necessary to pause for a moment in this frenetic escalation. Before eating she went to the bathroom and washed, getting rid of all traces of Uhl from her mouth and neck. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. There were no marks apart from a slight redness on her wrists. Primed skin was much tougher than normal skin, so that Uhl would have had to paint her much more violently to leave lasting traces. She smiled, and her face took on the mischievous look that Bassan liked so much. I've found you out: you use force if I do. You want to sketch me as aggressive, she told herself. Her eyes were smarting, but she knew this was from having to keep them open all the time she was in the poses. She rinsed them with saline solution.

She ate lunch naked with Gerardo sitting opposite her. Uhl was somewhere unknown. Gerardo had already finished and observed her quietly. 'Did you see the man at the window again?' he asked.

For a moment she did not understand what he was talking about.

'Yes, but I called Conservation. They told me they were security guards, so I felt reassured. I slept very well for the rest of the night.'

'So it was as I said: guards.' 'Aha.'

They fell silent. She finished her sandwich and began to spread cheese on a slice of bread. All her muscles ached, but that did not bother her. She felt refreshingly angry, as effervescent as a fizzy drink shaken for hours. From time to time she glanced at the door to see if Uhl was coming in. She remembered his breath, and his violence. And also how everything came to a halt when she yielded. But what would have happened if she had not yielded? How far would his brushstrokes have gone, what remote shade of darkness might they have reached? That was what obsessed her. What would happen if next time she decided not to surrender at all, not to yield for anything? The possibilities were staggering. 'How did you get on this morning?'

Gerardo's question made her blink. The last thing she needed at that moment was banal conversation. 'Fine,' she said.

He put his elbows on the table, leaned over to her, and adopted a serious tone. 'Listen, there's something I have to tell you.'

They stared at each other in silence. Clara chewed her food quietly, waiting. 'Justus is annoyed.' She said nothing. Her heart started beating faster.

'And it's not good if Justus gets annoyed, because if that happens, you and I are out on the street, right?' 'What do you mean?' she asked, innocently.

Gerardo appeared to be searching for the right words. He stared down at his hands on the tablecloth.

'We… we have some rules regarding young female canvases, if you follow me. And the canvases have to respect them. I don't like talking about this, but sometimes as in your case it becomes necessary – it seems you don't get it at all, do you?' 'What am I supposed to get?'

'That you are in a privileged position. You are a canvas contracted by the Van Tysch Foundation, which is quite something, believe me. But that could vanish at any moment. I already told you, Justus is a senior assistant. In other words, he's a painter of some importance here in the Foundation. You have to be aware of that. I'm not telling you this to scare you, but so that you understand… and do whatever is necessary, OK?' 'But I don't understand a thing.' He puffed, and sat back in his seat.

'Then you really must be dumb. I'm warning you: Justus could throw you out on the spot if he wanted to.' 'And what am I supposed to do to prevent that?'

'You know perfectly well. Don't pretend to be stupid. He likes you a lot. You'll see.' This fascinating exchange did not make sense to her. She guessed this might be due to Gerardo's clumsiness, his rough, unconvincing way of doing things, the way he tried too hard to control his voice, his timid approach as if he were a kid playing at being the tough guy. For Clara, the most exciting thing was that Gerardo could be telling the truth. There was no way to be certain that all this was the farce it seemed on the surface.

'Are you threatening me?' Clara asked. Gerardo raised an eyebrow.

'I'm simply trying to tell you that Justus is the boss, after him comes me, and that you are at our complete and absolute disposition. And that if you want to be painted by a maestro from the Foundation, the best thing is for you not to upset the assistants, got it?'

A vibration, a shudder of pure art ran through her body. For the first time she felt a certain apprehension at Gerardo's words, and she liked the feeling. She had been painted with another fine brushstroke, and the fact that she was completely naked added the appropriate dark tone. She crossed her ankles, stirred in her seat, and muttered as she looked away from him:

'All right.' 'I hope you'll be more friendly to Justus from now on, OK?' She nodded. 'I didn't hear your reply,' he said.

This new pressure from the brush pleased her as well. She hastened to respond. 'Yes, all right.'

Gerardo rolled his eyes back and stared at her in a very odd way. Neither of them said anything more.

She tried 'being more friendly' during the afternoon session. They had posed her on tiptoe, like a ballet dancer. Time went by. As she was standing up, she could see herself in the mirrors. One of them only reflected half her anatomy, a split silhouette, a chaos of lines and volume. They left her like that for quite a while until Uhl suddenly came up behind her.

Right from the start, she returned his kiss, more ardently than he had begun it with. Her tongue darted in Uhl's dark mouth, she clasped him in her arms and pressed her naked body against his clothes.

It was like being stung by a bee. The painter tore himself from her and left the room. He did not approach her again all afternoon.

So, if I yield, everything stops, she reasoned. And if I don't yield?'

This second option scared her a lot. She decided she would try it.

She was excited, but that night she collapsed into bed like a dead weight. She suspected it was because of all the pills she was taking. When she awoke, she presumed it was Thursday 29 June. She felt ready for a fresh assault. She could not remember anything that had happened during the night: it was as though she had passed out. She had gone to sleep with the blinds drawn again, and if any security guard had come near to the house, she had not been aware of it. And besides, she was beginning to forget her nocturnal fears, because the daytime ones were taking all her attention.

That morning they sketched her standing up, bending over backwards. They were difficult poses, and the timer settings seemed to her eternal. It was midday before she managed to really control her trembling limbs, and the pain in her vertebrae became nothing more than the passage of time. To her surprise, Uhl had not bothered her again. She wondered if the way she had given in to him the previous afternoon had brought things to a complete stop.

After lunch, Gerardo invited her for a walk. This surprised her a little, but she decided to accept because she wanted to get some fresh air. She put on a robe and a pair of padded plastic sandals, and the two of them walked down the gravel path to the front hedge. Then they went out on to the road.