The sound of the clattering plate made Hugo's shoulders leap in surprise. His sister muttered a brash half hearted apology, skirting around the intentional grab at his attention as she placed a fresh pitcher of water beside his dinner. Their blue eyes met as he pried his away from the canvas, his brow unfurled at the platter of cut bread, and cheese.
Before he could mutter his thanks Nora dashed around the dank sanctuary, and tore his threadbare blinds to the side ushering in the last of the day's cold light. "You'll blind yourself like this," she tsk'd as her gaze scanned about the neglected space. "Come now, why have you let your fire die?"
Hugos eyebrows drooped, as surprised by the state of his room as he was taken aback by Nora's sudden blustering appearance. His sister flurried about dusting his pillows, fretting about the place. Pent up frustrations with her brother poured like a broken dam. Hugo winced as she flipped through the mounting stack of work in the corner. A cautious panicked hand raised and fell. His pale eyes as silent as his words. Nora sighed, releasing reluctant awe. He was good. A mess, and constant worry, but talented. "How are you? Have you been sleeping?" she demanded while clocking the stubs of candles scattered across a cluttered desk, flinching at the spilt congealed wax.
Only a small shrug answered. The painter looked to the brush still in hand, turned and dotted at a corner. Nora moved behind him, placed a palm upon his shoulder and encouraged him over to the plate.
Bitter grains, and pungent, crumbling cheese coated his mouth. Her brother closed his eyes as he chewed, savouring every morsel, his body brightened, ecstatic with the sustenance. Hugo's frail hands reached for the glass and pitcher only to have his sister cut him off. Like a fussing mother duck she filled the vessel for her ageing sibling. With a nod of gratitude he sipped, the cool water washing at his gums as he watched Nora return back to his pile of paintings.
"When was the last time you sold one?" her eyebrows stretched. Eyes averted, Hugo continued to chew. "Or rather, when was the last time you tried to sell one?"
"i try not to think about it," quiet words answered between bites.
The courteous smile drawn across his sister winced. If Hugo noticed the exasperation in her exhale he ignored it. Nora let an uncomfortable silence pressure the avoidant sibling into meeting her gaze. Hugo was quick to fold. He raised his palette and explained, "i just have to pretend that perhaps one splash of colour could change someone's perspective. That in one stroke i may share the awe that i see, and that in turn, those that bear witness will share its ripples onwards. As hard as it is to notice, there is still an abundance of beauty left in our forsaken times. For my sake, and everyone else's, i'm trying to find it. To parade it. i, i know not what else to do. My words fall short, my intellect too shallow. If there's a chance that my brush might change the course of our history, or our times, our lives, i must take it." He raised his brush again as if presenting irrefutable evidence. "These colours, they worked on me. They opened my eyes. If i can fill walls with them they may work on the rest of us, one by one and so forth..."
"Hugo, it's blue," the words blurted over him as Nora stared at the coated tip of the brush.
"Yes, but do you see it? Do you really see it?"
Nora's head rolled with her eyes, "Listen, Hugo, you're good, really, really good. But blue's blue," she shrugged.
Irritation rivalled disappointment as Hugo grabbed the last husks of the bread. Mouth full, he asked in full earnest "This blue doesn't change your world?"
"Listen, you're a great painter…” her tone had shifted, the hard truths wrapped in warmth, “but no. It's beautiful. It is. i like it, i do. My world is not changed," her shoulders raised. "You've spent a fortune on paint Hugo. Come now, you could stand to work more than a few days in a month. You don't need to blow every penny earned on painting all the time. You need to eat, you need to socialize. How can you try to change a world you won't even participate in? Step outside, go to the sea, chat in a cafe..."
He'd stopped listening, with the last bite past his lips he squeezed a hard, metallic tube of paint across his palette. The bright smell of the acrylics cut through the stale room and Nora's nostrils flared. Hugo's free hand stirred, mixed, then tossed shades across the layering dried paint.
"Hey," her gentle voice attempted to powder the atmosphere. "i hadn't meant to offend you. i'm just being honest. How will you be able to create your future masterpiece if you drive yourself to the grave?"
With his back turned Hugo mimicked his sister's shrugs, indifferent. "No, no, i'm not mad. If anything, thank you. Now i know it's not finished. That the colour is still not found."
His ballet resumed, and Nora sat. Transfixed as her brother poured his lifetime into the paint. Her mind stilled, and she lost herself. It was the sound of a match, and the sputters of a sunken candle that broke the spell. As the little light fought the darkness Hugo fetched his meagre, tattered blanket for his sister's shoulders then returned to his perch by the easel. Her worries fell silent as she peered over his shoulder. The work was magnificent. Though not as impressive as the devotion. Her eyes returned to the outlandish collection piled in the corner, and back to her brother. His easel, his mountain, his brush the boulder, the strain of the cyclical strokes somehow beloved. Nora rose, and cleared the plate. In the light she caught her own reflection and spied the same scene, the same struggle. The two on the same journey, fighting their impossible burdens ever upwards, passing, silent in the night.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write