Authors: H Ryder
“Crazy?!” I add laughing. She’s not wrong about Harry.
“Sharp, he's sharp and yes he's talented, he just needs to keep his cool.” Quite. I refer you dear reader, to a comment I made earlier about Trakehners, the mad ones in particular.
“Easier said than done Liza, his personality is what gives him the edge, he thinks as he gallops.” True bloody fast story. I of course love Harry to death, he is undoubtedly the most stunning creature who ever walked or trotted, jumped or even piaffe'd the earth, but he's clever and often has other things on his mind. “Not as easy as that sounds.” I reply with raised eyebrows. Liza does dressage and I jump, they couldn’t be more different disciplines. We don’t get the others passion but we accept and we both love our horses to bits, or in my case
hackamores
, so we have that in common.
HC: “What’s wrong with your hair?” Nothing.
TC: “Mum wants me married, she and Dad had already had us by my age” she loves to remind me.
HC: “And her friends all have grandchildren too eh?” Bloody hell, like I need to hear it all again.
TC: “True story, but she didn’t have horses” see?
HC: “I’ll remind her of that next time” next time?
Aware that our journey into this crypt like basement has already taken us well under the depths of the museum, it certainly smells like the place could benefit from an open window, not dusty and old as you might imagine, just airless, still and warm. I appraise Daniels arse as it walks ahead of me, as he chats animatedly to Nigel, looking at me over his shoulder with a smirk like somehow he knows I’m checking him out. He slows so I can catch up, “see something you like Miss Charles?” He winks.
“I like it better unwrapped.” I flirt back.
Liza catches us, “phew, he's hot!” She whispers to me, “very, very...
“That’s quite enough Liza!” I scold playfully, but secretly I have to concede, he is, and for now at least he's mine.
“Is there a kitchen down here Liza, I could use a cuppa?” She nods. Phew!
The Prof. has a well-fed look to him and at first glance his Bill Oddie frame belies an energy and agility of a much younger man. Walking swiftly, ducking around obstacles the professor talks as he goes, not stopping or pausing for breath, I get the impression it’s as unusual occurrence to have visitors. He is happy and animated and clearly loves his job, he reminds me a little of my Dad, I smile at the idea.
Are
there tea making facilities down here I wonder, since Liza failed to hear my question? Or did she? Bloody hell, should have brought a flask.
“I understand from Dr Cartier there’s some imagery you’d like me to give you an opinion on? Quite an unusual request.” He says giggling to himself and pushing his spectacles back on his nose, “but I’m waiting for funding and the permissions to go back to Peru, so I have time on my hands.”
Liza rolls her eyes as if to signal he’s been driving his team mad with frustration, and she can’t wait for him to be gone another year!
“Unusual indeed, professor, the artwork is unclear in its mixed origins and its application,” offers Daniel.
“Oh really?” The professor answers, “Liza has told me very little, where is the item you wish me to appraise?” He looks at our luggage awaiting for us to produce a piece of pottery or textile. He notices the amusing looks exchanged between us, and returns his gaze questioningly. His eyebrows raise in impatient anticipation, like me, he doesn’t appreciate any wasted time. Standing in the bright glow of fluorescent tube lighting of Nigel’s office, Daniel takes off his black wool All Saints pea coat and hangs it over a chair back. He wiggles the knot of his skinny Prada tie loose and slips it over his head adding it to the pile. His eyes don’t leave mine, it’s a striptease, in public. This would be most peoples worst nightmare, but Daniel doesn’t seem to mind, but then he has nothing to be shy about, trust me, I suddenly feel smug.
Where's the bloody tea?
The professor fidgets about as if uncomfortable with what's happening, taking the spectacles off his nose and unnecessarily cleans them on a monogrammed handkerchief only men of a certain age still carry. But as Daniel undoes the front of his skinny Prada shirt and unbuttons the cuffs, the professor becomes animated as his arms are revealed. Daniel pulls off his t-shirt over his head, and a body covered in tattoos has been uncovered. “Interesting, very interesting indeed.” He says putting his glasses back on, and forgetting this is a man under the markings, continuing his appraisal up close.
Daniel takes off his bashed-up twelve-hole doc martens, balls his socks up and places them into his shoes tucking them under the chair. This is so hot, he’s looking straight at me, taunting me, I shudder, shut up brain! Daniel unbuckles his leather belt and pops open the fly, pulling off his skinny black Acne denim, and he just stands there in black Calvin’s, his Rolex and a skull ring. His body is incredible, slim and toned, sculpted, beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off him, and for the moment, he’s mine. I feel lucky, like someone’s who’s had the chance to ride a schoolmaster and wants to take every advantage. He looks directly at me his eyes burning into mine, my face burns, I feel a little lightheaded, he takes a very deep audible breath and finally he is completely naked, all of him for everyone to see. OMG!
PF: “Is this a bad time?” Are you kidding me?
TC: “Pete, there's a naked man standing here, please go away, and come back later” get it?
PF: “If you were going for subtle, you missed it” did I?
TC: “Tell you everything later” true story.
Liza looks at me appraisingly stifling a whistle, admiring Daniels naked form she looks over at me and winks conspiratorially. It’s perfect, I have to agree with her appraisal, the muscled contours of his beautifully sculpted body standing proud for all to enjoy, me especially, stunningly decorated in the most exotic imagery twisting and winding shapes and symbols around his frame. Such fine craftsmanship. The professor moves his glasses over his nose for a sharper view. “Fascinating,” he says. Not the word I’d use.
“These are ancient symbols from different unrelated origins, it’s really incredible to see them in one place, but maybe that’s the point.” He looks up at us only briefly, he moves around Daniel as if the living body beneath is inconsequential, and it was an inanimate object he was asked to study. “Ahh...yes, I see.” He stares closer at certain portions of the design, he’s looking at an image on Daniels back ribcage, one that has fascinated Daniel since he got it at nineteen. “It’s extremely intricate in its workmanship and must have taken several days to complete.” Says the professor, suddenly animated. His excitement clear, but his brain moves too fast to annotate what’s he’s thinking.
My phone vibrates,
EC: “You never call me” she’s right, but I never call anyone.
TC: “Later Tx” swipe send, the immediately feel guilty,
TC: “Love you Tx”
Note to self, ask Dr Shrink about my guilt issues.
Chapter eighteen, Monday
morning
:
28thoctober2013 the body
Daniel softly begins telling a story: “At the time I spoke to the leading tattooist in San Francisco for his opinion. He was vague but the impression I got was he almost certainly recognised the hand that did the work on my body.” Obviously telling this story for the first time to other people, he gulps a mouthful of air, and fists his fingers. “After much Jack Daniels, this guy let loose the secret, artists rarely share, they don’t discuss these things with outsiders to the trade.” Nigel hums’ pretending to listen, or to himself I can’t decide.
Nigel moves Daniels arm around his body to line up some of the images, with a satisfied look he continues without speaking at first, but mumbling to himself sometimes loud enough for us all to catch something.
“…at different calculated times create a story, I can begin to see it now.” The professor marvels to himself, it’s as if we weren’t there at all.
Back to Daniel, “the penmanship was likely a Japanese guy,” he continues, “very obscure work, high value pieces.” he finally tells us. “Lengthy waiting lists if you could persuade him to even do your piece, it had to be interesting and designed solely by him. What you got was his judgement and eye alone, and nobody was ever dissatisfied. But this guy comes at a cost, and very rarely travels outside Tokyo, where he bases himself.”
My crime drama TV training pops to life, follow the money. “Did you discover who paid him to do the work on you? I ask.
“I met his daughter in Tokyo at the fair, there was a message for me in the jeans we bought Tharie, the great artist has disappeared without a trace.” That sounds dramatic.
The Professor can’t remove his gaze from Daniels body, I know how that feels. All down the left hip curving around his thigh, another piece of the puzzle.
Manipulating Daniels arms and moving his shoulders twists his elbows back, chattering to himself again, I suspect when he’s ready he’ll tell us, it’s his process.
“Yes, you can see here clear Incan symbology, but follow the branch of that tree round here, a Mayan god iconography.” He follows the piece with his fingers, as I have done many times, “and this here,” he pauses, “is ancient Colombian.” He stands and looks at Daniel, as if he’s just realising there's a real person under the artwork for the first time, “oh!” Collecting his thoughts up, He shifts his spectacles back to his face, “it's a map of course.”
“Really, a map to what?” from Liza.
He manipulates Daniels right arm across his body behind his back. “Most unusual to see these symbols in the same place, see?” His fingers splayed out as manipulated by the Professor. “The images on Daniels body are designed as a puzzle you see, here.” He adjusts Daniels elbow slightly, if you move the body the overlapping designs continue the story, it’s a map.”
Astonished, we all stand quiet absorbing what we have just heard, this discovery, it seems so incredible, but then so was the discovery of fire wasn’t it? I shake my head, “a map?” I ask, “
But how?” Our brains all work differently, my neural pathways engage in a different ways to anyone else, the difference is I use my instincts. Most people abandon such natural thought processes in favour of learned behaviours, experiences or they simply do what they’re told to. Nigel, like me listens to his mind, trusts his own instincts. Nigel nods his head a little in frustration, clearly used to a more academic audience with suitably brilliant enquiries.
“Whoever designed these pieces knew he’d be completing several designs on the body, to finish the story, they are deliberately designed to fit together in several linking positions to tell that story. By moving the body the tale develops into a map.” He says as if completing a lecture and opening the floor to intelligent questioning. Bells begin to ring in my head, he may not mean me, but I have to ask.
“How?” I ask stunned at the level of intricacy in the combined works, the artist must have been planning this for years.
“It’s a mash-up of totally separate cultural references.” Mash up? I wonder whether he has young children, its youth phrasing. “But with one thing that’s identical between them all.” Used to spending time alone, the professor mumbles as if to himself, making short hand notes in a pocket sketchbook.
“Mash-up?” I enquire, not expecting to hear slang from a man with two degrees and a doctorate, I couldn’t leave the question unanswered.
The professor laughs, “
Yes it's a phrase my students use, silly really but simply means cultural mixture.” He then gets a glazed look, a faraway expression, I recognise it because that’s how I shut down too. I get impatient, another of my many flaws, they’re open season for all to see.
“Professor?” I urge.
“Oh, a journey at a specific time in history.” He moves Daniels arms and fingers across his body linking up several artworks to join up at different points and at different times in the story. The body is repositioned, it’s like programming a very old computer, the feet overlap and that’s another part of the tale, then at a specific time, the feet are repositioned to continue the story.” Daniel has his body manipulated by the professor as he demonstrates his point.
“Yes! I say, I can see the design joining there,” as Daniels arm comes across the front of his body bent at the elbow his hand under his arm. His fingers becoming part of the design, so obvious now I see it. Small parts of the work join and “you'd never know until his body is manipulated that it’s moving breathing puzzle to be decoded!”
“Yes,” the professor continues excitedly, “it’s the story of a terrible storm and a partial eclipse of the sun, followed by a very long journey. Through forests and mountains, a tortuous journey with many lives lost. They are carrying great riches in gold and symbols of ancient religions, silver, gemstones and textiles. A fight between brothers for the throne led to the exiled brother taking this haul and escaping with a few trusted slaves to a secret destination in the mountains to save the horde from his Brother.”
“Does X mark the spot?” I ask with a small degree of humour. Nigel looks exasperatedly at me.
“I have searched the globe for lost civilisations all my 50years as a scholar,” he says peering over the top metal framed rim of his spectacles at me disapprovingly, “and X never, ever marks the spot Tharie.” He is quite serious as if he’s asked this question a lot and it pisses him off, but I ignore it.