Trifariam, The Lost Codex (2012) (3 page)

“And finally, the great masterpiece of the gallery: Michelangelo’s David,” boomed a voice right behind him, shattering the beautiful atmosphere which had developed between them both.

When he turned around, he found a group of tourists who were paying attention to a tour guide’s explanations. He had a disheveled appearance, probably another student.

Generally speaking, the tourists didn’t usually pay much attention to what the guide had to say and they simply wanted to look at the works of art, but it was always the same in this part of the gallery. The people stood perplexed before the statue, which was some thirteen feet in height, while they listened attentively to the guide’s explanations.

“For his modeling, Michelangelo made use of a block of marble which had lain exposed to the elements in the yard of the Cathedral workshop for over forty years. This factor is now thought to be one of the main reasons for the severe deterioration which it displays.” The guide glimpsed for the first time what he took to be enthusiasm on the faces of the people who were gathering around to listen to his explanations. “David fixes us with a defiant facial expression and never reveals the terror he must have felt when he saw Goliath approach. Michelangelo succeeded in creating a masterpiece, fusing classical beauty and harmony with expression, meaning and feeling. In order to achieve all that, observe the oversized head and how it turns slightly, avoiding frontality, lending the body a subtle
contrapposto
or sense of movement, while keeping the gaze fixed on one point. If you look at his hands, you will realize that they are gigantic and emanate strength. The work,” concluded the guide, “has passed into posterity as the aesthetic patron of anatomy and model of beauty.”

“So… is this the David who threw the stone at the giant?” asked an Irishman in the group.

The guide blinked in disbelief and couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. David is a biblical character. He was the shepherd of his father’s flock and after defeating the Philistine Goliath, he was proclaimed king of the people of Israel. The piece was initially intended for the facade of Florence Cathedral. However, when they saw the result, the merchants decided that it deserved to be placed somewhere more visible: opposite the seat of government, thus transforming it into a symbol of the Republic. In a later rebellion, it was damaged by a piece of furniture thrown from a window of the building, supposedly by a madman, which managed to break it into several pieces. Luckily they were all salvaged by a fellow Florentine artist and the sculpture was restored under the rule of Cosimo I de Medici. Many specialists consider it to perfectly represent the ideal proportions of man, since the head measures one-eighth of the rest of the body and the sculpture achieves total balance overall. However, that is not completely true, as the artist sacrificed this harmony for the sake of expressivity. As I told you earlier, you only have to look at the hands to see how they are extremely large and strong.”

There was nothing more to say. The student had impressed the professor not only with how well he knew the work, but with his way of explaining ideas. He seemed to be another devotee of the works of Michelangelo. He furtively moved closer to the group and listened carefully to the other ideas being shared with the tourists.

“Look, the figure is in tension!” The young man did not even detect the presence of a new member of the group. “The left leg moves towards the right, his right arm hangs next to the thigh, unlike the left which is raised until the hand is almost touching the shoulder. The torso bends slightly towards the right, with one hip higher than the other. The head looks towards the left, he seems to be taking a step with his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed ahead. The face shows us that repressed tension with an expression of hate, and the nostrils splayed. After all, this is the first time David is depicted as a man instead of a boy.”

The contrapposto!
he thought while he appreciated the competent yet lacking explanation given by the young man.

The Irishman had another question. “Did Michelangelo just do painting and sculpture?”

James could not believe what he was hearing. The Irishman seemed to know nothing about Michelangelo, and the very thought of that made his stomach churn.

“He was also a great architect and poet,” politely replied the guide. “There are even rumors in Florence that Michelangelo also undertook some carpentry work, but there is no evidence to confirm this, only a myriad of stories. They tell of how, at the request of certain people, he himself made and decorated some furniture and strange objects.”

The guide once again noticed the glint in the eyes of the crowd.

Another tourist had a different question. “Excuse me. Did you say there are some stories? Could you tell us more about them?”

“Well, there are several stories about Michelangelo, but two in particular are the most interesting. The first suggests that David is not a unique sculpture, but that the artist secretly created another piece of art of the same proportions but with the body of a woman, so that together they formed a couple. Many think that the statue did not get lost in time, but instead remains hidden somewhere in the world, revered by a chosen few who are aware of its existence. Meanwhile, the second tale refers to a great massacre which took place at a nearby monastery, and how one of the monks subsequently managed to escape with an object of unimaginable value.”

“An object? What kind of object?” asked the Irishman again, as he exchanged a knowing look with his wife.

“Nobody knows anything whatsoever, except that a strange person hired Michelangelo after the killing spree. He wanted to decorate his home with some sculptures and canvases by the young artist. Of all his requests, two are particularly mysterious: a marble mantelpiece with a small compartment on the rear side which was to be hidden from view, and a wooden chest which was to be made following some very precise instructions. Michelangelo accepted, but he was surprised at how he was never allowed to take measurements of the room in which the two objects would be housed. It was as if they didn’t want anybody to know where they lived. The job was commissioned via written letter, with payment upfront, and briefly detailed the physical dimensions that the objects should have. The delivery was stranger still, since Michelangelo had to hand the pieces to an old beggar on an abandoned road on the outskirts of the city. It is now thought that the monk is the strange person who hired his services, and that the object has remained hidden in his house ever since.”

“But how do we know all this?”

“Legend has it that Michelangelo had been arguing one summer night with his lover, some handsome young man, and he sought comfort in alcohol. After several glasses of wine, he told the innkeeper that he was working on something very odd and that he didn’t understand anything at all, but that he was being paid very well. He spoke of an essential requirement that the pieces be marked with a seal, perhaps the coat of arms of a powerful family, a kind of triangle with a circle inside. Anyway, it is an old story which doesn’t make much sense and whose credibility has yet to be proven.”

Up until that moment James had been enthralled, and he could see his younger self in the tour guide and identified with him. He fully understood the enormous desire he had to pass on his knowledge. Nevertheless, he had never believed those kinds of stories. The vast majority had been invented by people who lived in huge cities to attract naive tourists, because those stories
stick
well among young people, and many people make a living from tourism.

His hands really do convey a great feeling of strength,
pondered James while he contemplated the statue one last time before leaving the gallery. It was time for lunch.

T
he taxi dropped him at the door of the house at four in the afternoon. Exhausted, he climbed the stairs, opened the door and made his way to the living room where he collapsed on the biggest sofa. It didn’t take him long to close his eyes, switch off his mind and find an agreeable position in which his stomach, battered by the amount of food he had ingested, wouldn’t suffer any more than necessary.

I’ll have to go for a run later,
he thought as he draped a blanket over himself.

The room was much colder than before. A strange dampness hung in the air, as if the windows had been left open all night. Unable to sleep, he went down to the cellar where he found the old boiler. The red pilot light was on, so it should have been working, but for some reason it was not giving out heat.

Wow, this is nice! A few days in this old house and without heating. This isn’t fair,
he grumbled over and over again.

The only option he had left was to use the huge chimney in the room. To do so, he would have to go to the forest to collect branches for a fire. He would be sure to call repairman to come out to fix the boiler later.

The forest was vast and overgrown. The sun’s rays had to fight their way through the treetops to provide enough energy for the smallest plants whose existence was endangered by the lack of sunlight. He remembered how he had gone to the mountains with his stepfather for a couple of nights when he was a boy - a vain attempt on his part to strengthen the father-son bond - nevertheless, the only things he had learned from that trip had been how not to set up a camping tent (it had fallen down in the night) and that only dry wood burned (after spending two hours trying to light a fire with damp logs).

Well, I think that should be enough.
In his arms he carried about a dozen branches of varying thicknesses and a good handful of tinder.

When he got to the living room, he dropped everything on the floor with no qualms about ruining it. It was clear that the walk had calmed him down. He crouched down beside the chimney, placing the tinder in the middle since he knew it would burn easily. On top he put the dry branches and lastly the timber, shaping it into a kind of pyramid which covered everything else. He took out a lighter and set fire to the tinder. The flames quickly engulfed the thinnest branches, which then spread to the logs of wood, creating a splendid fire.

Perfect. Let’s see if this warms the house up a little, because this sure is some hole I’ve rented.

Although the fire looked impressive, it wasn’t enough and soon afterwards he had to throw the rest of the wood on top to get it going again. The logical thing would be for there to be bellows at the side of the chimney, but this wasn’t the case. The only thing he found was an old dustpan, probably used to remove the ash when the embers died out. He took it and moved it like a fan, sweeping it from one side to the other. It was rather uncomfortable, but with a lot of effort he managed to revive the fire.

As he fanned the dustpan to and fro, he saw that it glimmered strangely as he brought it closer to the fire. How could this be possible if it was completely covered in soot? He carefully inspected the dustpan, cleaning it with the old cloth he had used to tie up the wood. His body suddenly froze when he made out a golden inscription on one of its faces.

My God! It can’t be!
But the engraving left no room for doubt. It was a triangle with a small circle in the middle and a jagged line which split it in half, running from top to bottom. Completely taken aback, he remembered the story the young man had related to the group of tourists in the museum that very morning:
All the pieces were said to be marked with a seal, a strange symbol, perhaps the coat of arms of a powerful family.
At that moment, his eyes were drawn to the chimney. He couldn’t possibly believe that such a ridiculous story could be true.

He gently touched the chimney, running his fingertips over the mantelpiece, examining it carefully. He was looking for something unusual, some kind of engraving, and at last he was able to make it out. In the middle of the marble, almost completely covered by dust and impossible to see at first, was carved the same symbol as on the dustpan.

He stepped back a few feet until he bumped into one of the sofas. He was completely shaken. His body trembled at the thought that Michelangelo could have been the expert hand behind those engravings.

For a few seconds all his college years flashed before his eyes, making him realize that he had never felt as satisfied as he did at that precise moment.

If the story was true, he would find a secret compartment hidden behind the symbol. But… what about the chest in the story? He glanced around, looking for something unusual. He found a kind of ottoman below the only painting which hung in that room, and which had until then escaped his attention. It seemed old and although it had lost a lot of its color, it had been kept in good condition. It could have been the chest in the story, but it didn’t have any lock. For a moment he thought about what could be inside it, but it was extremely heavy and he couldn’t lift it even a fraction of an inch. Before giving in and leaving it alone, he dragged it a couple of inches away from the wall, just enough to see the rear side. When he realized that there was a small lock which lay hidden on the back side, he was completely overcome with excitement.

Everything else fell away - his problems at work, his divorce - and an inner energy sprang to life. He stood just in front of the painting, his eyes flitting blankly between the chimney and his latest discovery.
There’s a secret compartment inside,
he reminded himself over and over again. The idea of destroying the chimney breast did not fill him with joy. How could he explain to the owner why he had smashed it to smithereens? They would think he was crazy, and have to have a new one fitted. But on the other hand… what if the story was true? Would it be worth the risk?

He tried not to think about it and searched for something sharp with which he could easily break it. There was a glint of determination in his eyes. When he couldn’t find anything, he ran down to the cellar and opened the toolbox he had seen the night before when he was checking out the house. He grabbed the first steel-tipped hammer he found and resolutely moved towards the chimney.