Turn

Within roughly an hour Gika had finished three paintings. The pace impressed me. She was fast, very fast, a skill that would certainly be useful in our upcoming art-test. The quality of the paintings, however, had clearly paid the price for this quick pace. Gika’s already quite impressionist art style became even less detailed under the pressure of time. The first painting was the most easily readable: a planet, which from the shape of the landmasses seemed to be neither earth nor this world, with the symbol for the fourth alchemical aspect, representing iron, sloth, patience and logic, drawn onto its surface. It seemed obvious that this represented the Fourth World, most likely Gika’s original home.

The second painting was harder to understand. Had Gika not been so skillful at drawing people, this painting would have surely been an unreadable mess. It depicted an individual, gray hair longer on one side than the other, wearing a mask clearly representing Gika’s face, be it a mouthless, short haired version of her. This mask was pushed against the person’s face by another figure, a woman with brown hair, standing behind them.

“Who are they?” I asked.

Gika pointed to the individual wearing the mask.

“Gika”

Then to the mask itself.

“I-u-ri-a”

And finally to the woman behind them.

“Mama”

After which she continued onto her final painting, which was the hardest to decipher. It showed some sort of structure, painted in yellows, aqua blues and light grays, with symbols representing six of the seven alchemical aspects surrounding them, lacking the aspect associated with this world, which represented pride, diligence, flexibility and mercury.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I can’t even understand what it is that you’ve painted, let alone interpret it.”

For a moment, Gika became lost in thought. biting on the tip of her brush’s handle, before snapping out of it and pulling on my shoulder, leading me outside. There, she pointed. I followed her finger with my eyes, leading my gaze to the tower of the Municipio, which I now realized was made out of six of the seven alchemical metals, excluding mercury.

“Wait… are you saying the Municipio has something to do with our reincarnations or something?”

“Tu na samaki.” She said, raising her shoulders to clarify her uncertainty.

If there really was something suspicious or weird going on with the Municipio, something that possibly had something to do with both Gika’s and my reincarnation, then it was certainly worth investigating. The best place to start would be…

I realized something.

“Is that… why you partake in the tests? Do you want to be an Uomo Universale to investigate up close?”

She nodded

“Soni ku!”

So that was why she participated. That was her reason. Her goal. My thoughts began to wander.

Why did I take the tests?

Because I want to be an Uomo Universale.

Why?

Because then I’d be perf- no, that’s wrong. Because then everyone would think I was perfect. My father, my siblings, they would look up to me. My mother would talk to me!

Why?

I didn’t know. Because everyone had told me that was what I was supposed to do. In my past life, I was a failure. Surely, if I did everything right this time, people would like me. I’d like myself. But I was lying to myself again. This was the easy route, the path for cowards. I don’t know what has happened to Gika. I don’t know why she can’t speak Magranpolian, yet can understand everything I say. I don’t know how she’s connected to mom. But whatever the case may be, it sure doesn’t seem like the easy option, and yet she’s moving towards this goal with unparalleled confidence and determination. The path I’d have to walk, I realized, was helping her reach her goal. Together, we would find the truth.

“If you paint like you normally do,” I said, “there is not even a miniscule chance that you’ll pass the art-test. If you’re serious about all of this, about becoming an Uomo Universale, you’re going to have to learn the rules of proper painting.”

Gika answered with a quick nod and a determined grunt. We re-entered the studio.

“Rule number one,” I explained, “is that your first priority should always be realism. You are judged on your ability to accurately represent reality, not your creativity.”

I paused to observe Gika’s reaction, She was attentively listening, signaling for me to continue.

“The second rule,” I continued, “is that your works must always contain at least one human, who faces the painting’s viewers. There is a trick to drawing them. During the sketching phase, you-”

How did my art teacher do it again? I was sure it was buried somewhere in my memories, but where? I cursed the younger me for not paying attention to my tutor’s lessons. I let out an overly long ‘uhhh’ before being shut up by Paolo, who came towards us from the other side of the room.

“Ya shouldn’t listen to him,” he said, “he couldn’t even draw a decently proportioned stick-figure under threat of death! Here, let me show ya both how professionals paint!”

He began to fill-up the empty canvas, painting a portrait of me and Gika while explaining every step.

“You really are an expert I said,” I said, trying to mask the surprise in my voice, “I’m surprised you aren’t some famous painter.”

“I used to be,” he said, “far before yer time. Had some high payin’ clients too. Even painted some of the murals in the Municipio, if ya can believe it. But not anymore. These days I just paint for myself and… well…”

He fell silent.

“Maybe you could sell some of your old paintings as antiques,” I said, “you know, given your age.”

“Tch. I teach ya, and let ya use my studio and supplies, and this is how I’m repaid? Unbelievable!"

I snickered.

“I’m just teasing,” I said, “just teasing.”

He scoffed, muttered something about respect for your elders under his breath, and we continued. Usually art lessons felt like a slog, every second stretching to an eternity, but with Gika and Paolo, time raced by, and before I knew it night had fallen over the city. It was then that I made a terrible realization:

I’d promised my father that I’d be back four hours ago.