Second Test

‘Chk!’ ‘Chk!’

The sound of something rattling the frame of my window. I didn’t investigate the cause of this sound. It was most likely unimportant anyways.

‘Chk!’

The sound continued. My curiosity grew, but I reminded myself that I had to maintain focus. If I failed the next test, my father would surely keep me locked in here for much longer, maybe even until the next chance to take the test. If I was kept here, I couldn’t help Gika, so I had to continue honing my skills, creating beautiful paintings that follow perfectly convention, over and over again until I could paint a satisfactory product within a short time-frame. For a few days now I had continuously painted here, in my candle-lit room, until I collapsed from exhaustion around the time morning came.

I heard another ‘Chk!’, this time followed by the creaking sound of my window opening. I finally turned around, shocked to see Gika standing in the open frame.

“Why are you here?” I stammered out in disbelief.

She held up a brush.

“You want me to teach you something?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” I said, “I like that you’re here, but can’t Paolo teach you?”

She joined together her thumb and index finger on both hands, creating two circles, which she put up to her eyes to imitate spectacles. Her face turned comedically sour, before talking in the deepest tone her gentle voice could muster:

“Tisoni ku! Tisoni ku! Pu pu pu pu pu pu.”

I began to snicker.

“Did the old man get fed up with you?”

Gika dropped the persona and answered:

“Soni ku!”

“Well then, what exactly did you have trouble with?”

She entered deeper into my room and retrieved the blue, red, yellow, black and white pigments, holding them up as an answer to my question. At Paolo’s studio, the old man already had a whole series of pre-mixed paints, but during the test we would only be allowed those five basic colors. Gika was never the most worried about finding the perfect hue, so mixing the exact colors that accurately match reality might have been a challenge for her.

“I can try to teach you, but given that we only have a few days left before the test it might be difficu-”

The door of my room swung open. It was my father, holding a new supply of blank canvases under his arms. He began to say something, but upon seeing an unfamiliar girl standing in the room, his shock took the words out of his mouth. He shook his head, processing the situation, before starting to speak:

“Who is this?” He asked.

“You- you see, th-this is-”

“Who is this?!”

“Gika.” Gika interjected.

“What in the ancestors’ names is she doing here?!” My father shouted at both of us.

“I was… helping her.”

“Helping her?! Helping her?! You should be studying instead of helping strangers!”

“She’s not a stranger.”

My father now turned to Gika specifically.

“Get out!” He shouted, “get out of my house and stop distracting my son!”

Gika’s face emanated fury, but she did not disobey him and walked backwards towards the window, going through and climbing down, my father slamming the window behind her.

“And you!” He said, turning to me again, “you’re not leaving my sight until the day of the test!”

I threw my gaze down at the floor.

“Yes father, of course.”

The rest of the week passed eventlessly. My concentration was greatly reduced when compared to the previous weeks, both because my father was constantly observing me which left me not even a moment of privacy, as well as my persistent hope that somehow Gika would appear once more and free me from this mind-numbing prison. She never came. Finally, the day of the test arrived. Contrary to last time, I did not go alone. Instead, I was escorted by my father, even into the hall where all the participants had been asked to gather, preventing me from interacting with Gika who was across the room. Me and my father were only separated once I was led into the examination-chambers, which contained two people: An older lady and a young man, sat at a lavishly set table, surrounded by easels holding empty canvases. Each participant stood or sat in front of one as the paints were being distributed. I glanced over at Gika. Unlike last time, anxiety visibly affected her. A voice rang through the room:

“Your six-hour examination period starts now!”

All across the room the soft sounds of brushes being dipped in paint, pencils sketching on canvases and strokes being painted could be heard. My own painting was coming along fine. As long as I kept focus, I could make steady progress. This did not last long, however, for my attention was hijacked by Gika, whose desperate eyes peered intensely in my direction. As I acknowledged her by making eye-contact, she nonchalantly tipped over her palette. Most of the colors were close, but not the exact right hues. I began to think. How could I help her? Two parts red, one part yellow and one part black: that was the most prominent color, given that it was the hue of both the chairs’ and table’s wood. I dipped my brush in the black paint, then held it up just above my canvas for Gika to see, followed by me tapping once with the back of the brush’s handle. I repeated this process again with yellow, then once more with red, though that time I tapped twice instead of once. Gika realized what I was signaling to her and began mixing. She showed her palette again, with this time a perfect dark-orange hue smeared upon it, nigh indistinguishable from the actual color of the wooden furniture. We continued, with me subtly pointing my eyes at one of the objects then instructing Gika on the exact right hues. My surroundings began to fade away, my own painting a foggy memory, and I couldn’t care less what my father thought about it.