Pablo's Wisdom

It caught her eye, winked at her, made her fall in love. She just had to add it to her collection. Right there, on the modest table, among all the other market stands was the vase. A beautiful, ethereal pale green jade vase. She stopped, carefully, almost reverently lifted it off the table, felt its weight, held it up to the light and knew it was hers.

Exploring, traveling, learning about cultures different from her own, attempting to master at least a few words of the language, as well as seeing the sights, comparing architectural styles and art, had been ingrained. She had traveled with her parents since she was a small child. Learning had been encouraged and expected.

She loved her consulting job mainly because it involved much travel. Those trips hadn’t always been roses and sunshine. There had been plenty of times when travel plans turned out to be just that, plans. Hype with not even a polite nod toward reality. Shifty drivers with rickety vans, ox carts instead of buses, barely clean hotels, dodgy food. Through it all she had learned to go with the flow, smile and calculate how many dollars it would take to get her out of this pickle.

Photography wasn't really her thing. Didn’t want to spend half her life behind a lens, but preferred to absorb the sights, the architecture, costumes, culture, and nature with her own eyes.

“When the time comes that I can’t remember where I have been.” She declared, often. “An old grainy photo won’t help me, but a beautiful item, a piece of art, I will enjoy my whole life.”  

Wherever she was, she much preferred to walk around with her eyes open, taking in all she could see, smell, taste and touch. Always skipping the souvenir stores, nothing as gawdy as ‘Greeting from Brighton’ for her. She’d much rather explore antiques shops or artisans’ ateliers. Maybe, now and then, she had been jibbed, maybe they, correctly, pegged her as a sightseer. She didn’t concern herself with that. As long as she valued what she had bought, it didn’t matter.

This long habit of bringing home at least one item, one artifact from each trip had accumulated into a large, be it eclectic collection of fine art and locally made pieces she felt were worth displaying. For instance, in Naples she found a miniature painting of Capri. The inlaid side table came from Mexico. The hand painted tiles in the kitchen back splash were from Greece. The crystal wine glasses were bought in Prague. The exquisite amber necklace came from Finland. The delicate soapstone sculpture had been made in Alaska. The silk shawl, shot with gold thread was hand loomed in India. She owned several pieces of opal jewelry she bought in Australia, on and on

On her most recent trip to Honshu, she had almost walked by the small stand in the market. Then backed up and stared. Surely, she had never seen anything like this vase. The elegant shape, the exquisite color. It had to be one of a kind. When she picked it up, stroked the warm stone, she was sold.

She couldn’t pass this up, could she? No, she couldn’t. Dutifully, she haggled with the shrewd vendor, though she was convinced she was robbing the old man. He carefully wrapped the vase in old newspaper and handed it to her.

Delighted with her unique find, she walked away. When she was well out of sight of the stall, the man reached under the table and put another, identical vase on display.

When she came home from her trip, she unpacked her treasures and carefully placed the vase in the middle of the low table in the center of the room. Each day when she came home, she would sit on her sofa and admire the vase.

Gradually she became aware that something was off.

It took weeks of experimenting. Placing the vase here, then there, up high, in this light or that corner. She added flowers, different greenery. Each time she put it back on her coffee table. She became more and more obsessed, trying to find the answer. How could one object she found so beautiful not fit in her room? Finally, she saw the answer. It was so obvious. How come she hadn’t seen it before? The room simply didn’t fit around the vase. The wall color clashed with the vase’s unique shade of jade green.

The next day she contacted a painting service. “I want the walls to be the exact color of this vase,” she explained.

“No problem, ma’am.” The painter assured her.

The job, painting the one room, was finished in a few hours. When she came home from work, she called the painter. “it’s not the right color. Please do it again.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Four, five times the painter came back, each time she wasn’t satisfied. Finally, the painter, utterly frustrated, at his wit’s end, called Pablo.

“I know you’re retired,” he said by way of apology. “But your eye for color is unsurpassed. I’ve done everything I know to satisfy her demand, but there is no pleasing her. I know, I know. The client is always right, but … Could you please help me out and match the wall color to the blasted vase. I’m losing money on this one room.”

“Sure,” Pablo would never admit it, but he was getting bored sitting at home. Surely his wife could manage one  morning without his supervision. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

The next morning, she was waiting for him. “They say you’ll be able to fix this problem for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.” He unloaded his tools while she stood by and watched. Before he started to mix his paints, he turned to her.

“I was wondering, ma’am. do you think you could get me a cup of coffee? I specifically like the coffee at that place on the other side of town, I don’t know what they do to make it special, but it’s unique.” He enthuses.

She shrugged. If he could make her room look just right, she’d go to Rio to get his coffee. Driving to the other side of town and back took her a little over an hour. When she finally returned with the cup of tepid coffee, Pablo had just finished and was washing his brushing and pans. While he loaded his supplies on the truck, she walked into the room, looks at the vase and the walls, back to the vase and smiled.

“You did it! You are a miracle worker. Oh, my! You are worth every penny.”

Pablo smiled, nodded, and as soon as he had finished loading his truck, he wished her a good day and drove off.

She gushed and praised Pablo to the painter who had recommended him.

Pablo’s phone rang a little later in the day.

“Tell me, what is your secret?” The painter begged. “Whatever you did, she’s ecstatic, can’t say enough wonderful things about you. How in the world did you finally match the wall to that vase?”

“Well,” Pablo answered thoughtfully. “Sometimes you have to paint the vase.”