The Painting

Marvellous buildings of stone mark the boundary between sea and land. Their orange colour, amplified by the midday sun, bestows the city with the vibrancy of a hot fire and stands in stark contrast to the turquoise blue of the sky and water. The tall buildings reach right to the edge of the cliffs, so they appear even more monumental from the perspective of the sea, where a little boat is approaching the dancing colours of the coastal city. The sailors on board wonder whether they may join the dance. 

Their journey has been tedious, and the sailors excitingly prepare to dock at the port. One of them – he is not actually a sailor, rather a passenger who paid with labour – is unable to avert his eyes from the grand scenery before him. The magnificence of it all, the strangeness of it, relieves his tired heart, which has known nothing but routine tasks and well-known faces. He feels that his adventure has finally begun. 

Despite the grandness of the city, the dock is small. The tall cliffs carry on along the coast far beyond the outer areas of the city and thus, the small strip of sand south-east is the only possibility of docking. Merchant ships must follow a thoroughly timed schedule created by the merchant’s council, otherwise it would lead to frequent congestions. If a merchant ship does not arrive within the given time slot, it must either wait, in case they’re early, or carry on, in case they’re late. Fortunately, the little boat carrying our sailors was not officially a merchant ship, although it did carry some goods of high demand, which they would sell in secret. It easily fit into an empty spot right next to the edge of the cliff and the man, who was only temporarily part of the crew, eagerly jumps onto the hot sand, heading straight to the steep set of stairs. As there is no gradual slope upwards, people must climb the almost vertical steps that have been carved in the stone. People here call them “the edge of the world”. Despite their proximity with the sea, the city folk, aside from merchants and sailors, rarely go anywhere by boat. So, when anyone talks of going to the little port far below, it is common to hear: ‘You’re going down the edge of the world?’. It says much about their pride.

Our man is already halfway up the edge of the world, when he hears the first sounds of the busy city. The late afternoon sun has changed the hue from a vibrant orange to a light red and has left the edge of the world in a cold shadow. Hastily he walks up the last stairs but his exhaustion from the climb is immediately forgotten when he glimpses the first city folks. So strangely dressed are they, so different from himself, he feels almost ashamed of his humble clothes. Just like the stone of the buildings throughout the day, the people are dressed in all the colours of the sun. Yellow, orange, red, white, as well as shades of brown. After admiring the first few passersby, he finally takes in the architecture from such proximity and is astonished at the size of the buildings when one stands right at their feet. The stone does not give away their old age.

He finds his way through the first alleys without difficulty. He has read much about this city, admired paintings of its architecture and maps of its infrastructure. His first destination was already decided within a few nights of his sea voyage: The old palace. Not only is it the most magnificent structure of the city, but there is also a dense marketplace which offers only the finest of things. The market is what he anticipated the most. 

After turning a few more corners, he comes to the main street which leads directly to the old palace. The most striking houses are here on the main street. One of them is the house of the merchants’ council, which towers above the surrounding area. Three arches, almost half the size of the entire building, make up the entrance to the main door. A red and mighty door that signals the seclusion and prestige status trade has in this city. He goes on, past the many resident houses, which were available only to people with a large fortune. For the maintenance of the interior and exterior was of utmost importance and part of the owner’s responsibility after purchase. As he keeps walking, the crowd of pedestrians thickens, meaning that he would arrive at the market soon. He catches sight of the city’s notorious hotel. Three decades ago, the detested mayor attended an event and, right in the middle of his speech to the other guests, was decapitated by the hotel’s owner, who was a very proud and entitled man. Although the whole city was unhappy with the mayor’s decisions the years before and his ignorance towards pressing issues, the hotel owner’s brutal act of violence was ill-received and he was subsequently banished from the city through a vote. Despite losing some of its good reputation, the hotel’s fine building and renown service still attracted many visitors. It even turned the room where the decapitation incident took place into an attraction for travellers. 

As the sun is setting, the savoury smell of freshly cooked foods hangs in the air. The representative dish of the city is a pastry, filled with minced meat, dried fish and various steamed vegetables. The man hurries past a view more people when he finally arrives at the marketplace. Wooden stalls and tents fill the town square, arranged in straight lines. Luckily, the first alley he came to is the one where most of the food stalls are. He strides along closely to admire the delicacies he has never tasted before and gives in to some of the vendors to try at least a bite of the freshly caught, grilled bream, long-ripened goat cheese and roasted nuts. Eventually, he finds the famous pastry and eats three of them since all the excitement and running has made him very hungry. 

After his meal, he walks through the other alleys and buys a few goods. He even sees two of the sailors in a heated debate with one of the stall owners, most probably arguing over the sales price of what they brought. He aimlessly continues along the marketplace and appreciates the night view of the palace. When he eventually averts his eyes, he sees a woman, elegantly dressed in red. She turns into another alley of the market, and he unconsciously follows her. She disappears behind curtains of a bigger tent and the man realises where he has come to. This area of the market was not to satisfy hunger or material needs; here, one can find pleasure in the arms of a woman. He didn’t intend to come to the pleasure tent, but he was intrigued by the woman he saw and followed her. Inside, a pungent smell of human sweat and aromatic oils meets his nose, and he discovers that the tent is separated into several rooms, inviting anyone to join. He walks past all the rooms, glimpsing the actions that take place inside and finds an empty one at the very back of the tent. Curiously he steps inside and examines the room.  Its atmosphere is cosy and most of the furniture is a dark mix between brown and red with little yellow details. There is a table in the middle with curious things on top. 

A noise behind him makes him turn around and he sees the woman from before drawing the curtains shut. She turns and approaches him, holding his eyes firmly with her own. She stops half a meter in front of him and says nothing. She only smiles and shows her face from all angles. It has been a while since the last time he has been with a woman and her elegant, yet authoritative demeanour sparks an excited nervousness in him. It is obvious that she is evaluating him, but he doesn’t know what she expects. All that he knows to do is look. He looks at her long brown hair, her provocative eyes and the redness of her cheeks. Slowly, she withdraws from him, leaving the air before him empty and cold. But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she walks towards the bed on her right and stops before it, facing him. The golden details on her red robe begin to sparkle as she unties it. He sees it slip over her shoulders, slowly revealing her soft skin...

*

‘Dear visitors. Our museum is closing in 15 minutes. Thank you for your visit. We hope to see you again soon’. The melody of the announcement rang one more time before quiet returned to the exhibition hall. He looked about him and noticed that there was no one left except him. He took one last glance at the painting in front of him, considering the orange stone, the little boat before the port and the high cliffs with the city on top. What would it be like to travel there? He averted his eyes and walked solemnly back to the entrance hall. He grabbed his bag and umbrella from the locker and made his way out. It was still raining. As he was about to open his umbrella, he spotted the bus coming around the corner. Neglecting his umbrella, he ran through the rain and made it just in time to stick his hand through the closing door. The bus door opened again, and he stepped in. Going home.