work of art

by chuck leary

“that is awful, godfrey, simply awful. i am sorry, but i can not allow you to hang that thing in my house.” godfrey smiled tolerantly. he had had these arguments with jocasta before. and in the end she always gave in, though each time a little less graciously than the time before. the painting godfrey had purchased at the street fair was about three feet wide two feet high, larger than most he had bought, and depicted four figures seated around a small campfire beside a railroad track. the four figures were a sad clown, a gypsy violinist, an aging ballerina, and a waif with enormous eyes. “it is bad enough,” said jocasta, “ that you bring home pictures with any one of these things, but all four in a single one - does it have a name? the apocalypse of philistinism, perhaps? the four horsemen of kitsch?” “come now, my dear, it is only a picture. maybe it is not a work of art by the so-called standards of your high and mighty know it all long nosed muckety muck friends, but i know what i like and i like it. i will hang it in my own room. what harm in that, eh?”” “perhaps it is just as well,” jocasta replied, “it is a long road that has no turning, but the hour has come round at last. i am afraid i must ask you to leave, and never show your foolish face here again. and to go quietly, unless you wish to bring in lawyers, whom i can afford and you, of course, can not.” “you want me to leave?” godfrey asked. “immediately. and take your picture with you.” “but i have not had my lunch yet.” “here is five dollars. get yourself a pastrami sandwich at that corner deli you are so fond of.” * godfrey left the city behind, and began walking down a dusty road. he walked and walked. he came to the railroad tracks. the clown, the gypsy violinist , the ballerina, and the waif were sitting around a little fire heating up a can of spinach, and they looked up as godfrey approached. godfrey showed them the painting. “sorry, guys,” he said, “i tried, but it just did not work out.” “damn!” exclaimed the gypsy, “and we all put so much time and effort into it.” “oh!” cried the ballerina, “what is to become of us now? we will never get back to our own planet.” the clown began to weep. “it is all so sad,” he sobbed. “so sad.” “i am sure godfrey did his best,” the waif said, fixing them all with her big eyes. “we will just have to suck it up and soldier on. quitters never win, and winners never quit.” “i’m tired,” godfrey said, “that was a long hard road.” he propped the painting up against a rock and sat down beside the others. “would you like some spinach?” the ballerina asked him. “it’s nice and hot.” “no thank you,” godfrey answered, “i had a sandwich on the way over.” “i hope it was tasty,” the clown sniffled. “it was all right,” godfrey answered. “i needed all my strength to get out here, that’s why i ate the whole thing myself.” "now, now," said the ballerina. "let's not fight." the sun began to set. the gypsy began to play.