arts, literature

Mei-Yun Boswinkel: It’s the Little Things

Eighteen young Flemish and Dutch authors drew inspiration from the collection held by the Mauritshuis in The Hague. They looked at seventeenth-century paintings through the lens of an alternative history which they then brought to life in short but powerful texts. In this short story by Mei-yun Boswinkel, inspired by The Young Mother by Gerrit Dou from 1658, a painter creates his own version of reality. ‘Please keep still now’

It’s the Little Things

Exactly one week in advance I receive another letter, a list in bullet points of all his requests for the portrait session. She is his first point. He calls her that one fair lass, can she be there that afternoon, does she have lace to wear? And as for the animals, can we place them in direct light? Just so I can put a highlight in their eyes. At the bottom of the page, he asks after me. Whether my face is any better.

I find her in the kitchen. She is sitting at the table with the sea bass. She has removed the guts, placed them on the porcelain dish like a shiny hair ribbon. As soon as she spots me, she briefly inclines her head, as is proper.  
  ‘Ma’am?’ she says.  
  ‘The other girls tell me that you don’t like the idea of posing.’ 
She uses the filleting knife to make incisions in the flank. She says nothing. Somewhere something is dripping. It comes from the corner where the slaughter table is. A hare hangs upside-down over a basin, its throat cut. Blood seeps down its nose.  
  ‘I thought he was going to paint just you and your daughter?’ Her voice is louder than usual. She lets go of the knife, which stands up straight in the sea bass’s side.  
  ‘Why does he insist on lace?’  
  ‘You’ll wear what you always wear.’ I grab the knife before it slides away and lay it down flat in front of her.
‘What’s befitting for you.’  

He wrote that I should put the infant girl on her back in the cradle. In her eyes, too, I’d like a little highlight. She makes a gurgling noise and glares at me when I lift her off her stomach and turn her on the pillow.
  ‘Just one hour,’ I say as I tuck her in again. ‘We’ll hold him to his word.’  

He peers at me over the edge of his easel. 
  ‘Will your face stay that way?’
  ‘According to my midwife, swelling is normal. It’s a phase, it will pass.’
  ‘And the scratch on your cheek?’
  ‘Don’t you get scratches?’
  The door opens behind him. He turns his back to me, observes her. She enters the chamber in her red linen bodice and work apron, her gaze downcast and her back bent like a comma, even when she kneels beside the infant’s cradle.
  ‘Don’t be shy,’ he tells her. ‘Why don’t you look straight at me with those beautiful blue eyes. A bit of a smile please, not too much, no teeth. And you…’  His eyes slide across my face. ‘Why don’t you look out of the window.’
  ‘I’d rather look at my daughter.’
  ‘In that case, could you cover your cheek with your hand?’
  I wrap the loose end of my embroidery around my finger and produce a smile for the little one.
  ‘Fine,’ he manages to utter, ‘but this calls for adjustments on the canvas.’
  ‘What needs adjusting?’
  ‘A few little details that will benefit the overall picture. Please keep still now.’

• deBuren
• Gerrit Dou
• Mauritshuis