This is based on a true story of a curator at the Louvre Museum in Paris, who gave up his job because the Mona Lisa gave her best smiles only to the visitors and never to him.
6.25am. The man’s shining black shoes tapped on the ground. He loped down the pathway and through a park. He turned and glared at the grass. He kept strictly within the boundaries of the path.
She doesn’t love you
… a shrill voice whispered. The man stopped. He glanced round but there was no one. He hurried on. He slowed as he reached the front of the grand museum. The glass pyramid shone and he blinked at it, his eyes not seeing, looking through and beyond it.
He entered the cream room. It was drab but suitable. There was a desk and a security guard. He fixed his curator badge, walked around the desk and through the door. The guard stared at his back until the door shut.
The man rolled his shoulders as he walked around the gallery. He saw ostentatious portraits, framed with gold. He turned to the glaring eyes and bared his teeth. He spun round, locking eyes with each.
We’re always here.
Blood and burning!
Save Your Soul.
He knows nothing!
He IS nothing!
Failure.
Pitiful, tiny man!
He clasped his head and stared at the marbled floor. He focused on the details while the voices faded. His shadow flickered and he backed away from it. He leant against a wall and dug his nails into his hands. He took a breath and stepped into the next room. He sighed and became calm.
He straightened himself, walked to the cloth barrier and stared at the oak window. He stared through and saw her, his love. Trapped behind bullet proof glass.
She sat almost sideways on, her left hand casually draped over her right, her elbows resting on either side, only her top half visible, her whole presence dripping calm and quiet over him. Her veil, her rich brown hair and deep shadows framed her smooth face. Behind her, rivers, paths and icy mountains lined the faint horizon. An insignificant bridge the only sign of human presence. She was beautiful. A goddess captured in a place of peace, frozen in the past. As long as she was still, nothing moved. Over 500 years there but not a day over 24. The ideal woman. She had no eyebrows, but that was the fashion.
‘I love you,’ he whispered. He loved her smile. That was why he came every day, to stand and bask in it. A tear seeped from his eye.
Then the visitors arrived and a change stole across his love. It was a new smile, a better one. The smile he got was a trickle compared to the flood that she bestowed on every one of these people. He nearly broke down, but only stood there, while his heart cracked and splintered.
I told you, she doesn’t love you.
She never has and never will.
Run, now.
But he just stood, a granite gargoyle. Everyone filtered out until it was only him. 6:35pm. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. And he felt her weak, gap-toothed grin. ‘I love you,’ he repeated. Her smile slowly ebbed away.
‘Do you love me?’ he asked. The reply echoed through every corner of the empty museum, a cacophonous silence.
He turned to face her. ‘Lisa Del Giocondo!, I love you.’ He listened and heard the reply, a silence falling on the granite heart of his chest.
Run
Save your soul
I see you!’
Blood and Burning.
Pathetic little man.’
Run!
And he ran. Uneven steps skittering like pebbles through the air. He ran past the guard at the desk and hurled his badge down. The guard gave an odd smile – to the blank space. ‘It was just a matter of time,’ he said.
