NO MAN AN ISLE
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Chapter 6
For several afternoons, Don was not to be found. Each time he returned to the house he would mumble something about having gone for a walk if his absence was mentioned. Early one evening on a walk of their own Kurt and Erik came upon him seated on the peak of a small dune doing a pencil sketch. He fumbled with the pad, but not before they saw a drawing of the dunes, sea, and lone gnarled oak.
"Come on, Don, let's see it." Erik demanded.
He handed over the pad with reluctance. The work was far beyond anything Erik had expected. "This is really good. Why didn't you tell us you were an artist?"
"It's nothing special. I just like doing it. When I draw, I can sit here and think about things."
Erik flipped through the pad. There were drawings of the house, the station, the surrounding area, and one sketch of Kurt, seated on the deck, a far-away look in his eyes, as Erik had seen him many times. "This is perfect." He passed the pad to Kurt.
"It's just a study I tried. It's not too good." He stood up and held out his hand for the pad, then joined them on their walk back to the house.
"Have you ever painted?" Erik asked.
"A little. One of the schools I went to had art classes, but I never had the stuff I needed."
After Kurt had gone into the house, Erik begged Don for the sketch of Kurt, but nothing would induce him to part with it. "Do me a copy, then."
"Maybe."
Nor could Kurt cajole Don into putting up any of the sketches for them to enjoy. "I'll let you when I have one I think is good enough."
Erik came in the next Friday, an enigmatic smile on his lips. At dinner, Don's eyes widened in delight as he opened the wooden case that lay in his chair and saw the tubes of oils, a selection of brushes.
"Oh, wow! Thanks, Erik. I've wanted all this a long time."
"There's a price on it."
"What?" Asked Don, suddenly suspicious.
"That sketch you promised me. I'm holding you to it."
"I'm not sure I can do it; in oils, I mean."
"Try anyway. Knowing you did it will be enough."
"Would you like a place in the library to work?" Kurt offered.
"Not yet. Once I learn, I might."
"Wherever you want to work is okay, but I hate to think of your being alone in your room when Erik and I are down here. I thought you might want to be with us."
Don spent several hours each day in his room. Kurt did not disturb him, for he knew the room would be spotless, all of the boy's things in precise order. Kurt's acceptance of him had only increased his propensity for order, for he cleaned to an almost fanatical extent. The first time Don had helped clean the house after finishing in the yard, it occurred to Kurt that he was almost like a nag of a wife. He had shuddered at the thought, but Don found things that needed attention, even before Kurt was aware. He never mentioned money.
After the boy had wistfully said he wanted to stay, Kurt stopped keeping a record of the hours of work and opened an account for him at the village bank, making a deposit each month. Don had accepted the passbook in his solemn manner and placed it in his dresser drawer without opening it.
"Come on out," Kurt called from the deck as he heard the door open, knowing it was Erik.
"Hi. Don still playing the hermit artist?"
"I guess so. He spends part of each day with his painting."
Erik stopped at the foot of the stairs on his way to the kitchen. "Don, you want a drink with us?"
"In a minute."
They were well into their second drink when Don appeared. "I think I'm ready to show you something. I know it isn't good, but it's the first one I've done in oil." He held out the canvas.
"Isn't good? It's perfect!" Erik yelled.
The quality of the work astounded Kurt. Every line, shadow, coloration of the shingled Coast Guard station had been captured, yet there was a misty quality, a slight blurring as though the scene had been viewed through a light fog. Don's work well exceeded that of an amateur.
"Let's call the chief, Kurt; I know he'd like to see this. You've enough for dinner, haven't you?" Erik asked.
"Of course. I'm glad you thought of it."
The chief spotted the painting the minute he came into the library. "There's been a rash of paintings made o' the station in my day, but of them all, save one, I like yours best." The chief dropped his huge hand on Don's shoulder. "That's the way I see it, too, sometimes. Sort of like a dream, but I've seen it look exactly like that when there's some fog." A far-away look came into his eyes. "I want to show you something, son. Kurt, we got a half hour or so before dinner?"
"Certainly. We can eat any time you wish."
"Don and I are going to the station. We'll be back before too long."
Kurt and Erik stared at each other as the chief and Don went out.
Don pulled out the chair and switched on the desk lamp, while the man went into his quarters. He returned shortly with a slender artist's folio. He untied the cord, laid it in front of Don, then took a seat on the other side of the room. Each watercolor and sketch had much the same quality as the ones Don had done. The watercolor of the station was virtually identical to Don's painting save for a finer degree of detail and professionalism in its execution. Don studied the work quietly. When he had gone over each with care, he closed the folio and retied the cord, finally looking at the chief. "Did you do these, sir?"
"No," the man replied softly. "They were done some years ago by my son. These are all I have of his. The rest were sold before he died."
"It's beautiful work."
"I like to think so. Your painting of the station was so like his I wanted to share these with you." His voice choked.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't say anything about these, Don. I haven't felt like letting anyone see them before."
"I won't. Could I study them again sometime?"
"Perhaps."
They had been gone well over an hour, but neither of them said anything to relieve the curiosity of Kurt and Erik. Dinner and the rest of the evening were quieter than usual, Don and the chief being particularly introspective.
"I thank you fer dinner, Kurt. I'd best be underway."
Don picked up the painting and held it out to the chief. "Would you like to have this, sir? At least 'til I can do a better one for you."
"I wouldn't want a better one." Holding the painting out of the way, the chief awkwardly hugged Don. "Thank you, son."
"I hope you don't mind, Kurt, but I wanted the chief to have it. I'll do another one for you." Don said after the chief had taken his leave.
Kurt realized that something extraordinary had transpired between Don and the older man during their time at the station. "That was kind of you, Don. I don't mind because I could see it had special meaning for him. Do one large enough to go over the fireplace."
For the next couple of weeks, Don spent much of his time shut away, painting. 'At last,' he thought, stepping back from the easel. Anyone who had known him a few months before would hardly have recognized the face: the tautness gone; the gray eyes content, without a hint of the pain they had mirrored; the lips hinting at a smile which had been absent. It was Kurt, as Don knew him. The painting off to the side was of the station similar to the one he'd given the chief, but it was the portrait that worried him. He owed it to Erik, yet, he was apprehensive of Kurt's reaction. Would he mind that it had been painted, that he had done it for Erik? He decided to give it to Erik quietly. He carefully picked up the landscape and carried it to the library.
Kurt nodded approval. "It's excellent, Don. Let's get it framed and hang it."
"I'm sorry about the first one. I hope this makes up for it in some way."
"Don't be. We all think highly of the chief, but I'm glad to have something of yours to hang. I hope it makes you feel this is your home, too, the way I felt when I finally got my things here."
"I don't need anything. It's the way you make me feel about it."
When he and Erik reached the top of the stairs on their way to bed, Don motioned for him to come into his room. "I tried."
Erik studied the portrait in silence for some time, finally pulling his eyes away and looking at Don with a wondering expression. "You see him like I do, don't you?"
"You feel that way about him? I only painted what I know."
"Until I met Kurt, I was always in trouble. I don't have any family, nothing. If it wasn't for him, I hate to think what might have happened to me. Is it the same for you?"
Erik found answer in Don's expression. He sat down beside him on the bed draping an arm around his shoulders. With his other hand he reached out, his long fingers closing over the stump of Don's arm. "How'd this happen?"
Don's eyes bored into his. "Kurt didn't tell you about me?"
"No more than how he picked you up and brought you here."
Don felt a surge of love for Kurt's trust. "That's about all he knows. I never told him much of anything else, and he never asked. I know how close you are, so I guess you ought to know."
His reluctance came through to Erik. "Don't, if it's going to bring back bad memories. I was just curious."
"It's okay, it won't change what happened. This is the first time I've ever been really happy, and that's because of Kurt and you and the chief. I was in foster homes until I ran away because the guy beat me. That's when Kurt found me.
I guess I ought to begin at the beginning. Before I came here I went to the town where I was born to try to find out something about my folks. They wouldn't tell me anything at the social service office and I didn't push any because I was afraid they'd find out I'd run away and send me back. But I found the old lady who got me in the first foster home. She remembered me because of my hand. I guess maybe it was because she was old, but she talked a lot." His anguished expression tore at Erik. "I wish I hadn't found out. My mother was a whore. I guess she couldn't get enough money for an abortion and she didn't have no idea who got her pregnant, so she was stuck with me. The old lady said it all came out in court. Somehow she had got a copy of the transcript and showed it to me.
"The people who lived in the other apartments said they had to call the cops a lot, because she'd be out tricking and leave me alone when I wasn't even six months old. Anyway, one of them said he saw her when she brought a merchant seaman back to the apartment. She had left the door open, so he saw her change my diaper to stop me from crying. Then he said the seaman picked me up and I started screaming. It must have pissed him off something terrible, because he ..." the tears which had been rising in Don's eyes streamed down his face, "he threw me down on a table and yelled, 'I'll give you something to scream for, you little bastard.' He took some kind of a big knife and held my hand down and cut it off." Don choked with sobs.
Erik's face drained of blood, turning white, then purple with fury. "God damn him," he murmured prayerfully, hugging Don tightly.
Comforted, Don continued. "The cops had already been called and they got there just as he did it, so I didn't lose much blood before they got me to the hospital. That's why I got sent to a foster home. The people at welfare got me the hook later on." He pushed away from Erik's embrace and held up the handless arm. "Now you know. I ... I wish the cops had got there sooner."
"Oh, God, Don, I'm so sorry. I thought maybe you'd been in some kind of accident. I ... I can't believe anybody would do that kind of thing to a baby." Erik mumbled, still in shock.
"I'm glad you know. Maybe now you understand why I was so scared of you at first."
Erik stared at him. "Why were you scared of me? I could tell from the way Kurt looks at you how much he thinks of you."
"It's just that you're so damn big, and you're a seaman like he was. When I saw how mad you get when things don't go right, I thought if I pissed you off you might hurt me, too."
"Oh, shit," Erik growled and hugged Don again. "There's no way I'd hurt you, babe. You aren't still afraid of me, are you?"
"No, that was just at first. Most of it was because you're so big, but partly it's the way you looked at me sometimes, like you were looking right into my head and reading my thoughts. It was scary."
Erik looked surprised, then thoughtful. "I ... I guess you're right, Don. It wasn't like I could read your thoughts, but I could see you didn't have much of a life before Kurt found you like he did me. I guess I was jealous. I was afraid he'd be more interested in you than me. I couldn't believe the love he gave you wouldn't take away from the love he gave me. Now I know he loves us equally. I love you, too, Don. I know I still don't have much control over my temper and I'm usually sorry later, but I'd never hurt you. Kurt's taken that out of me. I owe him everything."
"So do I. There's no way I can do anything for him like he's done for me."
"There's one way, Don. Try not to ever disappoint him. He's so proud of you. If anybody tried to hurt him, I'd kill 'em." He picked up the portrait.
"You think we should show it to Kurt?" Don asked. "I mean, do you think he'll mind?"
"I'll show it to him at breakfast, because I want to have it framed and hang it. Thanks, Don. This means a lot."
Erik put the portrait in his room and went back downstairs to Kurt's room. Kurt laid aside the book he had been reading and looked at him. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Why didn't you tell me about Don?"
"I've told you most of what I know. Besides, it's none of your business. If he's told you, that's fine, but he has as much right to privacy as you or I."
"Well, he told me," Erik snapped, "and I'd like to kill the son-of-a-bitch that hurt him. I thought I had it bad, but my life was heaven beside what he went through." He related Don's story and asked, "What can we do for the kid?"
"There's no way we can make up for what's happened in the past, but we can do just what we've been doing, love him, guide him, and give him a chance to make something of himself. You might try being a little more gentle with him; you still scare him sometimes."
Erik dropped his eyes. "He told me. If I do it again, yell at me."
"I don't think I'll need to yell. Just be sure that you don't go overboard and try to smother him, now that you know. He won't stand for it. It took weeks for him to reach out to me. You've seen how distant he can be, because a lot of it has been directed at you."
"I know."
"Good. Now, let's get some sleep."
Next morning, Erik brought the portrait down as they lingered over coffee. Kurt looked at it for some time before speaking. "You've flattered me a good deal."
"No way. It's how Erik and I see you."
He raised a finger to the now all but invisible scar. "You didn't include this."
"You can't hardly see it anyway. I painted you like your are, not like you see yourself. Do you care that I did it for Erik?"
"Not if you really wanted to. But now you must do one of Erik and one of yourself for me."
"A portrait of me! You trying to turn this into a house of horrors?" Erik burst out.
"No way. I wish I had a camera. I don't even have a photograph of either of you."
"I don't think I can. Do one of me, I mean." Don said.
"If you could do this, I know you can."
Erik reached for the portrait. "Will you let me borrow the Jeep? I want to go to Elizabeth City and get this framed. Why don't you and Don come with me."
"We might as well. I think I know a place where you can get good work, and I want to have the one of the station done. Don, help me make a list of the things we need. If we're lucky maybe they can frame them while we shop."
The three of them shopped, had lunch, and visited the regional museum. When they returned to the art supply shop the framed paintings were on display, several people admiring them.
"It must be for sale, otherwise you wouldn't have it here," snapped a well dressed lady, pointing to the painting of the station.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it was brought in for framing. If the work is original and good we like to place it there so people can see it," replied the clerk.
"Who painted it, then?
"I don't know. I never saw the men who brought it in before."
"I want it," she insisted.
Kurt, Don, and Erik overheard the exchange as they entered the shop.
"I'm sorry, madam, but the painting happens to be mine and it most definitely is not for sale." Kurt spoke politely, but firmly.
"Did you paint it? I couldn't quite make out the signature."
"It's by Don Warner."
"Has he other work?"
"Just this." He pointed to the portrait.
She looked at it and back to Kurt. "Why that's of you. It's lovely."
"Thank you."
"Would you happen to know if he has paintings for sale?"
"I don't believe so, but you may ask him." Kurt put his hand on Don's shoulder and drew him closer.
"You did these?" She asked in amazement.
Don nodded.
"I would have taken this for the work of someone much older. I collect art that appeals to me, and yours does. It has a primitive aspect that I like. Have you another painting of this life saving station?"
"No, ma'am."
"Would you consider doing one like this for me?"
"I ... I'm not sure." He appealed to Kurt with his eyes.
"Shall we say a seventy-five for one this size?"
"Can I have a minute?" Don pulled Kurt to one side. "What do you think?"
"It's a generous offer for a beginner. If you want to do it, go ahead."
"But what if she doesn't like it when I'm done?"
"You can't expect to succeed every time. Make it subject to her approval. If you decide to do it, you'd better get anything you need in the way of supplies while we're here."
"I'll do it, ma'am. If you don't like it when it's finished, you don't have to take it."
"You're very reasonable. May I ask where you live?"
"We live north of Duck near the life saving station in this painting," Kurt answered.
"Marvelous. I'll be at my cottage in Nags Head for the rest of the summer." She took a pen and note pad from her purse. "Let me give you my address and phone number there so you can reach me when you've completed it."
The clerk wrapped the paintings. "You should do more. She's the second person who's tried to buy the seascape since I put them out."
Back in the Jeep, Erik grinned at Don. "See, I told you you were good."
"Aw, it's just a hobby."
"Come on. You've just gotten your first commission if you don't count my bribing you."
"What do you plan to do for her?" Asked Kurt.
"Well, she asked for one like this. It looks like I'm going to get a lot of mileage out of the station, but I'd like to do something different. Can we go to some of the lighthouses sometime so I can sketch them."
"Why not tomorrow? We could take a picnic lunch and stay as long as you like."
"And it would give me a chance to take some shots. You might find them useful if you run out of ideas, Don," added Erik.
The chief was sitting on the deck when they arrived home. "Looks like you'd stay home once in a while so an old man could get a drink when he needs one."
"There was no need for you to wait, Chief. You should have gone in and helped yourself," Kurt said.
The man shook his head. "Ain't in the habit o' doin' that, but now you're here ..."
"Drinks coming up!" Erik said.
While Erik mixed drinks for them, Kurt told the chief of Don's success. A little embarrassed at the chief's praise, Don grabbed a Pepsi from the fridge and wandered off.
Kurt broke off what he'd been saying to the chief and Erik when Don dashed around the corner of the house, eyes wide. "I saw a horse!"
"There aren't any horses out here." Kurt said.
"I swear it was. It was out there by the water eating grass next to the fence."
The chief chuckled, drawing their attention. "I'm surprised you saw one. They don't usually get this far down. Most of the time they stay up around Corolla and Wash Woods. Must of been a young stallion got run out of the herd."
"Why would they run him out?" Don sat down on the top step and gazed at the chief in rapt attention.
"Them stallions is territorial. When the young ones start to challenge the old ones during season, the old ones run 'em off. The young one'll try to get some of the mares away and start a new herd."
"Where did they come from?" Kurt asked.
"Legend has it that they're descended from Arabian horses that survived a shipwreck back in the early eighteen hundreds. There's another herd down to Okracoke."
"I thought horses were real big, but this one wasn't." Don objected.
"I know. That's why most people call 'em ponies, but they really are horses. It's kind of like with people. We're a lot taller now than our forebearers were."
"Yeah," Erik added. "One time I went in a house built about eighteen forty and busted my head every time I went through a door." He looked at Don with a grin. "You'd still fit, Shorty."
Don ignored him, mind filled with the horse. "Can I try to catch him?"
The chief shook his head. "They're wild, son. They won't let you get nowhere near. It's best to let 'em be like God intended, beautiful free creatures, and enjoy seeing 'em when you can."
"You got your camera here, Erik?"
"Yeah. What'cha want?"
"Take his picture for me so I can paint him."
By the time they walked to the fence, the animal had disappeared. "That's okay. We can go up to Corolla sometime and see if we can find the herd and get a picture then. There's a nice lighthouse up there, too." Erik said to relieve Don's disappointment.
“I know. Heck, I haven't even seen it yet."
He liked to lie in bed at night seeing the darkness of his room pale each time the powerful beam passed over the house. He had gone to sleep many nights counting the seconds between the flashes.
To be continued...
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Posted: 07/25/08