Free Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love by Hillary Kanter Page B

panicked. I did not go to meet him. To gather my thoughts, I figured it best that I not see him. I was afraid for reasons that can, and cannot, be explained. I did not want to be the “hurtee” once again, but I did not want to be the “hurter” either. Vincent was fragile. And how would it affect his work if I continued this and broke his heart? I had been wrong. These encounters in the past could alter the future in ways I had never imagined. Maybe he would give up painting altogether, and how might that change the world of art if some of his best works were never created?
    I moved to an inn farther out in the country. I spent a lot of time walking, thinking about all that had happened. On the second evening, I returned to the inn at Arles. The innkeeper caught me as I was unlocking the door to my room.
    “This came for you, mademoiselle. Your friend, the painter, has been here three times asking if I knew where you were.” He wore a disapproving look.
    “Oh. Well, thank you very much. I am obliged.”
    I cast a suspicious look around the room, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary. The innkeeper shuffled back down the hall, and I tore open the envelope.
     
    Dear Ariel,
     
    Where have you been? Surely, you know the pain and the torture I have suffered not seeing you. Did I do something to offend you? I cannot understand what that might be. I have been in agony these past few days without you. I simply must see you.
     
    Gauguin arrived two days ago, just as you left for God knows where. I hope you get this letter. We will be at the Night Café, one block east of the Yellow House, at eight o’clock tonight. Please, I beg of you, please meet us there.
     
    Love,
    Vincent
     
    I felt badly that I had not sent word. I cared for him deeply. I could not have made love to him otherwise. But his emotional fragility worried me. He reminded me of a rare piece of porcelain left on a narrow ledge, so close to being knocked over and broken into a million pieces. Perhaps seeing him again would help me sort out my feelings.
    I decided to go meet Vincent and Gauguin. As I descended the inn’s front steps, something white caught my eye. It was an envelope on the ground, addressed to Theo Van Gogh, Vincent’s brother. Vincent must have dropped it accidentally when he came by to deliver his letter to me.
    I picked it up. It was not sealed. Why not take a peek?
     
    Dear Theo,
     
    Lately I have been in a cage of self-doubt and failure. This you know. I have no idea why we have unable to sell even one of my paintings. However, I have been painting nonstop and have a few new ones I will be sending soon. One I am calling “Starry Night,” as it is of a cypress tree seen against many stars in the night sky. I think it is a good painting, and hope you will agree.
     
    Thank you for the extra fifty francs. My greatest hope and desire is that one day my paintings will sell, making all your sacrifices for my sake worthwhile. I try to remain optimistic, though as we know, my health—which is fine right now—could turn at any moment. I have not had any recent attacks, and hope that will be the end of them. But I am far from believing I’m cured, as we all thought the last time I was in the asylum. Fortunately, with my art, I do not hanker after personal victory anymore. All I ask from my painting is a way of escaping life.
     
    Paul finally arrived, and I am glad you were able to sell a few of his canvases. I am happy he decided to visit.
     
    By the way, I met a woman. She is visiting from New York, and is very beautiful and kind. I will tell you more about her later.
     
    Love,
    Vincent
     
    These words presented a more complex picture of Vincent, and although I had an inkling all was not well with his health, I did not know he had recently been in an asylum. Historically, yes, I knew of his mental issues, but he was currently more unbalanced than I had surmised.
    What a pity that his world did not acknowledge a talent of such great