Free Into the Lion's Den by Tionne Rogers Page A

starting to appreciate art?”
    “No way, I said it looks really good. Tatiana will be pleased and leave me alone for some months.”
    “So he stays for lunch?”
    “It seems so. I think he got a tea and is working with the pencils you gave him and a pad. According to one of the men, he looked at it in awe for almost twenty minutes. Your finances can be glad if he's like that.”
    “Not if he wants a Tamayo for his birthday.”

Contrary to his expectations, the lunch was not only for Constantin—who greeted him briefly—and Oblomov, but two State Secretaries, a very well known banker and two industrials, desperately seeking cash from Constantin…
    and a lot of cash in Guntram's opinion. He kept his gaze fixed on his dish, almost not touching the food or drinking the wine, so embarrassed he felt to be there. Oblomov tried to engage him in a conversation but he couldn't utter more than five words in a sentence, so he soon lost interest and dedicated all his attention to the politicians and a mining project in Patagonia.
    Guntram thought that he could escape when the lunch finished at 2:00, but it was a short lived hope as Oblomov told him to wait for him in his office.
    He was surprised to see Constantin coming instead of Oblomov and he stood up very nervously.
    “Hello Guntram, I'm glad you followed my advice.”
    “Please Mr. Repin, I don't want to discuss this with you.”
    “Why?”
    “My reasons are mine.”
    “Why are you so formal? Did you not quit your work and finish the portrait? I was not expecting you could finish it and I must admit that it's good. Oblomov is satisfied too. Now, would you drop the rebel teenager act and discuss business with me?”
    “We have no business to discuss, sir. I only brought the painting.”
    “Why don't you accept a scholarship from my foundation? We have more than one thousand five hundred applications each year and we grant two hundred only and most of them will turn into mediocre artists. I think you show a lot of potential but for some reason you're afraid of painting. Why is that?”
    “I have to make a living. I don't have much space to play the artist. I can't afford to lose money or time.”
    “Why? Going to Europe now would only cost you a month or two in your life. If we consider a life expectancy of seventy-five, then is less than 0.2% of your life. Not much to decide if you would like to do it or not. I can't understand why you prefer the grey life of an accountant or the parish prude when you could be a good artist. If you're looking for security in your life, study Art History and become an expert and live from that. Do you have any idea how much an art commissar in London or an arts dealer makes? Much more than a poor clerk in a bank. However I don't think that money is the issue here. It's something much deeper.”
    “I truly don't want to speak about it.”
    “That's not very reasonable, Guntram. Satisfy my curiosity and I'll leave you alone.”
    “Painting is the problem,” Guntram mumbled.
    “I was under the impression that you liked it.”
    “Too much… I fall into it and everything ceases to exist… The last time my father was in Argentina, I was seven years old and he had brought me a pencil case. I was with him at his flat and we were together. He was speaking very upset over the phone with someone, I don't know who, in French and he asked me to sit and draw something to carry with him. I did it and I lost track. I never knew when he left the house to take his plane back to Paris. The nanny told me he had kissed me and took my drawings with him, but I didn't realise. He was dead one week after and I couldn't say good-bye to him.”
    “How did he die?”
    “Suicide, jumped out of a window.”
    “Perhaps he didn't want to say good-bye to you and wanted that his last image of you would have been his son doing what he loved most. It's not your fault what he did. He might have serious reasons to do it.”
    “Yes it was. My mother died in