The Sculptor полностью

It was well after eight o’clock by the time The Sculptor finally sat down in the parlor with his lamb and his Brunello-the fire roaring, all but begging him for his Bacchus. And thus it was with no particular ceremony that The Sculptor threw the twisted log of plans into the flames-for his mind was already on his next sculpture. And there he sat alone for over three hours, eating his lamb and sipping his wine as the music from the library became a soundtrack for his thoughts-for what he imagined to be happening outside now that the world had received his Bacchus, and for what he imagined would happen in the future when the world received his next creation.

Soon, The Sculptor thought. Very, very soon.

His dinner done, his dishes washed, and the parlor clean, The Sculptor stepped out into the night-the cool April air popping his naked flesh into goose bumps as he made his way across the flagstone path toward the carriage house. He had not been back there since telephoning WNRI and communing with his Bacchus atop the mortician’s table. No, The Sculptor had wanted to prolong the anticipation of checking his technology until the very last minute, when he knew the totality of his exhibit would dominate the news. And as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, with every step The Sculptor’s heart beat faster and faster with excitement.

He entered the carriage house and immediately went for the computers. While they were booting, he turned on the television-Fox News, some blond lady live in front of Dodd’s estate blahdy-blahdy-blahding about a possible motive for the murders, about a possible connection to Earl Dodd. Yes, he had expected something like that-only a matter of time before that theory is put to rest, he thought. But when the blahdy-blah was soon accompanied by a picture of Michelangelo’s Bacchus, The Sculptor’s heart leapt with joy into his throat.

And so, instead of moving on to the Internet, The Sculptor waited-listened for the one word in the blahdy-blah that would confirm for him his triumph; the one word that would give him permission to proceed with his next project the following morning. And after about ten minutes, it fell from the blond lady’s lips like an angel from Heaven.

Hildebrant.

Yes, the blond lady was saying that a Brown University professor by the name of Catherine Hildebrant-“an expert on the works of Michelangelo”-had been brought in by the FBI as a consultant for the investigation. And although she could not be reached for comment, Hildebrant, the blond lady explained, had written one of the most widely read books on Michelangelo to come along since Irving Stone’s The Agony and the Ecstasy. The blond lady also explained that, even though Slumbering in the Stone had been met with some controversy in certain academic circles, it was a good primer for anyone interested in the artist and the relevancy of his work today.

It’s almost too good to be true, The Sculptor thought.

The Sculptor had known from the beginning that he would have to play the Hildebrant card carefully, for although he had wanted the media to know of her involvement in order to draw attention to her book, The Sculptor also knew that his plan might backfire if the public knew that Slumbering in the Stone had been the inspiration for his Bacchus. Yes, The Sculptor wanted to thank Dr. Hildy for all her help; yes, he wanted her to speak publicly about her book; but The Sculptor understood that if too much attention was paid to Slumbering in the Stone itself-that is, if the book became inextricably woven in the public consciousness with the murders as the Beatles’ White Album had over the years become with the demented intentions of Charles Manson-then the simplicity, the clarity of his message would be lost.

In addition, such a bombardment of misguided media attention might cause the shy Dr. Hildy to retreat from the public eye entirely. And how much better would it be if she didn’t? How much better would it be if the pretty art history professor went on television to talk about Michelangelo and perhaps about her book, too? Thus, the reason for the sand over the inscription at the base of the statue-a detail The Sculptor hoped would be discovered by the forensic teams after the police arrived; a detail that The Sculptor hoped could be kept from the public for a while-or at least until the interest in Slumbering in the Stone and Michelangelo had solidified.