Page 289 - The Grotesque Children's Book

Chapter 38.

Striking Painters

When it was clear to Santi that he was not going to be able alone, by himself, to paint
speedily enough to make the arbitrary deadline of finishing Bay 33 before getting paid, he
grabbed Aurelio and cornered Tozzo at the Wheat and Chaff. He was determined to get them to
work faster.

It was an odd trio. Brutish Tozzo with his bright orange hair and beard like a lion's, silent
brooding Aurelio with his long black hair, his pencil feverishly sketching words and symbols for
Santi to translate for Tozzo, and Santi himself, so young at eighteen, with his bright yellow-
almost-white hair, in the flickering of the tavern's fire.

To Aurelio, Santi scribbled “must paint faster!” Actually just the word “must", followed
by a line drawing of a paintbrush with wings of Mercury on the handle. To Tozzo, Santi said
with a rush, “Tozzo, my friend, my colleague, my brethren --” (you see already how superior
was Aurelio's world of communication; perhaps we have chosen an entirely inefficient language,
we hearing) “ -- you're desperate. I'm desperate. Allori thought he'd motivate us to paint faster
by dangling promise of payment once we finish Bay 37, but it's had the opposite effect on you.
You come in drunk, or not at all.”

“That's right,” said Tozzo, “In fact, I'm thinking we should not show up at all, none of us.
Force his hand. Pay us or we don't paint.”

“Fah! He'll get other painters who will work for less than we will.”

“Hmmm, I'm not so sure,” Tozzo growled. “You think there's anyone else stupid enough
to work for less than he's paying us, Santi?” I don't know about you, but there's not much
difference between what he's paying me and not getting paid at all. I'd rather just drink.
Carola --!” he shouted. And that seemed to be the entirety of his argument: I'd rather just drink.

To Aurelio, Santi drew a pair of folded arms and an arrow pointed towards Tozzo. But
Aurelio had already drawn a squirrel, cut flowers with two broken stems, a weighing scale with
coins in one pan and a putto sitting in the other. To Santi, and Santi alone, what this meant was:
“So here's the thing, Santi. We could do as Tozzo's suggesting, causing a classic encounter
between labor and management and, frankly, I think we'd win. Allori's not in any position to
take time off from his own ceilings to go looking for other painters right now. That would
involve, what, going to the Accademia and either posting notices or lingering around in person to
catch up the apprentices as they come out of their classes, during which not only would he not be
working, but neither would we, so there would go by a few days, maybe a week, with no
progress at all. Then he'd have to train the new crew to paint in our style, trying to figure out
why our people have no feet, or shy their hands turn into vines. Not to mention the supplies! If
we walk off the job, we're taking our paints and pigments and brushes and buckets, aren't we?
Tozzo's right: we'd win in probably two days' time as Allori assesses the potential damage he

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