Page 290 - The Grotesque Children's Book

would suffer if we stopped working and he would realize how badly he needs us. On the other
hand, Santi, and here's where I'm on your side, why are we painting at all? Is it for the money?
If so, yes, yes, yes, by all means, let us hurry at an even faster pace, filling the surface as quickly
as possible, not with detailed, interesting thought-provoking figures and symbols, but with big
swathes of color and shape, devoid of meaning, story or character. But I'd think hard about that
before we do it, Santi. I see two terrible consequences of working too fast. First of all, it would
be inferior work, and everyone who comes into the new galleries would know it. 'Who painted
the ceilings at the sound end of the hall! Such beauty in the first fifteen bays, and then, oh, it's so
said, poor Allori must have hired some inexperienced apprentices who clearly weren't worth the
money he paid them -- write down their names and make sure we never hire them, ever, not for
the rest of their lives, for who wants painters with such wretched work ethics!' But secondly, and
this from my heart, Santi, I know we're both desperate for money now, but imagine yourself in
the future, ten years from now, twenty, coming back to visit the work of your youth. Will you
want to see beauty and art and meaning and mystery? Or will you want to see 'Well, the ceiling
is covered with paint, and that's better than if it had no paint at all.' I love our creatures, Santi,
and their strange anatomy. I love the stories they tell. I love their conflicts, their needs, their
wants. They're like my children: mangled and grotesque though they might be. They're my
family. My real family has turned their backs on me, so my creatures are all I have. I don't think
we should use them as ransom to make money to pay for food and rent. I think we should look
to other ways to solve our money problems, and not involve our children. That's all I have to
say.” (A superior language indeed.)

Santi replied by drawing an eye with a teardrop in it.

Perhaps you wonder why Aurelio went to the taverns at all, if no one but Santi ever spoke
to him. His thinking was not as deep as you might suppose. First and foremost, he enjoyed his
alcohol. Secondly, although no one spoke to him, he was able to glean some kind of meaning
about their conversations simply by watching (anger, boredom, confrontation, and so forth, these
were perfectly clear). When he spent the evening alone in his rooms, he tended, as you know, to
fill the boredom and silence with his imaginary conversations; these conversations were, at least,
real, even if he couldn’t understand them, and they tended to block out all the noise in his head,
all the imaginary chattering, which often became simply too annoying, that coming to the tavern
was a relief. The real Tozzo treated him with more kindness than imaginary Half-Wit Tozzo. In
fact, he was actually fairly pleased that his fellow drunkards did treat him with kindness. Many
strangers treated him with cruelty and even hostility, like he were some fester to be eradicated.
Aurelio’s fellow drunkards had become used to him, and gave him at least a friendly smile, if not
the instigations of conversations. Oh, who am I kidding? Aurelio thought to himself, I come here

for the alcohol.

Carola flounced to their table, her breasts heaving, her tankards overflowing. “Here're
your drinks, boys!”

Tozzo slammed down two soldi as if to pay before either of his two companions could
offer to pay first. Then he realized they hadn't made that offer. Bastards, he thought.

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