Chapter 33 – Café Terrace at Night

It's the evening and I appear in the middle of a paved road. It looks like a quaint little street, with yellow lights coming out of the windows of the building surrounding the area. Everything is stone and wood.

People are walking around, chatting amongst themselves. There's a little café with people gathered at tables, drinking happily, sipping on coffee and tea and wine. Even if the streets aren't empty there's a gentle quietness about this place. It's peaceful. The sky is beautiful, I can see so many stars.

I think about maybe going to the café and ordering something, but I realize I don't have any money. Maybe I can order and run away before they bring me to bill. They wouldn't find me afterwards. But I don't know if I have to pay up front here. I'm wearing a small gold chain. Maybe I should paw it to be able to buy stuff. I never had to think about money before. The only time I had to pay for stuff Gustave paid. Or Tanya did.

I should forget about buying coffee, and instead look around some more.

There's a red headed man standing behind an easel, painting on a canvas beside the café. I make my way to him, curious, He must be the one painting this scene.

I try not to go to close to him, and sort of pass him and go stand behind.

Holy shit.

I'm seeing the painting. I know this painting. I know who this is.

What do I do? I should talk to him. Oh my god, I can't talk to him. What do I say? What can I say?

I try to keep my freaking out in check and I walk up to the man, and clear my throat to get his attention. He turns. "I'm sorry, are you Vincent Van Gogh?" I ask.

He looks a little worried before answering with a hesitant "yes." Oh my god. "Do I know you?" he asks.

"Oh no, you don't. But I know you. You're really talented," I say, probably a little too enthusiastically.

A random woman he doesn't know just came up with him, knew his name and probably looks and sound like a freak.

I need to seriously calm down.

"Did someone put you up to this?" he asks.

"No, no! I'm honest." How can I explain this without sounding like a lunatic? "I've seen some of your paintings before. They're really, really good. You should keep on painting, and you shouldn't worry what people say, and about people not buying your stuff right now, trust me, in no time you'll be very famous."

"Who put you up to this? Are you here to make fun of me? Are you confused?" he says.

People didn't like him in the places he lived. They all thought he was weird. He must think I think that too, and I'm just playing around with him.

How can I convince him? I'm not an authority on painting, but maybe someone else. Wait...

"We're in France, right?"

"Do you not even know where you are?"

I ignore this. Let him think whatever he wants. "France?" I repeat.

"Yes we're in Arles." Arles? Where is that?

"How far from Paris are we?"

"Pretty far."

That's fine, that's okay. It's still the right country. And Tanya told me people remember him, so he must be known in some way...

"Okay, what year is this?"

Now he looks at me like I've really lost it. "1888."

Oh this is bad, it's late. Forty something years later. But I have to ask. "Have you heard about an artist called Gustave Courbet?"

"Gustave Courbet? Yes, of course"

"Oh, okay, that's good, we need to go see him," I press. We can take the train, maybe. I'll really have to pawn that necklace. Interacting normally in paintings is going to make things more complicated, I can already feel it.

"His tomb?"

I go deadly still. "He's dead?" I ask softly.

No, no, no, no.

"Yes, for a few years now."

My heart drops. My heart feels like it literally dropped. I actually drop.

Vincent leans down to when I'm sitting on the ground. "Are you okay?"

No, I'm really not okay. This is too close too real. Gustave dead in 2014 Is fine. Gustave dead right now? No... I shouldn't ask, but I have to know. "How... do you know how he died?"

"In exile."

What? "In exile?"

"He had a monument destroyed. It was a big thing," Vincent explains.

"That stupid idiot," I mumble to myself. Didn't he say he'd do something like this? Wait? Did he do this for a curse?

I need to stop asking questions. I don't want to know more. If I know more does it mean I won't be able to go back to him? Did he destroy a monument to get curse because I never go back to him and this is the only way he could think of seeing me again?

We've never even kissed...

This isn't about me. I need to stop thinking about this. Even if he was alive here, maybe Gustave Courbet in this painting does not know me. Maybe he only knows me when I go into his paintings, like I'm accessing different alternate universes pockets?

Or this is really just in my head, and it doesn't matter if he's dead in my head right now. He's still alive back then.

"I don't know how I can convince you that your art matters and that you shouldn't hurt yourself," I tell Vincent, putting my own freaking out aside, getting back on my feet.

"Excuse me?"

"The way you see the world, it's so special, and you should cherish it and protect it. You have so much talent. So much. You're just... misunderstood now. People will come to see your value."

Vincinet seems a little confused by my sudden change in mood, but says, "I don't paint for them. I mean, I do paint for them, but I paint... because... well, isn't it all so beautiful, what Nature has made? Isn't it so glorious? My words could never do justice their beauty. Sometimes I rather not even paint such wonderous skies because nothing could ever truly capture their beauty."

"Don't ever stop painting, whatever people say. And please, please be careful with yourself. You're not like everyone else, and that's okay. You're better. You're special. Please, please be gentle with yourself. It's okay if they don't understand you. One day, people will cry for you."

"And how do you know this?"

"I've seen it."

I remember during one of my stupid art classes. Our teacher spent an entire class talking about Vincent Van Gogh. We read some of his letters, and saw a short documentary on him. At the end, some people were crying in class, though they were trying to hide it.

Even someone like me, that used to see no value in art, I was moved.

Vincent Van Gogh deserves to know how his art touched the world.

"You're very peculiar Madame," he tells me, his eyes narrowed a bit.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"I think I've done enough painting for the day," he says, ready to pack up his stuff. His painting isn't done. I need to stop.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I won't disturb you. I'll leave you alone. Wait..." I unclasp my necklace. I've thought about it too much now. Jarvis gave it to me for our first anniversary. That's the only nice thing he ever bought me. "Here, take this, It's really gold. Sell it later and buy paint or paper."

"I can't..."

"You can." I really don't care about that chain honestly. "Just, promise me you'll be careful."

"Fine."

"Goodbye Vincent Van Gogh."

I leave. I leave him behind and I walk towards another street. When I'm far enough and I can't see him anymore I let myself fall down, my back leaning against a building.

I lift my knees to my head and I try to collect myself.

My words will probably not help him.

And Gustave Courbet died after destroying a monument. Gustave is dead.

He's dead. My Gustave is dead.

The sound of my weeping goes up into the starry sky, and I just cry and cry until the night turn to my complete dark.