The Seventh Etching

The Seventh Etching by Judith White PROLOGUE Monkey brain. That is his affliction. Creatures arrive from every direction and insist that he give them life. A black lion stands on its hind feet, large front paws reaching forward ready to grab. A horned one-eyed reptile gazes with a menace that won’t let go. A wizard with horizontal hair focuses his tiny eyes on the end of a long nose so sharp it could cut a slice of morning cheese. After two rushed days of drawing, painting, cutting, and rolling the heavy presses back and forth, Nicolaas tried desperately to ban the haunting images that drove him. "Oh for a vision to calm my spirit and soothe my aching body," he thought. "Surely there is some comforting image I can conjure up." And then there it was. His mother. Her long dark skirt on wide hips. The mussed faded white apron. The cap tight around her face. Her usual expression – straight, thin lips, grim and determined. The full sleeves of her blouse rolled up above the elbows. Her arms covered in suds, she massages the shoulders of her husband. Father. Sitting in the wooden laundry tub. His back to her, head bent forward, the tips of his long hair touching the surface of the water, hiding his face. His powerful chest exposed, glistening. No. Wait. This couple is young, playful. The girl pulls the young man’s head against her belly, reaches down, cups her hand under his chin, pulls his head backwards, bites his lip. The man reaches up toward the woman’s turban, unwinds it slowly, tosses it in the water. Her thick hair cascades. Lying on his narrow, wooden bed, hoping for a few hours of deep sleep, Nicolaas moves one hand instinctively toward his groin. To unbuckle and unbutton, though – that would require the work of both hands. His breathing slows. He collapses. His inky fingers rest on his breeches. His dreams continue without him.