The Bellini Card

25

The Croat was getting worse: his moods, his withdrawals, were becoming more frequent. Even his products were less reliable. In a year or two, Popi considered, he might be useless to him.

He saw it finally: the shadowy figure of a man in a top hat standing at a window overlooking the Grand Canal.

Drawn obviously from life-what of it the Croat ever saw. Nobody had worn top hats in Canaletto’s day.

Popi brought his index finger up slowly so the Croat could see and pointed at the offending image.

“Change the hat,” he said. He did not think that after all this time he would need to say, or do, any more.

The Croat did not even glance at the picture. He simply stared at Popi with an expression of sullen disappointment.

“Change the hat,” Popi said slowly. “Then we varnish the pictures. And then, my friend, two bottles.” He held up two fingers.

The Croat looked at the fingers, then for the first time at the picture. It was agreed.

Popi’s jaw worked. Two bottles-if he kept his side of the bargain the Croat would be incapacitated for a week. But at least Popi would have something to sell the American. He couldn’t afford to wait.

“Take this one through to the studio,” Popi said.

The Croat lifted the painting down and carried it into the back room, where Popi kept his paints and varnishes.

Popi sat down at his desk and began to compose a letter to S. Brett, connoisseur. A meeting really ought to be arranged, perhaps-if Signor Brett thought it convenient-sometime next week.

Next week, when the varnish would have hardened on his Canalettos.