FEAST

Course 5

Laylah returned briefly to let us know that we could get up and stretch our legs if we wanted to, inviting us to remain outside or come inside.  Santiago and Dara stood up and sort of gravitated toward each other as they moved toward the sliding glass door.  A fleeting panic welled up when I realized my friend was going inside without me.  I almost jumped up and followed them, but I reminded myself that I was an adult and didn’t need to tag along with Dara everywhere she went.

Aaliya elected to stay outside and moved to the corner of the porch away from the table.  I watched her walk and something struck me about the way she carried herself.  Her movements  were graceful but practiced, elegant but deliberate.  Nothing seemed to flow.

By contrast, Laylah was like tangible air.  She breezed around the table setting additional spoons and forks at each place, pausing when she reached me.

“I’m sure Chef wouldn’t mind if you did a little exploring in the house,” she said with a mischievous grin.

I looked at her in surprise.

“Go on.  You’ve got a few minutes before the next course.”

I smiled my thanks and went to open the door for her and myself.  I wondered if Dara had told her how much I liked looking at the architecture of houses or if she was just trying to be nice and give me something to do.  Laylah disappeared into the kitchen.  I noticed that Santiago and Dara were in quiet conversation in the sitting area just inside the door.

Not wanting to disturb them, I moved quickly down the hall.  Just before I reached the den, I spotted a doorway on the opposite side of the hall and walked through it to discover the dining room.  A small chandelier in the middle of the ceiling illuminated the room with soft light and I wondered why it was on when we were eating outside.  It wasn’t an overly large room but a long table with eight black walnut chairs fit comfortably in the space.  A cream colored linen tablecloth (at least I assumed it was linen because that was what my mother always used for company) graced the table, and two short pillar candles with fresh leaves and berries around their bases sat near the ends of the tables.  I noted that they weren’t taper candles and surmised that the pillars would facilitate conversation better since you wouldn’t have to look around the candles at people’s faces.  The floors of the room were wood with another gorgeous floor rug under the table, its dusky gold and black harmonizing well with the burgundy walls.  Heavy, damask curtains on the two large picture windows were also gold with black accents.

A further examination of the room lead my eyes to a painting hung between the windows.  It appeared to be people sitting down to a meal.  Appropriate for a dining room, I thought.  Then I noticed that some of the people in the painting weren’t dressed in modern clothing.  A couple of them looked like they had long, belted tunics on and a man in the center of the painting had a long white cloth draped over his head.  Curious, I walked closer.

As I continued to study the painting, I saw that there were men and women at the table of various ethnicities, and each person was dressed in what looked to be clothing from different eras of history.  The man in the center with the cloth draped over his head was holding up some bread and there was more bread on the table along with cups for each person.  From farther away, I had thought there was only a handful of people at the table.  Standing closer I saw that I was way off.  The artist had somehow managed to fit what looked like a small village at that table.  I counted twenty-four men, besides the man in the center, and at least that many women and children if not more, some sitting, some standing, all with their eyes fixed on the man in the center.

There was something strikingly familiar about the way the people were arranged around the table and the fact that the man in the center was holding bread in his hands.  Then it dawned on me.  “The Last Supper,” I said out loud and snapped my fingers.  I immediately looked over my shoulder at the doorway, hoping no one had heard me.  When I was sure that my outburst hadn’t attracted any attention, I went back to gazing at the painting.

I assumed the man in the center holding the bread was meant to be Jesus, only this wasn’t like any Jesus I had ever seen in paintings.  The Jesus I was familiar with had flowing blondish tresses and beard, blue eyes, and a vapid expression on his face.  This Jesus had a somewhat stocky frame and a wide face.  A small bit of dark, wavy but short hair was peeking out from under the middle of the cloth draped on his head.  His eyes were large and brown, his nose was on the generous side.  His full lips were open as if he was speaking.  I noted that he was without facial hair of any kind.

While I was instinctively repulsed by insipid Jesus paintings, the man in this painting intrigued me.  The face was incredibly ordinary and yet it was that very ordinariness that drew me in.  This wasn’t the face of a celebrity.  It certainly wasn’t the face of a model.  This was the face of an average Joe, someone you wouldn’t give a second look (or maybe even a first look).  Plain.  Would I have even noticed him in a crowd if I’d seen him in person?  That thought struck me since he was, in fact, in the middle of a crowd in the painting.  Was he the first person I noticed?  Nope.  My eyes had been initially drawn to the tunic wearers seated in front of the table.

I took a moment to look at the other faces in the painting.  There were several of the children who were caught mid-laugh.  Most of the people were smiling but not the vacant smiles sometimes depicted if Jesus is anywhere in the vicinity.  The artist had managed to capture genuine, authentic expressions on these faces, and I found myself smiling in return.  Some of the faces wore more serious expressions.  Yet even these weren’t mere caricatures of what people are “supposed” to look like when they’re looking at Jesus.  I actually thought the serious faces were even better rendered than the smiling ones.  I didn’t feel put off by them.  Instead, I wanted to crawl inside their brains and see what inspired their expressions.

I’m not sure how long I stood there gazing at the painting.  I figured my presence might be missed, though, so I took one last look and turned to head back outside...and stopped dead in my tracks.  Turning back around, I scanned the painting quickly and my eyes found the face I was looking for.  There was no doubt about it.  One of the serious faces was Drew.  How had I not noticed that before?  A thought occurred and I looked even more closely.  Sure enough, there was Laylah and her trademark grin.  Wow, how did I miss those two?  It’s not like I hadn’t just spent an hour or so looking at their faces in person.

Taking a step back, I looked at the painting in its entirety again.  Maybe I missed them because neither of them were dressed in modern clothing.  Maybe it was because they weren’t anywhere near each other in the painting and my mind, already associating them together, missed their faces in a different setting with different people surrounding them.  Whatever the explanation, I was absolutely fascinated with how well the artist captured their personalities with paint.

I walked down the hall slowly, thinking about the painting and how strongly it reminded me of Last Supper paintings.  I was sure that wasn’t coincidental.  Then my mind drifted back to that ordinary face and I found myself desperately wishing that person would walk out of the painting.