"Chevalier, Tracy - Girl with a Pearl Earring" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chevalier Tracy)

I escaped from them all when I cleaned the studio. Maria Thins unlocked the door for me and sometimes stayed a few minutes to check on the painting, as if it were a sick child she was nursing. Once she left, though, I had the room to myself. I looked around to see if anything had changed. At first it seemed to remain the same, day after day, but after my eyes grew accustomed to the details of the room I began to notice small things—the brushes rearranged on the top of the cupboard, one of the cupboard's drawers left ajar, the palette knife balanced on the easel's ledge, a chair moved a little from its place by the door.
Nothing, however, changed in the corner he was painting. I was careful not to displace any of it, quickly adjusting to my way of measuring so that I was able to clean that area almost as quickly and confidently as the rest of the room. And after experimenting on other bits of cloth, I began to clean the dark blue cloth and yellow curtain with a damp rag, pressing it carefully so that it picked up dust without disturbing the folds.
There seemed to be no changes to the painting, as hard as I looked for them. At last one day I discovered that another pearl had been added to the woman's necklace. Another day the shadow of the yellow curtain had grown bigger. I thought too that some of the fingers on her right hand had been moved.
The satin mantle began to look so real I wanted to reach out and touch it.
I had almost touched the real one the day van Ruijven's wife left it on the bed. I had just been reaching over to stroke the
fur collar when I had looked up to see Cornelia in the doorway, watching me. One of the other girls would have asked me what I was doing, but Cornelia had just watched. That was worse than any questions. I had dropped my hand and she'd smiled.
Maertge insisted on coming with me to the fish stalls one morning several weeks after I had begun working at the house. She loved to run through Market Square, looking at things, petting the horses, joining other children in their games, sampling smoked fish from various stalls. She poked me in the ribs as I was buying herring and shouted, "Look, Griet, look at that kite!"
The kite above our heads was shaped like a fish with a long tail, the wind making it look as if it were swimming through the air, with seagulls wheeling around it. As I smiled I saw Agnes hovering near us, her eyes fixed on Maertge. I still had not told Agnes there was a girl her age in the house — I thought it might upset her, that she would feel she was being replaced.
Sometimes when I visited my family at home I felt awkward telling them anything. My new life was taking over the old.
When Agnes looked at me I shook my head slightly so that Maertge would not see, and turned away to put the fish in my pail. I took my time — I could not bear to see the hurt look on her face. I did not know what Maertge would do if Agnes spoke to me.
When I turned around Agnes had gone.
I shall have to explain to her when I see her Sunday, I thought. I have two families now, and they must not mix.
I was always ashamed afterwards that I had turned my back on my own sister.

I was hanging out washing in the courtyard, shaking out each piece before hanging it taut from the line, when Catharina appeared, breathing heavily. She sat down on a chair by the door, closed her eyes and sighed. I continued what I was doing as if it were natural for her to sit with me, but my jaw tightened.
"Are they gone yet?" she asked suddenly.
"Who, madam?"
"Them, you silly girl. My husband and—Go and see if they've gone upstairs yet."
I stepped cautiously into the hallway. Two sets of feet were climbing the stairs.
"Can you manage it?" I heard him say.
"Yes, yes, of course. You know it's not very heavy," another man replied, in a voice deep like a well. "Just a bit cumbersome."
They reached the top of the stairs and entered the studio. I heard the door close.
"Have they gone?" Catharina hissed.
"They are in the studio, madam," I responded.
"Good. Now help me up." Catharina held out her hands and I pulled her to her feet. I did not think she could grow much bigger and still manage to walk. She moved down the hallway like a ship with its sails full, holding on to her bunch of keys so that they wouldn't clink, and disappeared into the great hall.
Later I asked Tanneke why Catharina had been hiding.
"Oh, van Leeuwenhoek was here," she answered, chuckling. "A friend of the master's. She's afraid of him."
"Why?"
Tanneke laughed harder. "She broke his box! She was looking in it and knocked it over. You know how clumsy she is."
I thought of my mother's knife spinning across the floor. "What box?"
"He has a wooden box that you look in and—see things."
"What things?"
"All sorts of things!" Tanneke replied impatiently. She clearly did not want to talk about the box. "Young mistress broke it, and van Leeuwenhoek won't see her now. That's why master won't allow her in his room unless he's there. Perhaps he thinks she'll knock over a painting!"
I discovered what the box was the next morning, the day he spoke to me about things that took me many months to understand.
When I arrived to clean the studio, the easel and chair had been moved to one side. The desk was in their place, cleared of papers and prints. On it sat a wooden box about the size of a chest for storing clothes in. A smaller box was attached to one side, with a round object protruding from it.
I did not understand what it was, but I did not dare touch it. I went about my cleaning, glancing over at it now and then as if its use would suddenly become clear to me. I cleaned the corner, then the rest of the room, dusting the box so that I hardly touched it with my cloth. I cleaned the storeroom and mopped the floor. When I was done I stood in front of the box, arms crossed, moving around to study it.
My back was to the door but I knew suddenly that he was standing there. I wasn't sure whether to turn around or wait for him to speak.
He must have made the door creak, for then I was able to turn and face him. He was leaning against the threshold, wearing a long black robe over his daily clothes. He was watching me curiously, but he did not seem anxious that I might damage his box.
"Do you want to look in it?" he asked. It was the first time he had spoken directly to me since he asked about the vegetables many weeks before.
"Yes, sir. I do," I replied without knowing what I was agreeing to. "What is it?"
"It is called a camera obscura."
The words meant nothing to me. I stood aside and watched him unhook a catch and lift up part of the box's top, which had been divided in two and hinged together. He propped up the lid at an angle so that the box was partly open. There was a bit of glass underneath. He leaned over and peered into the space between the lid and box, then touched the round piece at the end of the smaller box. He seemed to be looking at something, though I didn't think there could be much in the box to take such interest in.
He stood up and gazed at the corner I had cleaned so carefully, then reached over and closed the middle window's shutters, so that the room was lit only by the window in the corner.
Then he took off his robe.
I shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
He removed his hat, placing it on the chair by the easel, and pulled the robe over his head as he leaned over the box again.
I took a step back and glanced at the doorway behind me. Catharina had little will to climb the stairs these days, but I wondered what Maria Thins, or Cornelia, or anyone would think if they saw us. When I turned back I kept my eyes fixed on his shoes, which were gleaming from the polish I had given them the day before.
He stood up at last and pulled the robe from his head, his hair ruffled. "There, Griet, it is ready. Now you look." He stepped away from the box and gestured me towards it. I stood rooted to my place.
"Sir—"
"Place the robe over your head as I did. Then the image will be stronger. And look at it from this angle so it will not be upside down."