Read Online Teaching the Dog to Read by Jonathan Carroll - Free Book Online

peacefully in his lap, his eyes were closed when she first entered. They opened when she cleared her throat and they were surprisingly gentle looking. He wore a crisp looking cobalt blue work shirt with the name dave in black letters on a white patch over his left breast.
    “Lena?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Dave. Do you have the drawings?”
    Startled because she had been expecting a woman, Lena hesitated. “ You’re here for them? I thought—”
    “I know what you’re thinking, but I am the one. Can I see them please?”
    “Yes, of course.” She opened her purse and took out the now twelve portraits of Tony Areal she had drawn. She walked over to Dave and handed them to him. He studied each carefully for a long time, returning to several again and again. Others he barely glanced at. Surprisingly those were her later drawings that displayed the talent and finesse of a real professional artist. But Dave didn’t appear interested in a finished product.
    Lena stood by nervously, not knowing what to think or do. Finally he took so long reviewing them that she sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed and began eating her sandwich.
    In time he brought the sheaf of sketches to his chest and shook his head. “No.”
    “ No ?”
    “No. It’s not there yet.” He patted his chest with the papers. “One or two of them come close, but none captures exactly how you feel about him. Without that, we can’t do anything. You’ll have to keep at it.” His voice was kind and even a little mournful but clearly not to be challenged. The answer was no and that ended the discussion.
    The two of them sat in silence for a while.
    “Are you going to finish that sandwich?”
    She looked at it in her hand. “Uh no—would you like it?”
    “I would. It looks good.”
    She walked the rest of her sandwich over to the other side of the bed and handed it to Dave. In exchange, he gave her the drawings. She went back to her chair and looked at them while he slowly and with obvious relish ate what was left of her egg salad.
    Raising her head from the failed drawings, Lena had to know. “Can I ask you something?”
    “Sure.” Dave took an ironed white handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped the corners of his mouth.
    “What did I do wrong here? How do I get it right?” Lena heard the strain in her voice, almost a whine, and didn’t like it. To her it was a sign of weakness when she needed to be strong and sharp. But she also knew this was her one big chance and if she blew it, there wouldn’t be another. Ever.
    “There’s no you in any of those drawings, Lena.” Dave ate the last bit of sandwich, chewed a long time and swallowed. “You’re trying so hard to draw him exactly that you’re forgetting you’re creating the picture. You must find a way to include your feelings and vision into the work for it to be complete. You really love this man? I don’t see that here. Love, desire, all the things that attract you to him… None of it’s here—only a few nice portraits.
    “So far what you’ve done is rendered with a camera’s eye some man—some guy . Like you drew a bunch of pictures of a stranger you passed on the street. In all of them except a few sections of the early ones where you were drawing like the girl you once were, it feels like you’re consciously trying to erase any trace of yourself from the work. Don’t do that, Lena—do the opposite .”
    Dave stood up, brushed a few bread crumbs off the front of his shirt and made for the door. But once there he stopped abruptly, walked back to her and asked for the drawings. Timidly she held them out. He shuffled through the pile until he came to the last, most accomplished one she’d done. Taking a fluorescent orange SHARPIE felt tip marker out of a pocket, he uncapped it and wrote something across the middle of the drawing, ruining it. Capping the marker, he handed the papers back to her and said “Show me that .” Then he left the room. On the drawing he