Re-initializing Da Vinci

“Young man, I need a moment to analyze it so that I will decide whether to buy it or not,” he said while looking down at the boy, who wore his grade school uniform.

The boy nodded and said nothing.

“Meanwhile you’re free to look around my shop. There are cool stuff in here.”

“I think I’ll wait here,” the boy said.

The man gave a slight nod, then carefully grabbed the painting and brought it to a table where he would normally take time examining the antiques before thinking about buying them. He then placed the painting on a glass under which light projected outward, with an additional overhead lamp that emitted ultraviolet light. Dumont pulled out a magnifying glass from his shirt pocket and brought it closer to the painting, examining the color and texture of it. The Mona Lisa contains so many details that it took scholars a while to identify the components, but Dumont knew how to tell whether something is real after having being trained for years.

The man set his magnifying glass aside, removed his eyeglasses, and sighed. The man muttered to himself, “This can’t be real!” He knew the painting was Mona Lisa, or perhaps a perfect replica of the original by Da Vinci. He remained seated, trying to wrestle over the thought that it was stolen.

The man went over to where the telephone was and dialed the number he’d memorized after his first visit to the museum’s Salle des États. After dialing came a voice on the other end of the line. However, an anonymous person spoke in Italian.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I’m American,” Dumont said, following silence. Finally, another voice came, this time the person spoke in English.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Yes, uh, my name is Garrick Dumont. I have a question I would like to ask.” Dumont didn’t understand why he made the call even though deep down he knew it wasn’t stolen. “Has there been any news about the Mona Lisa being stolen?”

“No sir, the Mona Lisa is still on display. What made you think that?” the man asked.

“Never mind,” he said and hung up.

Dumont remained seated while thinking about the boy. Could he be the next Da Vinci, his mind never ceased to think so. He felt somehow another reason to believe a new age of Renaissance has begun. It would be astonishing if the boy did paint his Lola Corola. The only problem is, he couldn’t afford it—he would even triple the price if he were rich enough.

The man returned with the painting and found the boy still standing on the same spot.

“Young man, did you draw this?” he asked. The boy nodded but said not a word.

“How long it took you to do this?”

“Three weeks,” the boy finally spoke.

“You did it by imagination or simply copying the work?”

“I looked at the picture on the Internet once and painted it.”

Very impressive, thought the man. He took a deep breath, hoping to get his answer to the most difficult question. He finally looked at the kid and asked.

“How did you do it?”

“Mommy said never tell a secret to anybody,” the boy declared.

“Seems like your mom’s right,” he said. Though the boy responded with a shrug.

“Do you want Lola Corola for $100,000?” the boy began.

“Don’t you think that’s too high?” Dumont said, even though he knew the painting’s priceless.

The boy shrugged again.

“How about $500?” the man decided to outsmart the kid. “You can do a lot with $500, like go to Disney World, visit Mount Everest, walk on the moon, everything you want.” Dumont knew lying to the kid was wrong, but he wanted the painting really bad—like his greedy inner self decided to take over the righteous side of him.

The kid abruptly took the painting, covered it with the silky cloth in an elegant way, and looked directly into the man’s eyes as if disappointed.

“No thank you, sir,” the boy said and readily left the shop.

Dumont thought hard about giving him a reasonable prize and decided to go after the boy. Unfortunately, once outside the shop, the boy was out of sight. The man looked around but no sign of the boy.

Dumont returned inside, went behind the counter and pulled out a cigar from a drawer that he’d kept for four years—even though he did quit smoking, after missing what could’ve been the biggest moment of his life, decided to smoke again. He lit the cigar while seated in a chair, inhaled the smoke as he contemplated the ceiling, and exhaled. He closed his eyes and finally decided to say the words he thought would be his final chance before it’s too late—before his time in this world would end. “Oh, fuck me!”