Aurora (A Statera Novelette)

Aurora - The Dawn of Light

"M-my pleasure, Ms. Sinclair," Mr. Augustine stammers, hesitating to allow me to continue my story.

I oblige and continue on, "I'm on my way to Paris for a gig. I've been brought in for a commission regarding a famous work by Leonardo da Vinci. We know it's fifteenth century, but there's a discrepancy in the timeline–"

"Ah... would that happen to be the Virgin of the Rocks?" he interrupts to ask.

"You know it?" I ask, after pausing in surprise.

"Well, there are precious few famous works of art that are associated with the angel Uriel and Leonardo da Vinci," he shrugs with a knowing smile.

"You must be a historian yourself!" I nod in excitement.

"Guilty, my dear. As a matter of fact, I'm a Professor at the Harvard Divinity School in Boston," he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

"Yes, indeed? What are the chances?" I laugh. The gent knows a thing or two about art. The plane ride just became bearable with this pleasant turn of events.

"What is it about the painting that warrants such research?" Augustine asks, continuing the distraction.

I ignore the noise around me and continue on with enthusiasm, "You see, not many people know that there are, in fact, two versions of the commissioned painting. Both are supposedly painted by da Vinci's hand. I've already gathered all the information I can from the version in London's National Gallery. Now I'm off in search of clues from the version that is displayed at the Louvre!"

"What are you hoping to find?" he asks with the interest of a true historian.

"Well, the truth, of course! Why two paintings? Was da Vinci the only artist? Art is nothing, if not subjective. For example, while you and I may agree that the angel in the painting is the archangel Uriel due to the subject matter and biblical reference, others have mistaken the angel for the more well-known messenger, Gabriel."

Augustine's mouth curls, perhaps in humor, but he remains quiet.

"What is it?" I ask, confused by his reaction.

"Oh nothing, my dear. I just find this fascinating. I suppose you must love your work. You do seem to light up when you talk about it."

"I'll tell you, it's like pennies from heaven. I just adore the connection to history. I could bash your poor ears all day about Renaissance art," I admit.

"Passion fuels potential, my dear. Discussing history will never be wasted effort with me! As a matter of fact, you've been so distracted, you've hardly noticed we're clear of the storm." He turns to point at the window behind him as we roll out on the runway.

My gaze follows out the window in wonder.

"Well, I'll be... we certainly are. Why, you're as smooth as apple butter! What a marvelous distraction!" I exclaim with a laugh, just as the captain comes over the speaker to announce our arrival.

Over the next few minutes, I'm caught up with the routine of gathering my belongings and exiting the plane.

My foot has never craved solid ground more. I steady myself, hand on the rail, as I step down onto the damp tarmac. The storm has passed, leaving the mirrored landscape twinkling in the dusk.

So, this is Paris?

I can't help the butterflies that flit through my stomach at the thought of coming to the city of lights. I've always thought I should like to end up in Paris.

Not wanting to forget my new friend, I turn to shake the old gent's hand in farewell. "Thank you again, Mr. Augustine, for calming me during the flight. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were my guardian angel! I do hope we meet again." I convey my gratitude, flashing him my best smile.