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Escape from Reality

Jessica E. Martin

Some people say a painter becomes immortal through his work once he is known. I know of the immortal life that resides beyond the accumulated dust over the dried-out oil pigments that cling to the canvas. Some people say that it was a magical moment of desperation and compassion that allowed Gabriela to cross the forbidden border of the mortal ones. She ran away to an unknown place never to come back.

It all started the morning when Gabriela’s mother received a letter from the Spanish army announcing the capture of El Coronel Castillo by the Nacionales. Gabriela knew about the war conflict in Spain, but she didn’t understand the graveness of the situation—the hopes to see her father again became stronger every day.

Every night before she went to bed, her father, El Coronel, would sneak his head into her bedroom door and say “Hasta mañana, niña de mis ojos.” Even after he was gone, she still heard those words in the thick, cold darkness—every time they were a quieter whisper.

One morning Gabriela went to her mother’s favorite room to read. “It gets great light during the day. Just perfect for knitting,” Mother would say with great enthusiasm to El Coronel. Her mother had placed a large rocking chair by the window facing the house garden and several trees. She wouldn’t allow Gabriela to sit on her rocking chair because the kicking feet hanging from her short legs would damage the fine wood. Gabriela sank into the words of her book, which overpowered her mother’s voice—therefore, as far as she was concerned, her mother didn’t express any concerns involving the chair. Gabriela cared more for the fabulous world living beyond the lines of a book than a piece of wood that meant nothing for her—they were just another proof of her mother’s superficial concerns.

Rising voices and laughters suddenly interrupted the thin moment of transparency lying between Gabriela’s reality and the book’s. Gabriela withdrew her attention from the lines and waited with anxiety. She heard them again—they were louder, and this time she could also hear voices coming from girls about her age. The immediate turn towards the window was fruitless—there was nothing but pouring rain and a couple of soaked leaves falling on the flooded ground.

The anxiety started growing within her. Her stomach felt like swirling sand and her eyes would not stop scanning the room for sudden movements. Then she caught a glimpse of small figures moving on the wall next to her.

It was her mother’s painting. One of the most expensive possessions El Coronel allowed her to exhibit in his house, because he knew Gabriela liked it—she always wanted to dance, but Mother would not allow it for unknown reasons.

For a moment, Gabriela did not believe her own eyes. “Are the ballerinas actually moving around and talking to each other?” she asked in disbelief. The shock took her by such surprise that she forgot to breathe. Once she was becoming weak she gasped for air, but a sudden cold draft coming from the door interrupted her breath. She turned around and saw her mother standing under the door frame with her hand under her ribcage, staring down at her like a hawk.

“What are you doing in here? I hope you’re not sitting on my rocking chair,” her mother said in her usual cold tone.

Without replying to her mother’s question, Gabriela stared back at the painting and without looking at her mother asked, “Where did you get this painting, Mother?” She was too anxious to wait for a reply, and kept talking over her mother’s response. “The ballerinas... they are alive. I heard them laughing and talking to each other. I also saw them dance. Just stay still and don’t talk, and you’ll hear them.”

Her mother sighed in annoyance, then rolled her eyes in such an extravagant way that Gabriela could not understand how she could physically do it. She approached Gabriela while saying, “You read too much. You’re already starting to believe your own lies.”

In her moment of self-doubt and confusion, Gabriela felt the cold air upon her face as Mother snatched her book from her hands.

“Perhaps I’m just imagining things,” Gabriela thought. Mother was already on the other side of the room, and with a sudden blow the door was slammed—perhaps too hard.

But the sound of a bomb overpowered that of the door.

Gabriela turned to look out the window to see a great explosion that almost burned her eyes. She heard screams coming in from the hallway outside the room, and the explosions became louder and closer.

Gabriela didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. Then in a blurry moment of quick events, she saw the ballerinas moving again. They started coming almost out of the canvas, and one of them reached out her hand and said in a sweet voice, “Come with us, and you’ll be a ballerina for ever.”

Gabriela reached out her hand at the same instant that the exploding heat broke the window, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes and a still untouched painting of ballerinas in rehearsal.

There were some rumors claiming that not long after the war was over, El Coronel managed to escape. He went back to his home to find nothing but ashes. He saw the remaining painting and took it with him. Long after his death, the painting still remains untouched for everyone else to see.

Based on Edgar Degas' The Dance Class, 1874
The Metropolitan Museum of Art

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