The Last Van Gogh
“I put my novel down and listened again. There was a rustle in the trees, yet it wasn’t the sound the wind makes as it passes through branches, nor the sound laundry makes as it flutters on the line. If anything, it sounded like a small animal scampering to the ground.I stood up and looked out the glass. There in the dark, I saw Louise-Josephine, clad in nothing but a housedress, crawling down the trellis of our front garden.The white linen of her gown was whipping at her heels as she undid the latch of the gate. Her chestnut hair was undone and thewind blew it upward, exposing the nape of her neck, the cleft between shoulder blades. She was slighter than I and not as tall either, which made her appear much younger than her twenty-three years.I remember she cast her eyes up toward the window of her bedroom before she slipped away. She did not turn around after that. She ran down the rue Vessenots, the white of her dress flashing like lightning against the sky.I stood there gazing at he...r from my window, my breath forming clouds of steam over the pane.MoreLess
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