She turned once more to look at it. “Julie Mehretu. She’s Ethiopian. I first saw her work at an exhibit in Australia. I was so moved by the collection and watching the video of her life, what inspired her, the meanings behind what she does, that I bought this piece when it became available.”
As Nash studied the work he said, “It’s. . .hypnotic.”
“Yes, I find it so. Quite powerful and moving despite its seeming subtleties.”
Curious, he drew closer. “What impressed you the most about her work?”
In a wistful tone Steers said, “She. . .paints in the abstract, as do many other accomplished artists, but she does so with greatclarity, if that makes sense. Mixed mediums, hand drawings, silk screening, air brushing, so much complexity, so many layers to what she has created. She said that her work was meant to defy description, or pigeonholing or labeling. But what she was really talking about, I think, was not so much her work, as. . .people, the individual that is embodied in all artwork because it is the individual that creates and also inspires the art. She seems repelled by the universal habit of reducing us to bodies, or skin, or faith, or wealth, or occupation, or where we live, or our language. She refuses to accept that as an identity for others because I believe she thinks individuality transcends such triviality. She draws inspiration from Chinese ink paintings as well as literature, Japanese manga, music, so many subjects that she brings to bear to create. . .this.” She motioned to the painting as Nash moved closer to her. Despite his guilt over probably condemning Thura to death if he killed Steers, Nash’s hand moved a few inches closer to the statuette.
“What doyousee in it, Mr. Hope?”
He glanced at her and thought that she had put his daughter in a little box in a crummy room of this building.Just grab the statuette and kill her, Nash. Do it now.But he had never had such an internal fight as he was having right now.
“I see. . .possibilities.”
“What sort of possibilities?”
“I agree that people wrongly label others all the time. They do so based on what we look like, as you just said.” He ran his hand over himself. “For instance, what do you see when you look at me?”
She slowly turned to face him.
He smiled. “Muscles, tats, bald head, gun. Easy to label, right?”
Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No, Mr. Hope, not so easy. As you correctly pointed out before, I see you as an enigma. I still do. But I am figuring some things out.”
“Like what?” He wasn’t asking to be polite; he wanted to know, for many reasons, most of all his survival.
“You are logical, calm, secure in your abilities, not quick to judgment. But above all else, I believe you are one thing. And it is perhaps an incongruous element in contrast to your physical appearance, which was Mehretu’s whole point.”
“Really, what’s that?”
She reached out and touched his arm before quickly pulling it back.
“I’ve seen how you interact with other people: Thura, Hirokosan, my various attendants, even my mother. You arekind, Mr. Hope. No, you are more than that. You areempathetic. Which is the best of all human attributes, because it leads to all the other goodness of which human beings are capable.”
She looked away, and Nash thought he saw a blush creeping to her cheeks.
“I suppose you find such lofty words starkly hypocritical coming from someone like me,” she said.
“Someone like you?”
She looked up at him and her expression grew defiant. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Hiroko-san thinks that you are misjudged.”
A sad smile now spread over Steers’s features. “Hiroko-san is biased in my favor. She believes I can do no wrong. That I am perfect.” Her smile faded. “But no one is perfect, least of all me. I am as far from perfect as it is possible to be, in fact.”
Nash was growing more and more confused by her words. Where had the global criminal who killed with ease gone to? He forgot about murdering the woman.
“What do you see when you look at me, Mr. Hope?” she said abruptly.
He didn’t answer right away. Not because he feared his answer would upset her. But because he wanted to figure out what he actually thought.
“I might have answered your question differently before our meeting today, Ms. Steers. But I see someone who would have. . .preferred a different life than the one she has. And perhaps that is the ‘possibility’ that I spoke of before.”
Steers held his gaze for a long moment before she glanced back at the Mehretu piece. He thought he glimpsed a tear sliding down her cheek. She made no move to brush it away.
“Am I wrong?” he asked.