The Wrong Side of Goodbye(111)
At the appointed start time of the unveiling, a man in a suit walked to the podium in front of the sculpture and adjusted the microphone.
“Hello and thank you all for coming out on this wonderful spring day. My name is Michael Haller. I am legal adviser to the Fruit Box Foundation, which I am sure you have all learned about through the media in the past few months. Thanks to a very generous endowment from the estate of the late Whitney P. Vance, the Fruit Box Foundation is dedicating this park today in honor of Mr. Vance. We are also announcing plans to purchase and renovate four historic structures in the Arts District. These will be dedicated live-work complexes offering affordable housing and studio space for this city’s artists. The Fruit Box—”
Haller had to stop because of the applause from those seated in front of him. He smiled, nodded, and then continued.
“The Fruit Box Foundation has additional plans for the area as well. More structures containing affordable housing and studio space, more parks, and more consignment galleries. They call this area the Arts District, and the Fruit Box Foundation—its very name tied to the creative history of this neighborhood—will continue to strive to keep it a vibrant community of artists and public art.”
More applause broke into Haller’s speech and he waited it out before continuing.
“And finally, speaking of artists and public art, we are very proud today to dedicate this park with the unveiling of a sculpture created by Vibiana Veracruz, artistic director of the Fruit Box Foundation. Art speaks for itself. So, without delay, I give you ‘The Wrong Side of Goodbye.’”
In dramatic fashion the crane raised the shroud, revealing a sculpture of shining white acrylic. It was a diorama like Bosch had seen in Vibiana’s loft the previous year. A multitude of figures and angles. The base of the sculpture was the mangled fuselage of a helicopter lying on its side, a piece of a broken rotor blade sticking up like a tombstone. From the open side door of the craft rose hands and faces, soldiers looking and reaching up for rescue. The figure of one soldier rose above the rest, his full body up and through the door, as if pulled from the wreckage by the unseen hand of God. One of the soldier’s hands reached with splayed fingers toward the heavens. From his angle Bosch could not see the face of the soldier but he knew who he was.
And standing next to the torso of the fallen helicopter was the figure of a woman holding a baby in her arms. The child was faceless but Bosch recognized the woman as Gabriela Lida and the mother-daughter pose of the photo from the beach at the del Coronado.
Deep applause greeted the unveiling but at first there was no sign of the sculptress. Then Bosch felt a hand touch his shoulder and he turned to see Vibiana passing behind him on her way to the podium.
As she turned up the middle aisle, she glanced back at him and smiled. Bosch realized in that moment that it was the first time he had ever seen her smile. But it was a lopsided smile he knew he had seen before.