Boring Girls(16)

I copied the scene, but I twisted Holofernes’s expression, highlighting his agony and confusion. The blood spilled from his jugular onto the bed, as in the painting, but I took it further, pooling it on the floor. I emphasized the wound on his neck, giving it dimension, hinting at the rupturing, severing veins. Judith’s maidservant pinned him to the bed, her face a mixture of determination and amusement, her muscles tensing, her fingers digging into his sweating skin. And Judith, so focused, but also with a hint of a smile on her face. Brandishing the blade fiercely. I added blood to her hands, almost feeling its warmth as it flowed from the cut. I imagined she would relish the feeling of that blood enveloping her fingers. I decided to add some blood to the maidservant’s hands as well, picturing that they would both get satisfaction from feeling their enemy’s life drain away over their skin.

The background, which in the painting implied a candlelit, shadowy bedchamber, I got creative with. I added in some words from a poem I had written, garishly like the metal band fonts I could barely decipher. I made them crackle like spiderwebs, scrawled across the wall. He will die and we will laugh. You, my love, my other half.

My fingers were covered with oil pastel for three days, even after I washed them. The shadows of it would remain there, but I was so excited for art class those days, I felt like I was buzzing just thinking about it. I barely even noticed Josephine beside me as she snipped out her pieces of paper. What the hell did a stupid Jackson Pollock painting have to do with anything? God love her, but she didn’t understand passion and feeling either.

When I was finished, I was so proud. I’d worked hard. It had taken me three classes, while some of the morons were only getting started. Too bad for them that they weren’t inspired by anything. Too bad for them that they didn’t believe in anything, couldn’t express anything.

I sat back in my chair and gazed down on my completed Judith replica. It was dark, it was passionate, it flowed with hate and accomplishment and beauty. And the words on the wall behind them felt like my own little secret.

“Holy shit,” Josephine said. “That’s really . . . really f*cking scary, Rachel. It’s gory as hell.”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“It reminds me of you.” She grinned.

Mr. Lee noticed that we were talking and wandered back through the class. “Are you finished with yours, Rachel?”

“I am.”

“I can’t wait to see your interpretation of my favourite Gentileschi painting,” he said, smiling as he arrived at our table.

He gazed down at the pastel drawing and was silent. “Are those words on the wall behind the scene?”

“Yes.”

“What do they say?”

“Er, ‘He will die and we will laugh. You, my love, my other half,’” I recited, feeling stupid. Josephine was listening. I didn’t like having to talk about my work in front of her and her little cut ’n’ paste project.

“Did you write those words yourself?” Mr. Lee asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, the rest of the class is hard at work,” he said, raising his voice to quiet some *s who were guffawing about some dumb shit. “So why don’t you come up to my desk, and we’ll have a chat about what you’ve created? Keep that up, Josephine, I’m loving it so far.” We walked up to his desk, him carrying my drawing.

Great. Maybe we could have Ms. Voree in here too and have a round-table discussion on lighter themes.

“This is a wonderful drawing,” he said quietly, allowing the class to continue to work and not overhear our conversation. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, it’s always been my favourite painting,” I said. “Judith Slaying Holofernes.”

“Do you know the story behind it?”

“Yes, my mother told me when I was little. About who Judith was and why it was very important that she kill Holofernes.”

“What emotions did you feel while you were drawing this?”

“I was very excited because I love the painting. I wanted to try and express the scene with as much emotion as I could.”

“And this resulted in emphasizing the violence and pain,” he said, gesturing, “but also focusing on the strength of the women.”

I nodded. “Yes, that was an important part of it for me. I’ve always sort of admired Judith and her friend for being strong women.”

“Artimesia Gentileschi was pretty strong herself,” Mr. Lee said.