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‘We keep hoping we’ll find a signature somewhere.’
She turned to look at him again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘To our knowledge, Caravaggio never signed any of his paintings, but some documents state that he did sign this one.’
‘There’s so much dark space over here,’ she said, waving her hand towards the right of the painting. ‘Could it be there?’
‘Ah, now, you’re beginning to see his style. What makes a Caravaggio so instantly recognisable is the incredible skill he has in depicting light and shadow. Do you see? The very darkness of the painting means we can see these rays of light shining in from presumably a window that is suggested over here,’ he said, pointing to the left. ‘And just look at how that light falls on the cluster of people we just discussed, leaving this whole space of darkness. Focus on just the woman’s blouse and sleeves – see the sash at the back, but disappearing into the darkness of her skirts where the light can’t touch.’
Valentina nodded, keeping her gaze on the painting. ‘Who is this woman?’
‘Some scholars believe it is Salome herself. Others believe it is a servant girl, because of her ordinary clothes. I like to think it is Salome, of course, because it makes the story being told here even more dramatic.’
‘Who was Salome?’ she asked, not taking her gaze from the painting.
‘There are two biblical references. In this case she is the stepdaughter of Herod, the ruler of Jerusalem. At a public banquet, after watching her dance, he offered her anything she asked for, and her cunning mother demanded that she ask for John’s head.’
‘Why?’
‘Because John had condemned her mother’s marriage to Herod as unlawful.’ At her frown, he explained. ‘They were both already married, you see. And they would each need to divorce the person they were married to in order to be together.’
She felt as though Peter were describing him and her in her private fantasy. ‘I know it’s wrong, but why aren’t people allowed to fall in love again?’
He smiled. ‘Your religion says marriage is meant to be sacred. Mine too. Until death parts us.’
She grimaced. ‘Then I shall have to die to be rid of Lawrenz.’
‘Or he might die first,’ he said, and gave a wink. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke about something so serious.’ He gestured to the two other prisoners in the painting, watching through a grille from another cell. ‘Here, look how the light catches their foreheads, the tops of their cheeks and just the fingertips. Everything else fades gradually into murky shadow and then into the blackness of the cell, which is almost a metaphor for their lives – all darkness.’
‘It’s marvellous,’ she said. ‘I think I love Caravaggio.’ She turned to smile at him.
He grinned back. ‘You should. He’s a master of this type of work. This contrast of light and dark is called chiaroscuro.’
She mouthed the word silently to herself a few times, then asked, ‘Do others do this too?’
‘Oh yes, of course. Another very famous painting is The Night Watch by Rembrandt.’
‘Oh, I’ve seen that in a book.’
He grinned again. ‘One day you need to see it for real in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam… if it’s still there.’
‘Have you?’
He nodded.
She turned back to the painting and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I would give anything to see it.’
‘There are people who would give anything to see this Caravaggio, Valentina. How lucky you are to live alongside it.’
She blinked. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘And there’s not just one Caravaggio here. Over there is another,’ he said. ‘But this is the one that can keep me standing here, in wonder, for a long time.’
She considered it again. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s actually quite a frightening picture. Everyone in it looks scared or worried. An important man has just been killed – horribly. Those prisoners look terrified. And on top of all of that, the way it’s been painted is…’
