Apprentice to the Maestro
by Hala Dika
Hala Dika is a poet and writer. Her poetry collection, Re-evolution, is available on Kindle. She publishes stories regularly for SciFiShorts.co and Ye Olde Tyme News.
I was apprentice to the Maestro. This was when photography had just broken the surface of what was possible with shadow and light. And the Maestro was an expert; a pioneer of the science. I was mesmerized by the effect of freezing a moment in time. I was unnerved by it as well. And this mix of wonder and fear, seeded a fierce motivation, to learn, to understand. And time pursuant, to go a little further.
Before we entered the studio, the Maestro asked me in for a cup of tea and a chat. He’s changed his mind, I thought, and was desperately depressed until he brought the tea over and sat down. He didn’t launch into a whole speech of what was expected of me, or lay down any rules. He just sat there not saying a word. Finally, to break the tension, I pointed to a photograph of a woman. “Is that your wife sir?” I asked.
He took out a shiny flask of whiskey, and poured some in both our cups. He sipped slowly, admiring the photograph. “Yes.” He finally said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Yes sir.” I replied. “Very.”
Then a strange silence. “She’ll always be beautiful in that photograph.”
“I’m sorry.” I ventured.
“Don’t be sorry boy.” He said. “Be angry!” Then, as if talking to himself, added, “He didn’t need her like I did. He took her at her best. And for what!” He yelled, his hands clawed, “For Divine Sport!!”
I tried to say something sensible, but he ignored me. “I will never allow him to do it again,” he continued. “I will snatch the souls right out of his grubby little hands!”
I admit to being a bit frightened. His tone was not a pleasant one, but wrapped in something all-consuming and terrible. But he was the Maestro. And without an apprenticeship, I could never work on my own. So I sent my worries to the back of my mind, and let curiosity lead me again.
The studio was a very nice one. The walls were a bright white to reflect the light. There was a raised wooden-platform at the far end. And the camera; on a tripod; stood as if waiting patiently, at a calculated distance. Hanging up above, a wide white sheet.
I walked up to the camera, not daring to touch it, and marveled at its delicate intricacies. Delicate as the light it manipulated to achieve its visual creation. I looked at the photographs hanging behind it. I was impressed to see that this mad Maestro had a very good eye. What he had captured went beyond words…the very soul of memory. And when I looked at the souls before me, I found myself looking deep; a little too deep for comfort.
At first glance, before you start to look, the people are beautiful. Some seemed to be in the middle of a thought, caught off guard. Some were gruff, unapproachable. Some stared directly into the lens, as if offering a challenge. Some smiled fakely, some genuinely, and some did not smile at all. The after-affect was something very ghostly. That moment so frozen in time was already a phantom. I felt almost ashamed; a stranger peering into it without permission. This dual nature of photography haunted me.
The Maestro came and stood next to me as these thoughts were spinning through my head. “So?” He asked. “What do you think of my children?”
“They are beautiful.” I replied.
“Indeed they are.” He agreed. “One perfect moment. One moment to last forever.”
He was right of course. A little too right, I thought. He suddenly turned to me and said, putting an arm around my shoulder, “If you are to be my apprentice, I expect you to live with me. You must be on call all hours of the day, if we are to complete my work.”
“I thought I was here to take pictures?” I lightly protested.
He came very close, his face near mine. “You are going to take pictures boy. And a lot more than that, by the time I finish my new camera.” Once again I ignored my doubts. Building a new camera with the Maestro! This was exciting stuff. And? I may be the only apprentice to be chosen? I had to. “I’d be happy to help sir!” I finally replied.
“Good.” He said, gripping my shoulder. “We start tomorrow.”
I lie in bed that night a little petrified. The entire room was in burgundy; the curtains, the furniture. Even the lampshade, tasseled in gold. I felt like I was drowning in a glass of Burgundy wine, my hands futily clawing toward the slippery surface. I had nightmares of drowning in it.
It was maybe three a.m., when I emerged to relieve myself, that I heard the amazing clatter below. It was not taking place on the first floor, and from the sound of the booming reverberations, I realized that it was happening in the basement. I stood at the top of the stairs, rapt, listening to the Maestro moving back and forth at fierce speeds; picking something up, putting it down, then silence. And then loud cursing, as if it didn’t work. What on earth was he building down there? Did I really want to know? Again, dear reader, my curiosity took the reigns from my reason, and I found myself very gently tip-toeing down the stairs and toward the incredible racket.
The basement was so massive, it had long double-doors, which extended far above my head. I turned the brass knob slowly, opened the door a sliver, and placed my eye in the crevice. I couldn’t see much, but a white blur of the Maestro, rushing back and forth in his nightshirt. I opened it a little wider, and saw two massive wooden legs. They were at least twenty feet apart. It finally hit me that it could be a tripod. My God! I thought, and changing the direction of my eye, I was able to see the third leg. But they went so high, I could hardly see what was at the top? A new camera, the maestro had said…I decided to make myself known.
I opened the creaky door. The Maestro, working obsessively, feverishly, his nightshirt stuck with sweat, looked at me with the same glare a lion might give his prey. It was as if he were not there at all, and processing my sudden existence slowly. I stood frozen, terrified. His eyes were violent and mad; waiting for me to make my move. I pulled myself together, and said, “I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity got the best of me.”
He broke out of his aggressive trance then, and climbed the stairs towards me. He gripped my shoulder tightly. “I chose you because of your curiosity. I was going to tell you this morning. But since you are here? I will say it to you now.” He put his mouth close to my ear. “What we do in this basement, stays in this basement. Do you understand? I cannot show you the machine if you do not agree.”
From the top of the stairs, I could not see what was above the giant tripod. Ready to swear anything to see it; and on a point so light as secrecy? I finally replied. “You have my word sir.” And we shook hands. Then he began to slowly lead me into the basement, like a child desperate to show his new toy.
The basement was dug so deep, that its ceiling was frightfully high. He let go of my hand, and running towards the giant tripod, seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. He stopped, crossed his arms, and looked up with pride. I slowly followed his gaze to the top. And there I saw the giant camera it supported. The wooden box so massive, it could serve as a small house. I walked around it, jaw-dropped. The Maestro stood back, taking great satisfaction in my shocked fascination.
“Well?” He finally asked. “What do you think of her?”
“I…” I tried to say. “She’s magnificent sir…but what will you do with her?”
“When I complete her massive lens, she will be able to photograph the veined-intricacies the a fly! She will be nearly as exacting as a microscope! And ten times as powerful!” He said.
“And will you use her to take photographs of people?” I asked.
“Oh Yes,” he said. “Whole groups of people instead of one or two!” He rubbed his hands. “We will unveil it when it is finished! And turn the basement into the studio!”
“And do you think people will come?” I asked.
He looked at me and grinned. “Their curiosity will get the best of them.”
The entire first day was devoted to collecting glass. I was beginning to feel more like a servant than an apprentice. I was made to search abandoned buildings, take out their windows, and load them onto the cart. “And if you can get windows any other way,” the Maestro had said. “I will not find it objectionable.” He had not only turned me into a servant, but a criminal as well. The whole experience so far had required the use of the criminal mind. After all, crime is merely a result of a necessity; which turning obsessive; in desperation acts.
My hands and knees were cut, but I delivered the windows to the Maestro, who was very pleased with the turnout. Looking at the giant circle carved in the giant box, I estimated the lens would have to be the size of a small pond. I would be scrounging glass for some time.
The Maestro had a giant cauldron at the far end of the basement. He would fire it up when he had enough glass, and hire some men to help with the job, lift the lens to the top and put it in the giant scope. He apologized that my work so far had not been of a scientific nature, and added that when we secured the lens, I would be able to see what the camera could really do, and receive my education. I scratched a dry scab on my knee and thanked him.
“But we are going to need a bit more glass,” he said. A bit more? I thought. Did he expect me to steal the windows off a cathedral? His obsession with the giant lens knew no bounds. I had come so far away from what I originally intended; to learn the art of photography. To marvel at something beautiful. But I have to be honest with you dear reader, much of my time was spent collecting glass, but some of it was spent in the small studio, where I created scenes and took photographs. The Maestro never left the basement, so I had absolute privacy.
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The cauldron burned yellow and orange, lava-like, as we lowered the glass into its volcano. We watched as the pieces melted into the others, until they were one churning substance. I helped the other men pour it into an impeccably created giant mold. We left it to cool. The Maestro sat very close to it, bent down, bouncing off his toes, in fevered anticipation.
We pulled the lens from the mold surprisingly well, and laid the giant glass orb on the ground, face up, proceeding to shine it to a diamond finish. Now came the hard part, we would use a pulley system to reach the men at the top, who would place it gently into the scope, and secure it.
While doing this, I happened to look at the top of the stairs. I saw the shadow of a woman. I say a woman and not a girl, for the figure stood bold and sure. But there was something in her gait which spoke of heavy judgment of what was occurring. And I got so spooked, I lost control of the rope. The lens fell nearly three feet, before we could get control of it again. The Maestro was so upset, he pulled me aggressively from the rope, and took the reigns himself. When I looked back, she was gone.
As I was already in trouble, I didn’t think that it was the right time to tell the Maestro that I had just seen a shadow resembling his wife at the top of the stairs. I was even more afraid to tell him that she stood disapprovingly. He wouldn’t have believed me anyway. He wouldn’t want to believe. I think because he had convinced himself he was doing it all for her. But looking at his mad features, surrounding his shrinking obsessive eyes, as he yelled at us to move faster! I wasn’t sure whom he was doing it for? Or why?
After the accident, the Maestro said he wasn’t sure if he could trust me. He would take all the photographs for the first week. And then, if I showed initiative, he may allow me to watch the process. I wanted to scream, “And collecting all that glass wasn’t initiative enough!” I didn’t of course. I myself was obsessed by wanting to see what this behemoth camera could do? And I wasn’t going to leave until I did.
The Maestro unveiled the camera a few days later. When the people heard it could take pictures of very large groups, they arrived with very large families, sports teams, and local organizations. The line was around the block. All this I spied from my window with much excitement, periodically cursing the Maestro for putting my apprenticeship on hold. All day long they came in droves. I watched each one enter the basement through a passage the Maestro had created for them. At night I heard mad, satisfied laughter, and locked my door.
The next morning, the Maestro asked for me. I ran down the stairs so quickly, I nearly tripped over my own pajamas. But when I got to the bottom, the Maestro was just standing there with a piece of paper in his hand. “Take this down to the paper-mill.” He said. “Give it to Mr. Benson, the foreman.”
“Yes Maestro,” I said quickly, hoping to improve his thoughts towards my initiative. As I was going upstairs to get dressed, he added. “And make sure it’s the right size before you take it. 26×36.”
“Yes sir.”
The town was uncommonly quiet. None of the usual hustle and bustle. I had an eerie sensation. The only thing I had liked about collecting glass was interacting with people. There’s a reason why people who get stuck on desert islands are soon feverish for escape, I thought. A reason they learn the science to build a water-solvent craft. All that study and invention motivated by only one thing; to see other people. About the only place I did hear voices was near the paper-mill, and I hurried towards it.
The paper-mill was good and noisy with people at work. I could see that Mr. Benson was a hands-on man; walking up and down the factory floor, solving problems as they occurred, jumping in and out of the paper-line, to give his men a break. I felt embarrassed to interrupt him, so I just stood there, figuring he would see me and come over when he could. After a few minutes he spotted me and lifted up a hand in recognition. I waited patiently as he yelled above the noise to one of his men about the last batch being too thick.
Finally, he came over and shook my hand. I gave him the piece of paper. “Yep.” He said. “That’s ready whenever you want to take it.” One of the men brought it over, a heavy stack of white paper wrapped tightly with brown paper. They were 26X36. I asked Mr. Benson about the deserted streets. He told me it had been like that all day. Then he reasoned that folks did like to stay inside in winter. “I had three large orders that weren’t picked up today.” He added.
The Maestro met me at the door. He took the paper, and without so much as a thank you, turned and headed back towards the basement. Him and his precious experiment! I wasn’t even sure I wanted to see it anymore? Now I was afraid. What could an invention do, hatched from the mind of such a man? I decided to wait patiently for the opportunity to go down there, and find out what was going on. Just the look in his eye these days shot a chill through my bones. Three days later, the opportunity presented itself.
The Maestro went to town to get some wood for a repair. He warned me about the basement. Hearing the Maestro leave, and the door slam, I rushed down to the basement at great speed. I found its doors chained and bolted. But I was ravenous for a solution, and immediately asked myself, where the Maestro was most likely to hide his key? A split-second thought led me to only one conclusion.
I stood before his wife’s portrait. She certainly seemed a dignified woman. I apologized, reaching behind for the key. Sure enough, there it was! I pulled it gently from the tape, and brought it out. I looked down at it, grinning triumphantly. I looked back up at the portrait. And though the mouth hadn’t changed, the eyes seemed to be grinning back. I bowed my head in respect, and began to walk slowly towards the basement.
Opening the doors, I found it so dark that I could hardly see the stairs. I removed the gas lamp from its hook on the cold cement wall. Walking down the stairs, the darkness continued. The flame in the lamp doubled. Lifting it up, I saw that all the windows had been covered top to bottom with black cloth. And on the walls to either side, were the photographs.
The camera seemed even more imposing than it had been before. Looking at the back of its giant box, I could see that the wood was sooted in black; as if it had been burned? And then, slowly lifting the lamp towards the ceiling, I saw the rectangular lines, of what could only be a hatch to the outside! It could be reached from the large platform along the camera. I put the lamp-handle between my teeth, and started to climb. At the top, I put it down, and began searching for a handle. I found one towards the bottom. But when I tried to lift it, I nearly broke my back.
I stepped back and prepared my self this time; rubbing my hands together and placing them side by side on the large handle, bending down, and lifting slowly with my knees. The hatch began to creep open. An intense sunlight shone through. I was not prepared for its intensity, and feeling like my feet and ankles were on fire, I let the hatch drop with a thud. The sound reverberated and echoed across the massive space. I took off my shoes, and began wildly rubbing my feet. Turning to the side, I spied a large box. I pulled it closer, and opened it. It was some kind of protective suit? So this was how the Maestro could withstand such heat? I put it on, and dared to try again.
I succeeded in opening the hatch all the way, and stood at the receiving end of its fiery gaze. I could not even imagine its power on the otherside of that lens? It was still very hot, but it did not burn. And then I felt a very strong pull, as if I were an object interrupting an inertia moving forward. It began to lift me off my heels. I was able to grab on to something, and pull myself away. Now you’d think dear reader, this would be enough to learn my lesson, and go scurrying back down the ladder? But if you have been paying any attention, you probably know what I did?… I asked myself … What harm in taking a picture?
One the wide stage below, there was a large, sturdy chair, sitting directly in the gaze of the camera. I put on the protective suit, prepared the camera, and opened the hatch. I held on tight, as once again I felt that interminable pull. I lifted the giant shutter on pulley, bent down, and watched the chair. The light on the otherside of the lens was ten times as strong. I watched as the chair was pulled apart by its very fibers, and astonished to see it vanish. I watched strange, glowing, colored molecules, travel up the light and into the camera. I pulled down the shutter and stood there stunned. Suddenly there was an enraged scream at the top of the stairs. The Maestro bolted down the steps raving. “How did you know where the key was! You sneaky! Conniving! Little…!”
But far from being afraid; my blind curiosity finally satiated; I found myself very angry. He had managed to turn me into an accomplice in the creation of this monstrous, giant Orb? A lens so strong, it could suck the flesh from the body and disintegrate its matter!
I stood firm atop the platform. And simply asked. “Where are the people Maestro?”
He calmed himself then. Took a moment, as if realizing the futility of trying to hide anything else. “Come down,” he finally said. “Come down and I’ll show you.”
I came down the ladder slowly, all the while watching him. When I reached the bottom, he put his arm around me and smiled. “Come.” He said. “Let me help you understand.” He led me to a photograph…
“Let’ s look at this one.” He said. “Let’s really look at it. Let’s peak into every soul.”
I shuddered. Feeling my discomfort, the Maestro added, “Relax boy. When I finish, it will all make perfect sense.” We turned to the photo; a family of seven. The father stood to the right, the mother to the left. Between them there were three boys. And in front of them were two girls, each holding a basket of flowers.
He wandered into reflection. “Look at the father,” he began. “Still young, strapping, full of ambition. Bold. Next to him, three strapping young boys. Princes. The apple of his eye. Next to them, a fine woman…beautiful, dignified, full of humor and good cheer. And see the girls now. The flowers of youth, in a moment of purest bliss. They are all so happy. Life has been good to them up to this moment. And they will never have to watch it die. Frozen in perfect innocence! In a moment of pure possibility! Bitterness; that merciless hag! Not yet settled her hate upon their features…absolute perfection…”
“What have you done Maestro?” I finally asked.
He turned to me irritated. “I have preserved them in a moment of glory!” He yelled. “This photograph will never haunt them with its joy, as they face the tragedy of their future. In this perfect moment they will live forever. Now tell me boy! Is that not an act of altruism? A true love of humanity? I am not boy, as you might think, a mad scientist. I am a healer.”
I chose my next words very carefully, seeing that if I made to harsh a judgment, the Maestro may erupt? “Maestro?” I finally asked. “Did you ask for their permission? You cannot tell for certain that this family might not find a way to be happy on their own? From what I see they seem very capable?”
“They would never see it coming.” He insisted.
“What?”
“The tragedy that would finally destroy them. It’s out in the air you know…bad luck. You never see it coming. Then Bam! Destiny turns the corner and sets you on a path of eternal misery!” He glared at me, weighing my reaction. “What’s the matter boy? I don’t like the look of you?”
I ventured a sane statement. “You cannot bring your wife back this way sir.”
He looked at me as if he would strangle me. “Don’t you think I know that you self-righteous imbecile!” He yelled. “Oh no apprentice. It goes much deeper than that…did I not tell you that I would snatch souls from the Master Maestro Himself!…You should have paid better attention boy! But perhaps you did… Only you denied what your eyes saw and your ears heard? Sacrificing all your fine morals to the thrill of invention! You are no better than me boy! And if you think I am the devil, you willingly became his apprentice!” He grinned at me with frightening resolve, victorious. But although he had revealed my dirty little secret, I was not prepared to be re-swayed into his corner.
“I was wrong.” I finally said. “And so were you.”
He drew his face near to mine. “I was not wrong,” he whispered. “I saved those people.”
“You have not!” I yelled back. “You have confined their souls to photographic purgatory! Their own souls!” I caught my breath. “You thought that you could be a better God to them than God was to you, but you too took without asking! Just like he took your wife! You are not a better God Sir! You sir are a criminal!”
He lunged himself at me, putting his large hands round my throat, and began to strangle me with deadly purpose. I grabbed his throat in retaliation. We pushed and pulled eachother along the ground, and up to the small platform. As I struggled; the back of my head suspended at the very edge; I saw the figure again. Her hand on the handle of the giant hatch, she nodded, and I knew what I had to do.
“Maestro,” I said. “Look to the top of the platform! It is your wife! Dear God I swear it!”
He let go in a trance and stood to see… There she stood looking directly at him.
“My darling.” He cried and fell to his knees. “My angel. My own sweet soul.”
He stood now directly in the eye of the camera. I saw her lift the hatch.
“Yes my love, please.” He pleaded. “Take the photograph. I only want to be where you are.” He willingly and peacefully resigned himself to the pull, and was taken.
I rushed to the dark room, feverishly preparing the photograph. I watched, rapt, as the figures appeared. When they did, I stood back to make sure it was real? They were young! So very young? The picture of youth? In their eyes, the middle of a giggle which had begun the moment before. Their hands were laced in affection. How happy the Maestro looked? Free of all burden? I did not know what to think, or how to judge? Was he not safe from the world here? The world safe from him? I felt the air cool, as if it were cooling the mouth of a giant volcano, which had been unhinged in its volatility.
I hung the photograph up and just stared. I had certainly gotten my education. But what it was exactly, I would be thinking about for the rest of my life. After that, every time I looked into the lens of a camera, I could still hear the Maestro saying… “ Curiosity will get the best of them….”
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