38. ինձ տոմս տվեք
Այն միտքը, որ տեսնելու եմ վան Գոգի «Արեւածաղիկները», ենթադրաբար` նաեւ «Կարտոֆիլ ուտողները», հանեց օրվա երկրորդ կեսից իմ մեջ կուտակված լարվածությունը:
38. Give me a Ticket
The idea that I would be seeing Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” presumably including the “Potato Eaters”, eased the tension built up in me in the second half of the day. I watched the second airing of “Le Mag” to make sure I got everything right. I was right: in three days Van Gogh’s exhibit would open at the museum of Impressionists in Paris, where the “Sunflowers” would also be exhibited, as well as canvases collected from different parts of the world. The exhibit would last one month. On my way to breakfast the next morning I asked the hotel manager to get me two tickets for the exhibit. We had breakfast with Fred, returned to the foyer and according to our custom, had another coffee there. The manager, whom I had asked to get the tickets, appeared:
“I’m sorry, but there are no more tickets for the exhibit.”
I was stunned.
“How can there be no more tickets?” I couldn’t hide my surprise and noticed that my reaction caused the same kind of surprise on the beautiful face of the manager. “Anyway, I’m grateful to you; forgive me,” I tried to put things right, and turned to Fred:
“Fred, there’s something wrong here; let’s go to that museum.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong here, but let’s go anyway,” said Fred.
“But how can there be no tickets?” I repeated rhetorically.
Fred looked at me in surprise:
“The same way theaters, movies and football games are sold out.”
But still, this was surprising for me; it was the first time that I was hearing about an exhibition being sold out. Fred explained it to me:
“The paintings are not the property of the museum, but the property of different people and museums. The museum of the Impressionists borrows them on a temporary loan, in this case, for one month, and pays a fee the owners of those paintings. There are certain criteria for viewing the paintings. In any given space, there can’t be more than 10 people at the same time. And, in many cases when the interest in an exhibit is overwhelming, viewing hours are assigned on the tickets. It looks like a maximum number of people wanting to see those paintings during the scheduled one month, as a result of which there are no more tickets.”
It’s really wonderful that people here go to exhibits with the same enthusiasm as I went to a ‘Khash’, I thought to myself.
Fred was right. The registry at the Impressionists’ museum told us that there were no more tickets for sale:
“They’re saying that the deadline for the exhibit might be extended by one week. So you can reserve tickets for the extended period. But let me tell you in advance that this is not certain and the deadline may not be extended,” the person selling the tickets consoled us.
“But aren’t there people who will sell their tickets?” I asked.
“Sure, there may be. But we don’t get involved in that. Come around when the exhibit has opened and you might find some people in the area selling tickets. Or, you can try finding tickets through the internet,” he advised us.
“Can you give me a hint as to what website these tickets are auctioned on the internet? I’m not familiar with the sites here,” asked Fred.
The person selling tickets wrote the website address, and we left. Van Gogh’s exhibit had already made a created great interest, through the absence of tickets. How happy the poor guy would have been had he known that 110 years later people would make an effort to get tickets for his exhibit and be afraid of being denied the pleasure of seeing his paintings.
“What do you say, Fred, is this an adoration of the arts or PR?” I asked.
“PR to worship the arts,” he answered and continued: “people want to see what this man, who cut off his own ear, has painted.”
“Fred, you’ll find the tickets, won’t you?” I asked him, pleading.
“I hope so. But we should do it fast, otherwise the prices will soar,” he said, smiling.
There was lightness on Fred’s face. In general Fred had changed a lot in the last few days; very little remained from the days of Lausanne. His interest in life, in daily routine, had returned, if not completely, at least noticeably. The seal of hopelessness had gone from his face; he walked with more confidence and a kind of energy was present in his movements and gestures. I was happy for that, and happy that during the difficult times of our respective lives we had been together and through our friendship we were able to dispel the pain and longing we each felt, and in which we each suffered.
We went in the first internet café we saw, ordered some coffee, and sat down by the computer. Fred went into the site the ticket seller at the museum had given, he surfed a little and said:
“There’s nothing here; it looks like we should try in the evening.”
We left the place, walked around a bit, went into a couple of shops and then sat at a café till it was time for lunch. We ate at a restaurant which had tables on the sidewalk. We went to the hotel after lunch and went directly into the internet. Fred got to work, but I didn’t stay with him; I went to the foyer to read the paper. In about half an hour or forty minutes Fred came back and announced victoriously:
“I bought them; for four times the original price.”
The next morning the distributor brought two tickets to Fred’s room, for which Fred paid 240 Euros. Of course, I reimbursed Fred for the cost of my ticket. The tickets were for the second day of the exhibit, from 12noon-3:00 in the afternoon.
(to be continued)
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