There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to give in no matter what. That time came for three men, one after the other, and it all revolved around a painting. This painting was discovered at a garage sale by a math teacher who was on the hunt for a rare signed first edition Gödel, Escher, Bach: A Mental Space Odyssey, but was distracted by the full-length portrait instead. It was one of many interesting paintings for sale, but he found this one especially hilarious and he paid $120 for it and took it home. The squabble that ensued between him and his wife could be heard by the neighbors two doors down.
“You tell me you’re searching for a rare book, but your goose-chase always ends with you bringing useless clutter into our lives.”
“It’s Hofstadter, dear and a signed first edition of his Space Odyssey would be priceless!”
“And yet today it has led to a painting of a dog licking his balls hanging in our living room!” It was hard to argue with that. “It might entertain your friends, but as the leader of the Baking for Change Association, I can’t be made to look stupid in front of the girls!” The rats in the painting gave her chills, and feeling disgusted by the rest of the animals, she swiped the frame off the wall and would’ve sent it flying out the door had the math teacher not caught it. “I will leave you if you try to hang that thing anywhere in this house! Do you hear me?”
Her shrill voice drove him into the night, but rather than throw it in the garbage as his wife so lovingly suggested, the grumbling husband made a desperate decision. In an act of rebellion, he snuck into the basement, attempting to save the painting for Saturday’s Uno night. His plan would have succeeded if his wife had not decided on doing her rare hate-clean of the mancave the next day. With a final warning, she marched up the stairs, shoved it against his chest, and forced him to capitulate.
The furious math teacher left the house to sell “that thing” at the nearest Base Coin Antique Shop. When he got to the shop, the owner tried everything to bargain, but the teacher was firm on asking $200. He made the trade of his lifetime that day and went out to celebrate and lavish himself at the local Swapy’s Ice Cream Shop, alone.
The shrewd owner of the Base Coin Antique Shop made his living on a sense of what would sell, or so he thought. “Rath-ek-y,” he muttered as he punched in the letters on the Google search bar. His eyes scanned page after page, his head swiveling between the signature and the search.
“Have you heard such a name in your life?” he called out to no one in particular, checking and re-checking his spelling.
There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to give in no matter what. Unfortunately, it seemed that this time around, it would be for naught.
The shop owner’s inner excitement slowly turned into remorse. Disappointed, he called one of his employees to take it away. When the old woman emerged from the back, the shop owner was still rambling.
“Rats like him sniff me out and take me for a ride with their wild stories!”
The old woman pretended not to hear his complaint.
“Speaking of rats, did you see the ones in the painting? Grotesque!”
The woman rolled her eyes as he carried on. She wondered how much money he’d blown this time as she carried the painting to the small room at the back of the shop, passing another employee on the way.
Very few items were selected to become part of Bob’s Eternal Holdings, the worst collection in the store. Unbeknownst to the owner, the employees liked to bet on which items would make it there and had named the pitiful collection after him.
“Another acquisition?” asked the bored purple-haired girl.
“Did you put money on it?” asked the old woman.
“Five bucks,” replied the girl. “I should’ve bet fifty. I knew it would end up in B.E.H., but I didn’t know it would be so soon.”
“The boss is losing his edge,” chuckled the old woman.
“Can’t lose what you never had.”
As she walked into the small dingy room, the old lady became curious, turning the light on and giving herself time to examine the portrait. She took out her thick glasses and searched for the focal point, but as soon as she found it, she was mortified. A dog diligently licking his balls and a cat showcasing his butthole was enough to turn her wrinkled cheeks a shade of crimson they hadn’t worn in decades. Her curiosity was gone as quickly as it came. It served the boss right that he should lose money on such an idiotic buy. She put the painting facedown on an old wooden bidet and avoided the room for the rest of the month.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when an art collector came into the store. After his first day at an obstetrics and gynecology conference with his wife, the collector decided anything would be better than spending another minute looking at a vagina on a twenty-foot screen. He was wandering around the city when he spotted the antique shop’s rusty sign and spent nearly two hours browsing each room, touching and turning each piece. His feet were starting to hurt inside his leather loafers by the time he made it to the most obscure room in the shop. When he found Ratheky’s painting, he was so excited by the discovery that he dashed to the sales counter to ask the price.
The greedy shop owner had a nose for desperate buyers, and this well-dressed buffoon reeked of cash. More out of shock than anything else, the shop owner initially avoided the question about the price.
“You are right to be excited about the painting,” he said with glittering eyes. “I can’t with good conscience part with it for anything less than $800, maybe more.” It was more than he ever dreamed the painting could be worth.
The art collector realized with pause that his excitement had betrayed him and started to bargain for a discount. He had forgotten his wallet in the car parked a few blocks away and didn’t want to risk losing the painting.
“The painting is not what’s most important to me,” he lied. “The frame— it’s like one my wife has wanted for many years. She would kill me if she found out I left here without buying it, but I can’t afford $800 for wood.”
The shop owner wasn’t buying his story, but as he glanced around the shop, he realized customers were listening in on the conversation. He had to be professional, but if this man saw value in the piece, perhaps he could double the price for someone else. He made one last attempt to persuade him to leave the painting alone.
“I really am sorry about disappointing your wife, but I made my decision. I can't sell it for any less than $1,000.” He hoped the scare tactic would work, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the way the man’s face drained of color when he imposed the extra $200.
“One thousand…” The man patted himself down and in a last act of determination, slid his gold wedding band off his finger and put it on the table as collateral. “I’ll be right back.”
Exactly thirty minutes and eleven seconds later, he barged through the front door again, a bell ringing above his head as he marched toward the counter and slammed down $1,000 cash. The shop owner was devastated. The determined buyer exited the shop with an air of triumph, the painting under his arm.
Unable to properly handle the lost opportunity to earn more, the shop owner got so drunk that night that he fell asleep on some unknown couch on the side of the road, surprising his neighbor the next morning.
The art collector spent so much time scouring the internet for any mention of the unknown painter, that he almost forgot to pick up his wife from the conference. As they drove back to the hotel, he couldn’t hear his wife’s deep dive into the mysteries of the vaginal microbiome. He was thinking of the unwrapped painting that he left on the hotel room’s desk.
The man in the painting reminded him of the character Blondie played by Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. His character didn’t wear sunglasses in the movie, but the collector was so sure that the resemblance couldn’t be a coincidence, that he bought the epic spaghetti western online and rewatched it with his wife that night. As he stared at the ending credits, the art collector lost himself in his thoughts, but his wife’s snoring brought him back. He got up from the king-sized bed wearing nothing but pink boxer shorts, on his way to examine the painting again.
He sat on the sofa, balancing the frame on his lap. As the art collector focused on each element of the piece before him, he could practically feel the stone floor beneath his feet as he examined the futuristic backdrop, a city of technological advancement and peace.
He tapped his fingers on the side of the frame as he meditated on what it could all mean. The warrior, a confident hero, sat on an accent chair looking back at him.
“There is no battlefield in sight,” he murmured. “This is made clear by the toy gun laying on the stone floor, and yet, the naginata weapon speaks of a subtle readiness should any conflict arise.”
He loved the playfulness of the portrait and the adorably depicted animals. The apples on the levitating executive desk reminded him of the classical still-life paintings.
“The horse adds another layer of meaning,” he continued, his fingers still tapping. “I wonder if this is purposeful. Artistic inspiration contrasted with innocent instincts.” His eyes traced the shape of the fruit. “Apples are a source of inspiration for artists, but for a horse, it’s just a fruit to be eaten. Brilliant!” He examined every angle of the portrait, his fingers tapping to the same beat as his heart. The 2D world engulfed him in a way only a true masterpiece could do.
His eyes scanned the thirty dots on the warrior’s chest and the ring with the bullhead engraving, searching for meaning. It was then that his attention focused on a rat eating an oddly shaped cheese. “Eating can mean prosperity and destruction at the same time,” he reasoned. “But this cheese is shaped like an octahedron…”
The tapping stopped.
There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to give in no matter what. It was at this moment, as his wife snored peacefully from across the room, that the art collector did just that.
“Oh.”
His eyes widened, brightening, as he finally understood.