“The fallen painting”

I think many people will find it interesting to know the story that was told to me by an old woman. She began her story with the words: “I think I will die tomorrow, a painting told me about it. You probably think I am crazy, so please arm yourself with patience and hear me out.” 

‘Let me begin by telling you that long ago my forefathers came into possession of an oil painting. It’s a painting of an old woman, she is my age, but she is wearing clothes that are different from the ones we have in our time. In her twisted, bony fingers she is holding an hourglass. 

My grandmother told me that our family was special and many generations were of higher social class. Some time ago my great-grandfather bought a painter out of captivity and housed him in his estate, but he didn’t buy out the painter’s wife and children, despite their tears and pleas. The painter became our bondsman and since the day my great-grandfather bought him out the painter hasn’t said a single word. Neither persuasion nor beatings helped. Of course he painted whatever he was told to, but he wouldn’t talk. A bondmaid fell in love with the painter. My great-grandfather was a cruel man and ended their love, probably in revenge for the painter’s silence. He sold the girl and gave the painter a sound beating in front of everybody. The painter was 33 years old, he was handsome and talented. After the beating my great-grandfather ordered him to paint a portrait of my great-grandmother. He was probably trying to break the proud painter.

When the deadline arrived my great-grandfather came into the painter’s workshop to look at his wife’s portrait, however, under the cover he saw not the image of his better half, but the ugly face of an old woman with an hourglass in her twisted hands. In rage he hit the painter on the head with his walking stick and the painter fell dead. 

Everybody thought he had died, because the wound on his temple was huge, so they buried him. The next morning the gravedigger came and said he had to dig up the painter’s grave that morning, because he heard screams. He said that the painter was dying and calling the master. Surprised by the fact that the painter, who has been silent all these years, talked; my great-grandfather agreed to see the dying man. When my great-grandfather came up to the painter, he was at his last gasp. Nevertheless, he had enough strength left to curse our family. He said that all the hate of his soul was left in his last work, the painting of an old woman. He said every time someone in our family was about to die the painting would fall on the ground. And if anyone burned or destroyed the painting, that person would die. 

After these words the painter died and was buried for the second time. My great-grandfather returned to the painting and the more he stared at it the more terrified he got. The words of the dying painter probably got to him; he was really scared that if he destroyed the painting someone in the family would die. He decided to leave the painting saying he wanted to see for himself if the painting would warn about anyone’s death. 

A year went by. Once, during evening tea the painting fell of the wall. Everyone at the table was stupefied. But the head of the house was the most stupefied of all. No one said a word. The next morning when my great-grandfather was getting on his horse it ran away. Nobody expected the always quiet and obedient horse to do something like that. The stable boy tarried so the horse threw off her rider and kicked him in his temple. 

My great-grandfather was buried, the painting was put on its usual place and my great-grandmother ordered to hang it properly this time. In two months and nine days the painting fell off again and one of my great-grandmother’s children died. 

The years went by and the painting was passed on from generation to generation along with the legend. Everybody in our family knew they’re not supposed to do anything to the painting or they will die. 

I have witnessed all the deaths in our family. Every time the painting dropped, we had no doubt that death came to take one of us. I have outlived everyone, I am alone and I know that tomorrow or the day after tomorrow I will die. 

I will try to destroy the painting; no…the old woman who measured off my family’s time and it ends with me! I am afraid to cut or burn the canvas – the old woman’s eyes are too lifelike.’