The One Who Stole the Sky

Collages and Communism

"Liesel I must be going, Charlie and I are starting work today." Max styled his hair in the bathroom while Liesel typed at the typewriter.

"I will see you at noon then? Or will it take longer?" Liesel pushed herself away from the desk she was working hard at and turned to face Max.

"I do not know. Perhaps wherever the job will take me I can hail a driver to come home for lunch." Max slipped on his gray wool coat for this morning's unforgiving breeze.

"I will see you sometime this evening if you cannot make it home for lunch." Liesel put down her pencil and stood up from the table. She smoothed her golden waves and skirt before making her way over to Max who stood in front of the door fussing with his tie.

"Do you need help?" Liesel shied away as if he were a stranger stalking in the night.

"I'm fine..." His face turned colors as his patience was wearing thin.

"Please." Liesel spontaneously reached her hands into the quarrel and took charge. Max stopped his violent gestures to stare at the tie then at Liesel. She handled him like a thoughtful mother. Or as a wise child. Or as a compassionate lady. Liesel fumbled at first when the warm sparks of anxiety burned her skin only to brand her heart. Sweat forced itself upon her skin which she particularly did not care for. Max's eyes could be felt staring at her.

"Why are you so nervous?" Max strained his eyes at Liesel with a mild, toothy smile.

"I'm not nervous." Liesel stammered, and her face turned the colors that Max's had previously.

"Remember when I threw up Rosa's soup?" Max tried to break the uneasy atmosphere by recalling one of the comical reliefs during the war.

"It was the best thing you ever threw up." With a gentle tug on the knot, the tie was complete and hung around Max's neck maturely.

"Yes, how do you remember that after so long?" A few sneaky hairs tossed themselves in front of his defined face.

"Because it was the most funny moment of your life." The innocent, glimmering blue in Liesel's eyes always shone ten million more times brighter when she was talking to or about Max, and she knew it.

"Alright, clever girl, what was your favorite moment from the war?" Max squinted at his companion.

"When I met you of course." Liesel did not hold back and even laughed a little when she spoke.

"I guess that was my favorite moment then too." Max rested his hand on the doorknob. A bit of Liesel faded in this moment because she knew Max was leaving for hours on end.

"Make something good." Liesel toyed with her hair as she saw Max out.

Max pushed his way through the crowded streets that still never quite healed from the war. He fetched a ride at the corner to his work awfully happy, for the entire city was awake with life. The most refreshing part of this routine drive to Max was the quiet cafés. While the streets hummed their own tune, something about cafés stopped time and preserved their customers in a cozy, safe place.

The cab ceased in front of an apartment, Charlie's apartment. Max ducked out of the car, whispered a brief thanks to the driver, and took to the entrance. A friendly bell chimed as he opened the door. There was no one waiting for him, and there weren't any indications of where to go. Slowly, he peered around the entry way, taking time to figure it out for himself.

"Hello, you must be Max?" A woman came rushing from the side room, to the right.

"Yes, I am. I am here to see an artist named Charlie. Do you know where I could find him?" Max was stunned by how quietly the woman snuck up on him, and how she seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The lady laughed a little.

"I'm Charlie." She stuck out her hand for Max to shake. Max felt embarrassed that he insulted the woman with his ignorance. It showed itself perfectly across his face.

"I'm sorry, I apologize..." Max never took her hand, but rather he clenched his hands into fists.

"No problem. This way." Charlie pushed on; she didn't want to think about the awkward encounter or spend more time living in it. Soon they arrived in an open studio that was completely barren and stark white aside from the cans and colorful brushes sprawled over table and the floor.

"What do you plan on painting?" Max stepped slowly around canvases that were laid out to dry on the crafting table.

"The Soviet Union. I want people to talk. That will give them something to talk about- all of them." Charlie fantasized a gigantic mural in her head: divided, fragmented, torn, lost, and discomforting.

"That might not be safe. An anarchist could get you and I killed in an instant." Max examined Charlie's brush collection held by old cups encrusted with every color imaginable.

"I don't think the Communists have anything on us. They'd have to go through the authorities to get us."

"Whose to say some aren't living among us?" Max peered over to Charlie. Her yellow-green eyes showed transparency as the sun reflected off of them through her glasses. She smiled, separating her bright red lips to show white teeth.

Max began to feel out of place, and looked down at a pile of blank canvases.

"So how do you want to represent the Communism given it is not a real, physical object." Charlie shared some of her ideas, and Max listened. He would say no or yes or brilliant to her visions.

"Maybe we could make it like a collage? And have Stalin's face on it and Khrushchev's and Mao Zedong." She pointed eagerly to a large canvas, directing where each section would go and what colors would go where.

"Do you want to get killed? I don't think you realize it's only been a few years since the war left our doorstep." Max anxiously paced around the crafting table with an ever-growing heart rate.

"It's a bold move and would get the world's attention. Don't you see? It's one step in pioneering in the art world." Charlie lusted over the idea the more and more it brought disagreement.

"We could use headline clippings from the newspaper and the pictures too." A hand dove into the trash in search of old newspapers. It clenched the remnants of Sunday's copy and sprawled open the tissue paper-like pages.

"Here. All of this just from one paper!" With a smile, Charlie displayed a headline about Khrushchev.

"I think it's time I head home. I will come up with some ideas for next time though." A minuscule smile was presented to Charlie from Max. He collected the items he brought with him and made it down the stairs followed by Charlie.

"Goodnight." Max reaches out his hand.

"Goodnight." Charlie took it and they both shook hands to identify a mutual relationship as business partners.