Page 60 of Theo of Golden

“I hope I will get to hear you and your cello perform someday.”

“That would be nice. When I first heard Professor Gobelli play it, I almost cried. I heard music and tones that I never knew were there. My grandmother would have been so happy to hear it. Ya’ know, my cello is sorta like a son or a daughter to me. That’s why I carry it with me everywhere. I don’t leave it at the school. This ‘hockey player,’ as Tony calls it, is my grandmother’s voice to me.”

“And have you honored her request? Do you play for the angels?”

“I try.”

“And when is the next time you will play for humans?”

Simone told Theo of upcoming events: a quartet performance, a wedding, a concert of the university chamber orchestra. He was also beginning to prepare for his recital the following spring. That recital would be Simone’s last step before completion of his master’s degree. It might also lead to the next step on his career path. Representatives from symphonies around the country, at the invitation of Professor Gobelli, would be in attendance that night to assess Simone’s proficiency. His focus and diligence, therefore, even this far in advance, were understandable.

The recital was almost a year away, but Theo made a mental note of the event.

CHAPTER 34

Though Theo did his best to keep the bestowals a secret, word began to circulate about the curious benefactor of Broadway.

When he wished to buy a portrait or portraits, he would do so when the shop was empty or uncrowded. On other occasions, he might write a note or whisper instructions to Shep who, on his own time, would remove the designated portrait or portraits from the wall, wrap them in brown paper, and, later, hand them over to Theo as inconspicuously as possible.

From the outset, Shep had promised confidentiality, as did Asher and Tony once they learned of Theo’s intent.

And yet, despite those measures to keep his kindness below the radar, it could not be entirely unnoticed.

The portraits themselves ended up in an interesting assortment of places.

Most were displayed on prominent wall space in homes throughout the city.

One, of a softball coach, was placed in a high school trophy case.

One, of a little boy, was mailed overseas to his father, a soldier who was doing a tour of duty in Syria.

Another, of an old woman, was placed in the casket of her husband at his passing.

One, by special permission, was sent, unframed, to a death row inmate. It was the portrait of a woman who had been his foster parent when he was a teenager. She had continued to write him letters until the week before her passing.

Most of the people who received portraits from Theo believed themselves to be the sole objects of his generosity and, hence, never suspected they were part of a larger endeavor. All would have been at least a little surprised to learn how many others eventually met Theo at the Fedder.

Word of “this old man who gives away portraits” eventually reached the desk of a local newspaper reporter. When she contacted Theo about doing a story and a blog post, he shuddered at the prospect, imagining some cringeworthy article about ‘a clandestine portrait fairy flitting through the fountains of the Promenade,’ or worse.

Instead of declining her request, however, he scheduled a meeting two weeks out at the Fedder. He requested that she come alone. And, emphatically, no photographer. She agreed.

When she arrived, a very full-sized woman in her forties, Theo greeted her — Katherine Lesker — with a bow and a smile. After introductions and before she could turn on a recorder or launch into her intended interview, he took charge of the conversation. His voice was soft but authoritative.

“Ms. Katherine, might I tell you a wee bit of my story first, off the record? I have a favor to ask of you, and you will understand it better if you let me explain.”

She leaned forward with all the attentiveness expected of one in her profession as Theo shared the sparsest of details about his life and then explained what he’d been doing with the portraits. While he spoke, she was composing a story in her mind, a local-interest, feel-good story. Accordingly, she was more than a little disappointed when he asked, almost pleaded, that she not write about it in the newspaper.

He explained, “I never did this to be noticed, and I fear that, if you write about it, I will not be able to continue my work. The anonymity and unexpectedness of the gifts are almost as important as the portraits themselves. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose so.” The letdown was obvious in her voice. “But the story is so interesting, and I know people would enjoy it. They would be inspired by your example. We need some positive stories these days. Wouldn’t you like to inspire others?”

“What I want is to bless the ones I give the portraits to.” He paused. “When you’re as old as me, Ms. Katherine, you’ll have seen lots of very good intentions end up very badly, intentions that might have been better served if they had been acted on quietly. There are some, of course, whose generosity is inspiring, but so many others, tsk, tsk, tsk…”

Katherine offered no argument.

Theo continued, “I would guess you’ve read Mr. Wordsworth, perhaps in a literature class at some point in your studies. He once wrote that the best portion of a good person’s life is ‘the little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.’ Tintern Abbey, yes? Little. Nameless. Unremembered. I think it has never been our nature to think that way, but especially now, we like ‘big’ and ‘viral’ and all that. But I think Mr. Wordsworth was right.

“At this point, the handful of people who’ve gotten their portraits — on this very bench, in fact — only know that a stranger, for some strange reason, gave them a gift. If those people read an article that focuses on me the least bit then, whether you mean for it to be or not, the gift would be diminished somehow.”