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Bass dismissed the accusation with the wave of a hand. “At my age, it’s hard for me to tell for sure when I’m asleep and when I’m awake. You’ll learn that someday, if you’re lucky.” He looked around the great room. “I spend most of my time here, in the museum, and it all blends together-the time I’m awake, the time I’m asleep; the time I’m alone, the time I’m not. It’s like being trapped in an Impressionist painting, where all the lines are smudged and run into one another. Sometimes I can almost feel myself slipping into this place; becoming a part of it. It would be a nice way to go.”
“You like it that much here?” Fi
Bass gave an amused smile, and for a moment his face took on a sparkle of life infused with charm. “‘Like’ is too weak a word, Mr. Fi
He led them toward the door and back out to the staircase. His pace was slow and his steps unsteady. Fi
He walked through the arched doorway at the far end of the hall and turned right, into a smaller room. He paused for a moment, as though walking and talking at the same time was wearing him out. Then he continued, heading toward the far end of the room. “The only time I managed to work up the courage to take anything larger than a scrap from a rat was when I was nine. It was from a large town house not far from here. Some lazy housekeeper left the door open to the kitchen, and a whole loaf of bread just sitting out. I was so hungry, and it was right there.” An odd look of guilt was still evident on his face. “I took it,” he said. “I took it and I ran.” He shook his head at the memory.
“It was a loaf of bread,” Fi
Bass looked at him. “It was my honor. And I gave it up for a loaf of bread. It’s the sort of thing you don’t appreciate until you’re older.”
“Were you caught?” Kozlowski asked.
The old man shook his head. “Not by the police. I ran in fear. Fear of getting caught. Fear of stumbling on someone bigger and hungrier than me. I had no place to go that was safe. But as I passed this place, I saw there was a door open. It was dark and seemed empty, so I ducked inside. I only intended to stay here for a moment. Long enough to eat the bread, nothing more. I had no idea what this place was.” He was at the far end of the room, and he walked through the doorway into the next gallery.
“What happened?” Fi
“I saw her,” Bass said. He pointed up at a painting on the wall. Fi
Fi
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Bass remarked.
“Maybe. I can’t tell,” Kozlowski replied.
“No, I suppose not,” Bass conceded. “I believe that was intentional. It’s said that Mrs. Jack wasn’t conventionally pretty. Her features were slightly out of proportion, and portraitists-even Sargent-fudged when it came to her face. But her figure was magnificent.”
Fi
“Seems a little crazy,” Fi
Bass smiled. “Maybe. That’s what a lot of people said about her back when she was alive. She didn’t completely fit in here in Boston. She had a more cosmopolitan view of the world, and she didn’t conform to the more proper Victorian mores. They say she used to take the lions from the zoo for a walk on a leash. She threw lavish parties for artists and philosophers and authors. She liked doing things her own way. She was a feminist in the truest sense of the word, before it became fashionable.”
“And she must have been rich,” Kozlowski pointed out.
“Yes, she was rich. Her parents had money; her husband had money. Still, money doesn’t make a person great. What she did here was great. She overcame the death of her son, the death of her husband, and a number of great sadnesses in her life. She never gave up, and she poured her soul into this place. That’s why the robbery was so much more than a mere crime.”
Fi
He smiled and pulled his eyes from the painting to look at Fi
Bass looked back up at the painting. “I think he understood. I’m lucky; few others would have. He just nodded, and asked me if I was willing to work for her. I told him I was, and I’ve been here ever since. I’ve done just about every job there is to do here. I started out as a janitor, keeping the place clean. I learned a little about electrical work and plumbing and painting, and made myself useful in any way I could. I’ve always regarded her as my savior, and I’ve tried hard to repay her. When I got older, I learned about the paintings themselves-their history and how to care for them. My only hope was to always make sure they were safe. I failed at that, clearly.”
“It must have bothered you when the place was robbed,” Kozlowski said. It sounded to Fi
Bass looked at them both, tears of anger in his eyes. “That wasn’t a robbery, it was an abomination. It was a betrayal.”
“Baxter was the director at the time?” Kozlowski asked.
Bass looked at him and chuckled. “Baxter thought you were the police because you sound like the police.”