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Nobody took any notice of the young man who, calmly and undisturbed, drew with his chalks on the cold pavements of the shopping arcade. The skies had been grey for the entire day and a cutting wind blew, but Nicholas' cheeks glowed. As always, he only had eyes for his chalk drawing. He closely inspected the ring with the emerald stone that the young man was wearing in the reproduction, lying on the ground in front of him. Deliberately he selected the sea-green chalk and sketched a perfect copy.

He sensed without looking up, that from time to time, a few people stood and watched, making comments. He never listened though, not minding anyway. He knew his painting were good. He would much rather have drawn the lad the way he looked beneath that expensive shirt, and coat hanging elegantly over his shoulder - naked and in a provocative pose. He undressed every handsome man in his mind in order to carry out with him the most exciting things, although . . .

Nicholas sat back on his heels. His knees hurt too much. He looked at he coloured drawing in front of him. Some coins jingled into the open box beside him. Startled, he looked up into the friendly eyes of an old woman. But he wasn't begging. Feeling slightly hurt, he bent down and smudged a too sharp contour with his fingertip.

A rain drop splashed onto the face of the painted lad. More followed. Nicholas stared at the heavens and cursed. Quickly he gathered up all his chalks, wiped his fingers and got up. The people rushed for shelter into the entrances of the shops or struggled with their umbrellas. Finally Nicholas was alone except for the rain drops falling.

"He’s beautiful."

Nicholas jumped and turned. Behind him was a man. He stood so close that he could feel his body heat. The man smiled and pointed to the drawing. "Raphael." Again the man smiled and Nicholas could not but respond. Then he looked at the ground and watched as the image of the young Bindo Altoviti melted in the pouring rain, the colours swirling and mixing to a mid of chalk. His heart bled.

He knew of course that what he painted on the streets was destined to disappear, but he never had to see it going. He painted, went away and never returned. He had created and it was his for ever in his heart. But to see the destruction was hurtful. Nicholas closed his box of chalks with a click.

 

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