Vanderbildt spotted it behind the mahogany armoire in the President's office. The brown package was wrapped tight with a coarse string and the gift card affirmed Marcus Aurelius Vanderbildt was indeed the intended recipient. The package could contain only one thing and the dimensions corresponded to that of The Dark Leopards of the Moon.

But could something so valuable be meant for Vanderbildt? Perhaps he had sold himself short, perhaps he had always done so.

The idea of the President visiting his home terrified Vanderbildt. For months the whole household was in upheaval, less to prepare for Vanderbildt's sixtieth birthday than to shore up the family against the His Excellency's presence. With the Stoicism of their class and generation, Vanderbildt and Martha undertook repairs they could ill afford and nooks and crannies no visitor would enter or see were scrupulously painted and cleaned.

Of the painting itself Vanderbildt had only the vaguest of memories. Where were the bloody leopards anyway? The landscape looked nothing like the moon. At the time Vanderbildt failed to see anything but broad, gaudy strokes with pastel splotches, a formless ectoplasmic mass under a tyranny of blue; not even the right colors for husky leopards or a barren moonscape. Perhaps these sort of nightmares visited people who had been blind from birth.

The fees at Parsons were unconscionable. But it was hardly Anna´s fault the competition for scholarships had been so ruthless. Vanderbildt had taken small measures such as cancelling the newspaper subscription and the bulk of his medical insurance.

His attempts to persuade his daughter to choose a safer career had been at best half-hearted. Around artists Vanderbildt felt uncomfortable as a rule but everything made sense to him through her eyes. Anna provided the map with which her father could navigate the uncertain world.

Vanderbildt had yet to tell Anna she must apply herself to her studies to receive a scholarship for her second year. The letter from the bursar's office had been polite, even considerate, but insistent. The student loan would cover her room and board and his coin collection would fetch a tidy sum.

The new man, recently reinstated, was nothing like the others, his predecessors having been bureaucrats or officials. Although a bit rough around the edges at first, with lessons by discrete precedent the embryonic presidents would be as if to the manor born. The new fellow, on the other hand, was a populist from a small fishing village where politicians were the only source of entertainment in lieu of funerals. There had been the incident with the bidet in Paris when Vandebildt had to mollify room service with a bribe. Unable to halt the erection of a statue of Swedish bronze of the President's father, a physical education instructor of local distinction, Vanderbildt quietly arranged for the monument to be relocated behind the University Gymnasium after the unveiling, pending additional protective coating. Occasionally Foreign visitors of note were given a miniature of the statue as a farewell present. As His Excellency was not much of a linguist, the dignitaries usually accepted this offering in the belief it represented either some national Olympian long since faded into oblivion or British actor Ronald Colman.

During the early years Vanderbildt had considered seeking alternative venues of employmen but other posts he considered either involved excessive effort or required a fresh start. Still he would, until recently, read the vacancies section in the newspaper from force of habit.

The trappings of the affair pained Vanderbildt more than the liaison itself. When His Excellency discarded Martha somewhat abruptly for the Bulgarian Ambassador's wife, Martha didn't bother to disguise her disappointment to Vanderbildt, almost to the point of blaming him for her heartbreak.

The President stayed for ten minutes. As was his wont, His Excellency had Thomas the chauffeur park the limousine discretely a few steps down the road as he enjoyed the theatrical gesture of appearing as if out of the blue. "Doofus ex machina" Anna muttered, rather loudly, thought Vanderbildt when His Excellency burst onto the scene. The ten minute appearance was reserved for the most minor occasions, even the opening of a provincial bakery meriting a fifteen minute manifestation.

"Oh, your gift, Vanderbildt." His Excelleny stopped in front of the limousine and Vanderbildt could see brown wrappings in the back seat and felt a decade's worth of smoldering hatred for the man dissipating into the cold autumn night.

Last to leave were Vanderbildt's co-workers, the ample portions of Andalucian sherry and hors d'oeuvre providing too great a temptation to linger. Although Vanderbildt remained gracious but dry, he was unable to work up the will to remonstrate with conviction when they at long last announced their departure.

The outer layers of gift wrappings turned out to be removable enough. The painting, though, was enclosed in a cardboard box which proved impossible to open. In his excitement Vanderbildt found himself tearing at the cardboard and a bleeding cuticle served to remind him that he had not been so roused in decades.

He debated whether to hang it up over the fireplace or in the hallway. Why risk Thomas peering in and asking about the President's gift? His hands shook as he raised the picture. Before turning off the light some dark instinct forced him to look back to make sure the framed photograph wasn't hanging askew and he met the President's benevolent grin as he looked down in full regalia on Vanderbildt. For the briefest of instances Vanderbildt thought of the painting tucked away somewhere in the palace basement, every stroke of the brush, every texture clear as day, and could for a fleeting moment see the dark leopards slinking about on the face of the moon, the round green eyes and the long wavering bodies.

THE END

© 2007 Jonas Knutsson