Five Little Pigs--Painting

The painting had an old superficial smoothness. At first sight it might have been a poster, so seemingly crude were its contrasts. A girl, a girl in a canary—yellow shirt and dark—blue slacks, sitting on a grey wall in full sunlight against a background of violet blue sea. Just the kind of subject for a poster.

But the first appearance was deceptive; there was a subtle distortion—an amazing brilliance and clarity in the light. And the girl—

Yes, here was life. All there was, all there could be of life, of youth, of sheer blazing vitality. The face was alive and the eyes…

So much life! Such passionate youth! She was life. She was youth.

A superb, slim, straight creature, arrogant, her head turned, her eyes insolent with triumph. Looking at you, watching you—waiting…

[( she was so young)

What do people mean when they say that? So young. Something innocent, something appealing, something helpless. But youth is not that. Youth is crude, youth is strong, youth is powerful—yes, and cruel. And one thing more—youth was vulnerable

What would all the years have done to that triumphant crude child?]

Those eyes. Watching him…watching him…telling him something…

Such arrogance, such triumphant anticipation.

And then Death stepped in and taken the prey out of those passionately anticipating eyes. What were the eyes of Elsa like now?

He thought: ‘She as too much alive.’

He felt—a little—frightened…

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It is the picture of a murderess painted by her victim—it is the picture of a girl watching her lover die…