You’re looking at it. That’s what I told ’em, said Des.
Business good then, Des?
One word: telephones. I shit money, Temps. You want a red one?
I’m OK, Des.
Sticking with the classic black. I like it. Man of style.
Des and Ulysses were sitting on a bench in Piazza dei Sapiti, drinking coffee. Des said, So, this is where you come to be alone, eh? You got yourself a woman yet?
Not really.
No one special?
They’re all special, Des. Visitors, mainly.
That suit you?
I think it does. What with the kid and Peg, you know, and—
You’re allowed happiness, lad. I’m sure there’s a woman – or a man, let’s be modern – who’d like you at their side. I learnt how to embrace my true masculinity from my wife.
You told her that?
Not in so many words. I buy her things instead. You need any money? said Des.
No, we’re good. Cress won a fortune during the London Olympics. We’re still working our way through that.
What he bet on?
Fanny Blankers-Koen.
Not the four golds?
Ulysses nodded.
Man of vision, said Des.
Des took a slurp of cappuccino. A pigeon flew past and dumped a load of scat.
Now show me them globes, he said.
Ulysses pushed open the door and the smell of damp and paint and glue found the nose. The floor was covered in discarded paper and plaster of Paris offcuts. Drying on lines across the room were the painted gores.
So this is it? said Des. Where the magic happens.
Back here, said Ulysses and he went on ahead and lit a cluster of candles and set the scene.
Six 36cm-diameter terrestrial globes, slowly spinning on an axis, each one mounted on a walnut and brass base. All painted differently. Some carrying the ancient look of age. He’d given depth to the oceans and lightness to the shallows and the land various shades of ochre and brown.
Stunning, said Des. And these came from my moulds?
Wouldn’t have happened without you, said Ulysses.
From an artificial compound of highly toxic resin comes beauty. Who would’ve believed it? said Des. I’ll take four.
Des, you don’t—
Four. One for each of my boys and me. I’ll let you choose.
Take a look at what I’m working on now, said Ulysses and he led Des back to his desk by the front window, where a globe still in the process of being painted rested on a pile of stained rags.
So far I’ve been working from my dad’s old copperplates. All 36ers, all dated. This one here, though, was from my etching. First one I ever did. Outlines of countries only, and longitude and latitude lines.
No names.
Not yet. But look: I’m putting in the names by hand. Pen and ink. Also, a drawing here and there.
A sea monster, Des chuckled. And mountains. A kangaroo. I like it.
Yep. And these globes will always be up to date, Des. Right names for countries, correct boundaries.
I’ll take two.
Des—
I’ll sell ’em for you. Get you in galleries. You don’t want some little bleeder in school grubbing them up. This is art, lad. Needs to be priced right. I’ll do the pricing.
I’m tracing for a 50cm – 19-inch – globe right now. This is it here. This is the map I’m using.
That how you do it? With a grid?
Yeah.
And back to front too?
Almost complete now. I’ll make two versions. One with names and one without. Then I transfer the trace to the plate.
That’s dedication for you. And time-consuming. Nothing quicker?
Lithography one day. But for now, an artist fella, in San Niccolò – he’s a master at intaglio. He’s got an acid bath large enough to etch the plate and a press bed that can print that size.
You need the moulds?
I do, Des.
Consider it done. Can you go bigger than 50?
65, maybe?
I’ll chuck in a couple of them too. In case you get bored. Now, what’s on the menu tonight?
Bistecca and cannellini beans and spinach.
Des stopped. Bistecca? You can’t be serving nosh like bistecca, lad. I didn’t draw up a business plan for the margins on food to be so narrow. Feed ’em cheap, we agreed. Brodo, brodo and more bloody brodo. And don’t skimp on the tomatoes. Steak’s for the Excelsior!
Ulysses laughed. It’s for you, Des. You’re the only one in tonight.
I am?
We’re eating together. You, me, Cress and the kid.
And Massimo?
He’ll be along later with Phil.
They doing all right?
So-so. Distance and—
Wanting different things?
That’s it.