A New Portrait
That night, long after everyone had gone to bed after spending the day preparing for Ana Ortiz’s arrival, Frida padded through the house and entered her studio.
Fulang, who slept lightly, awoke when Frida opened the door. Silently, she crept into the studio to watch over Frida as she worked.
Frida gazed for a few minutes at her Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird.
A sick feeling overcame Fulang at the sight of this painting. She wanted to leave, but her loyalty to Frida was too strong.
Frida sat, looking at her image. Once Frida picked up her brush, Fulang settled in a corner of the studio where she could not see the painting. She sat and watched Frida work until eventually she fell asleep.
Frida painted through the night, filling in the dark background and defining the foreground with herself, Caimito, and Chica. She worked feverishly, painting an image in and painting it out and repainting it. Thick layers of paint built up on the canvas, making it as dense as the tropical forest in the background. Frida’s eyebrows became one long single brow that cut across her forehead, almost like a crown. Caimito’s and Chica’s faces became more distinct and full of expression. The blood on Frida’s neck grew a darker crimson. Dawn broke through the gauze curtains of the room. In the morning light Frida looked at the painting and decided it was done.
“Wake up, monkey,” she called to Fulang.
Fulang yawned and stretched. She had forgotten that she had fallen asleep in Frida’s studio and so for a moment was disoriented. Groggily she came over to where Frida was painting. She had forgotten that Frida was working on the painting that gave her such sorrow. She was simply pleased that Frida seemed to have moved on from the depression of the last few days.
That changed, however, when she glanced up at the canvas on the easel. Fulang thought she was going to faint.
“You like?” asked Frida playfully.
“Y—y—yes!” stammered Fulang.
On the easel was the portrait of Frida, Caimito, and Chica; but it had changed dramatically. On Frida’s right shoulder, Caimito no longer looked menacing. In fact, he seemed more playful than dangerous to Fulang. His hand wasn’t pulling at the thorn necklace. Though a thorn still broke the skin on Frida’s neck, it was unclear whether Caimito had put it there or was trying to alleviate the pain by pulling it. On Frida’s left shoulder, Chica had dropped the hummingbird. Though the bird was still dead, it merely hung from the thorn necklace, while Chica looked down at it without expression.
“You’ve changed it,” Fulang finally said.
Frida put down her brush. “I finally decided to take my own advice. The gods demanded it. Like the battle between Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli, neither death nor life can triumph. There always must be a balance between joy and sorrow. It can never be all or nothing. It is always somewhere in between.”
Frida picked up the canvas and carried it awkwardly into the living room. She replaced the portrait of Dr. Eloesser with it. She moved stiffly as if all her joints needed to be oiled.
“We didn’t need Dr. Eloesser after all,” Chica said to Fulang.
“Well, not the living one at least,” said Fulang. “The portrait helped us.”
“This will be the painting I display at my Cinco de Mayo fiesta,” said Frida.
Fulang felt as if the celebration had already begun. Impulsively she leaped into the garden and found Caimito napping in a tree. She quickly climbed the tree and gave Caimito a peck on the cheek, startling the monkey awake.