A short story of mine.
By Mayank Chhaya
Raisin Kliff was at his favorite art store ‘Bristles’ to purchase some paint and canvases. He picked up the supplies and went to the cashier named Raven. She was in her late teens and knew Raisin very well as a regular customer.
She scanned the paint and canvases and said, “That is 23.40.”
Raisin handed her his debit card. She swiped it but the system beeped. She cleaned the card on her apron and swiped it again. The system beeped again. Raisin was surprised. He told her to try one more time since he knew there was enough money in his account. She did. “Sir, it says your card has been blocked.”
Raisin left the supplies on the floor and stepped aside in order not to hold up other customers. He called his bank. He punched several auto prompts with increasing annoyance.
Even though he knew he was talking to some rudimentary AI girl he said, “May I PLEASE speak to a real human being? You know one who has real genitals and not all smooth brushed steel down there.”
Some Bristles customers in the line laughed while others were embarrassed. One of them covered her child’s ears but it was too late. Raven smiled knowingly as if saying without actually saying it, “That’s Raisin for you.”
Finally, a real customer service representative came on the line and said, “May I know who I am speaking with?”
“Raisin Kliff.”
The rep could not help herself and laughed, “Raisin, is that your real name? Why are you called Raisin?”
“Because when I was a baby, my mom left me in the sun for days to dry out,” he said. “Fuck my name. Can we get on with our business?” Raisin said.
“I need your birthdate, sir,” the rep said.
“It is December 6, 1942. I turned 82 yesterday. I am old enough to be patient but not care if I am not,” he said.
“Sir, how may I help you?” the rep said.
“I was declined a charge of 23.40. I know I am poor but even I am not so poor,” Raisin said.
As he waited for the rep to check listening to some feverish keyboarding, he signaled Raven that he would be done soon. She just winked at him.
“Sir, I am back. Sorry to keep you holding and thank you for your patience. All that I can tell you is that your charge was declined because there is insufficient balance in your account,” she said.
“What’s that? What’s your name? Megan, is it? Listen, Megan, that is absurd. I deposited 500 in cash yesterday,” Raisin said.
“Yes sir, I see that deposit but right now your account is negative 800,” she said.
“What? Who took my money? I have not spent a penny since the deposit,” Raisin said.
The rep explained that she will have to escalate it to her manager because she was not authorized to discuss details.
Raisin was put on hold. As he waited, he fidgeted with his debit card and bounced on his toes.
“Mr. Kilff,” said a male voice on the phone. “My name is Kiefer. Let me check your account,” he said and trailed off into some rapid keyboarding.
“Okay sir, there is an IRS lien on your account. They have frozen your account. I am afraid there is nothing I can do. You will have to speak to them. I am so sorry for your trouble,” Kiefer said, adding, “Is there anything else I can do?”
Raisin became strangely calm and said, “No, thank you very much, Kiefer. That will be all.”
As he ended the call, he looked at the high ceiling of the store, noticing some remarkable patterns in the glistening white iron girders holding up the light grey roof. He started whistling. He waited for Raven to finish with a customer and then went to her.
“Sorry, darling. There is a problem with my account. I cannot pay for the supplies today,” he said and started to leave the counter without the supplies.
“Hold on, Mr. Kliff. I will pay for it. You can pay me back on your next visit. It is not even 25 bucks,” Raven said.
“No, Raven. I couldn’t do that,” Raisin said.
“I insist. Paint something that will fetch you millions,” she said.
Raisin became emotional and broke down. Raven stepped out from behind the counter and hugged him. He kissed her on the forehead, picked up the supplies and left. Just before exiting, he turned around, whistled with four fingers to draw Raven’s attention and curtsied.
Raisin had planned to have lunch at a nearby restaurant but dropped the idea for obvious reasons. Driving home he kept looking at his precariously low gas level. He did not want to be stalled on the freeway and get a ticket.
Half an hour later he was home. He checked his mailbox and found a letter from the IRS. It was a notice of lien on his account for unpaid taxes eleven years ago. It was in the amount of $1376. He found out the IRS had cleaned out his account of the $576 he had that morning and put a freeze of another $800. That meant anything he earned up to that amount would automatically go to the IRS.
He thought for a bit about whether to call the IRS to resolve the lien but then decided to paint instead. Thanks to Raven, he had the supplies.
Instead of using brushes he decided to use his frozen debit card. He took out tubes of silver, white and grey paint and squeezed them directly on a canvas. For the next 30 minutes he used the card to slash and slice paint patterns replicating what he saw on Bristle’s ceiling and then abstracted them with such vehemence that he was surprised by it himself.
The painting was finished with one diagonal line across the canvas in white impasto. As a final flourish he pressed the debit card in the middle leaving a mirror impression of its number. With great flourish he wrote “Declined” in all caps and signed his name at the bottom right corner of the canvas ‘R Kliff’ as he always did.
He had lunch.
He then wrote note that said,
“Dear Raven,
I was deeply touched by your gesture in paying for my supplies. I came home and rapidly painted this work which I am dedicating to you by naming it after you. If it ever sells, whatever amount it makes is entirely yours. Consider it an inheritance to a daughter I never had from a father you never had.
So long,
Kliff.”
He put the note in an envelope, inscribed Raven’s name, store address and phone number. He also wrote, “Consider this my final will.”
He walked around his studio-cum-apartment picking up and putting down artifacts he had collected over the years. He finally picked up a brass Vajra and put it in his shirt pocket.
Raisin then went to a safe and took out a gun.
He sat down in a broken wicker chair, put the gun in his mouth and shot himself. He died instantly.
His body was discovered two days later.
The police called Raven to inform her of Raisin’s death and the note on the painting. They ruled it as suicide.
About a month later, an art dealer happened to come to Bristles. He saw Raisin’s painting behind Raven.
“Yours?” he asked.
“Yes, but not by me. It is by my father,” Raven said.
“Would you like to sell? I can put it up for auction at Chhaya’s, which is a leading auction house in the city,” the dealer said.
Raven thought for a bit and said, “But it is a gift from my father. How can I sell it?”
“Keep my card in case you decide to sell,” the dealer said and left.
Going through Raisin’s diary she found out that he had not sold a single painting in his long career. He had amassed more than 5000 works. In one entry, Raisin had written, “What if a work of mine went under the hammer at Chhaya’s and fetched a few million!”
Raven called the art dealer.
Two months later, Raisin’s work titled ‘Raven’ was featured in the “New Contemporary Artists’ section. Raven was in the audience. The bidding on Raisin’s work began at $2500. To the stunning surprise of the auctioneer and the audience bidding went on for 45 minutes, finally ending at $2.4 million, a record in Chhaya’s 200-year-old history for a new work by an unknown artist as well as in terms of bidding escalation.
Raven cried uncontrollably over a photograph of Raisin that she had carried with her.
That evening she went to Bristles and quit her job to become a curator of Raisin’s 5000-plus works.