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0256 What are those kids up to?

It’s in a quiet corner to itself
away from the grandiose creations of the
Italian Renaissance gallery, so
you can stand undisturbed to wonder
just what’s going on?

A small painting: in a peaceful
green and hilly summer countryside,
not a soul in sight except
these three – children? - their faces under
their hoodies seem known to each other
but shadowed, small, not asking to be
known to us; absorbed, maybe learning, and
they’re enacting, in this remote spot,
the Crucifixion

Jesus hanging patiently up there, a bit like
a kid trying it out for himself to see
what it feels like (and there was a case, a kid
a few years back, on Hampstead Heath,
it was hushed up; no accomplices let on) :
Mary’s quietly grieving, no big painterly
gestures there; she’s huddled up, a girl
who’s really learning about emotion as she
acts it out; John, lost in thinking as he
tries to meet in his boy's mind, the
dimension, the immensity.

It would be easier, if this were
a short story by some masterly
South American writer:
three kids who have been totally
unexposed to scriptures, find this
Bible book, read it as, like, science fiction,
decide to act it out. The master
of short stories would have to
work out the denouement:
did the kids, unobserved, pack up
and return to normal life, but
secretly transformed in inner mind?
Or did one die, as on Hampstead Heath,
the others never let on, and yet
never forget? And later, become…?

Or would a well-scripted film,
like 'Whistle down the Wind', make
a memorable, reasonable reality
of this, subtly balancing
fiction and emotion,
that children and their parents

[...] Read more

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