With my time here now fast running out (just a week before my return to England) I have finished one painting and I’m desperately trying to finish another before the weekend. Yesterday I began work on the second painting. The big gates were open, as is my custom these days and my easel was set up just inside the entrance to the garage so that I would have the benefits of good light and cover from the showers. The radio was playing old songs and I was facing away from the road and into the garage; therefore I was unaware of people behind me and from time to time, when the music took me, I danced around the easel.

Mid-way through the afternoon I heard a by now familiar sound:

“Wee-hee, it’s me. I’m here!”

“Hello Kevin ” I said turning around. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy today.”

Kevin had brought his bicycle (minus trainer wheels – they came off a few weeks ago) inside my drive and stood directly behind me. He is a little lad – only five years of age – and he looked cute in his big German-style helmet and on his little blue bike adorned with stickers.

“Why are you standing there painting?” Kevin asked.

“You know I’m an artist – I’ve told you before,” I answered, then I added, “Why don’t you go and find some friends to play with?”

“They don’t like me. They say I have bad language,” he replied.

“I expect it’s true,” I said, remembering my conversation with Jade one day (and the “Oh dear, it’s Kevin – he’s a bad influence” comment).

“No,” he said, wielding a big stick that he’d brought along with him. “This is to stab bad  people with.”

I didn’t reply and Kevin cycled off.

Some minutes later I heard the high-pitched sound again:

“Wee-hee, I’m here!”

“I’m trying to concentrate, Kevin,” I said without turning around.

“My father is a Ninja,” the child announced, “and he’s teaching me – that’s why I have this big stick for stabbing bad people.”

“Is your father a turtle?” I asked, smiling.

“No.”

“I’ve heard of Ninja Turtles,” I said.

“No, he’s just a normal father,” Kevin offered. “My mother is bigger than my father.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, she has a big fat stomach.”

“Maybe she is having a baby,” I suggested. “Is Jack your little brother? Oh, no he isn’t – he’s Luke’s brother – isn’t he,” I answered my own query.

“My name is Jack,” said Kevin.

“Why are you called Kevin then,” I asked.

“It’s my stage name – and they call me it at school.”

“Why don’t you run along home now?” I suggested.

I didn’t turn around but our chat had stopped so I assumed he had left, which he had because I was able to concentrate for ten minutes without the distraction of inane conversation.

 

“Wee-hee, it’s me. I’m back again!”

“Isn’t it your dinner time?”

“I’ve already had it,” he answered.

“Well, I’m trying to concentrate. Run along now Kevin.”

He left. (He was gone ten minutes.)

 

“Wee-hee, I’m back!” came the annoying high-pitched sound of Kevin attracting my attention.

“I’m busy, Kevin.”

“See what I have?”

“A skateboard,” I said tersely.

“Nope, a penny board,” he replied.

“A small skateboard,” I said.

“I’m a Ninja,” he responded.

“Go home, Kevin.”

“Okay.”

 

Kevin, the baby Ninja turtle, (real name Jack) amused himself for a further fifteen minutes by hiding behind the pillars and pressing the doorbell.

“Come off it Kevin,” I implored.

“Where’s that big stick of your’s?” I joshed.

“Buzz off!” I said shaking my fist at him. But I was smiling… just.

 

This afternoon Kevin called as I was going out in my car. As I passed by him I could see the disappointment in his face. I stopped the car, wound down the window and opened the door…

“Kevin,” I called.

He cycled over to me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him.

He nodded and smiled.

 

And here is a photograph of the beginnings of my new painting…