When Felix had knocked on his landlord’s door to pay the rent he owed and hand in his key, he had not had a plan. Having recurring expenses worried him, so much so that all he dreamt of was wandering out into that big, wide world with just a backpack and his pencils. He decided to save up for his eventual de parture and take on all the work he could get. He spent weekdays at the menswear boutique, evenings working as a waiter at a nearby café and weekends in a bric-a-brac shop on the flea market in Saint Ouen owned by an old lady. His sketchbook only came to life on the metro rides from one place to another and on the kind of rainy afternoons that kept people at bay. These weeks turned out to be the best of his solitary life, since the break-up. Suddenly he was himself sans souci. Paris was again beautiful — just as she had once been.

On one quiet rainy afternoon, the client who had always shown an interest in his work had walked in. During fittings, he would always take a look at Felix’ sketchbook.

“Ça va la peinture?”
“ Well , not really actually. I’m leaving Paris .”
“You’re leaving the city of dreams? Of art? ”
“Dreams don’t pay the rent.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this, Felix. Where are you going ?”
“I haven’t really given it much thought yet . I guess I’ll go back home for a few months, think things through, work.”
“ Where is home? ”
“I don’t know anymore.” Felix smiled quickly to take away from the heaviness of his words. “My parents live in a small town in the north of Holland.”
The customer listened and nodded, then walked back into his fitting room. When he came out moments later, he began: “Look, I have a summerho use in Greece. It’s not in the best condition. It’s in desperate need of a paint job, and it needs some repairs too. You know, the usual grinding, sanding and polishing.”
Felix looked up, hopeful, his spine growing taller all of a sudden. Greece? the land of olives, tomatoes, the sun and the gods?
“I don’t know. Maybe this sounds very unpleasant to you: sanding away on a remote island. But if you’re looking for a place to stay and work and you don’t mind the solitude, then maybe—”
“Monsieur, are you offering your house to me? ”
“In exchange for the work, yes .”
“Nothing would make me happier. I’m a hard worker. I will take good care—”
“I know that, Felix. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you . Here, take my card.
Give me a call and we can talk about the details.”

As he walked home, the sense that there was a bigger world out there, one that
was waiting for him, gradually trickled into his mind, little by little, drop by drop, like
oil paint seeping into a canvas.