This painting is called “the Calling of St. Matthew” by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio.

Our assignment was to pick a character in the picture and write something from his point of view.

See wiki entry for details on who’s in the room.  I picked the young looking guy in the middle with the hat:

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I don’t know if I can write this stuff down, you had to be there.

We weren’t doing anything of import, just taking about hoisery or the latest house on the chopping b lock.

Been some deals come along I could tell ya, but thoe you can’t talk about in the light of day, which is why I guess we were al lthere in dark with Mr. Matthew holding court like he does.(Gained a few crumbs for the junior partner I can tell ya, but I digres, more on that later in my next letter.)

I had always wondered why mr. Matt doesn’t bar his door. I guess he just figures no one would dare bust in mon the tax man.

Or maybe he likes the theatre of it, I dunno.

Theatre is what it was like, sure enough. There’s no knock, no cautious enquiry “I the Master collector in?” No, these two guys, threadbare and smelling like the mule they rode in on. They jut throw open the door like w had given them an invite to our little games of chance! But no, just a couple of geggars and start to get up, turning in my s=eat you know, and I ah… I dunno…  It my unspoken job ot marshall these meetings you know. Everyoen who wants to see mr. Matt has go to “work the maze” so to speak.  Half evant and half doorman that’s me.

But I don’t know, something about these guys. Stopped me in my eat.  I mean the firs guy was normal enough alrgiht. I gigered him as a bum or a traveling actor, no big deal right?

But the other guy, its like he’s useta getting access yo know? Like you could look in his face and just tell he’s seen a thing or two.

Well they weren’t begging or burting into song — save us from the minstrels! No, the light from the door way or something…hmmmn, should have been dark outside by then. The light strikes mr. Matt in the face righ in the middle of doling out the lates proceeds from the taxes — I think that last old lady actually hugged him when he left –That light, coming from the door or that guy just hist him in the face and he stops dead!

Like a polearm or soething had come down on his head, all stunned like.  He stares, they stare back, we stare at each other adn there’s no sound. The air gets all thick like adnd then the coins in his hands…mr Matt’s hands drop to the table one by one.

Ching! And we all turn to look at him.

Ching! And he’s on his feet , the guys at the door pointing at him in silent command.

Ching! and he’s walking forward, to the light, or into it.

Ching and he’s gone.

They’re gone.

The light is gone.