IN & OUT OF LIFE - Chapter 117 - The color scheme (Mechtel)

THE COLOR SCHEME (Mechtel) ~ 1491-1563

I'm a teenage boy. I'm sitting on the ground, drawing with a twig in the sand. I wonder… What year was it when my father left? And does he have brothers? And do I look like him? And if so, in what way? I find it hard to calm my mind. I feel as if I'm lacking an identity, like I don't know who to become. What does it mean to become a man? What's expected of me? To do my best, my grandmother told me. To be the best man I can be, my grandfather added. And as far as my mother is concerned… I can do no harm; all I have to do is be with her. I find it very hard to make choices without being told what to do. Oh well… I get up and dust the sand off my breeches, now feeling some nagging lower back pain. I decide to walk home cause supper will be served and I like to help with putting things on the table.

When I arrive, I find a little drama taking place which mainly has my grandmother in a panic. Apparently, something didn't work out the way she wanted. The roasted duck is "ruined". I tell her I don't really smell that it's burnt or anything. 'Oh, you have no idea!' she exclaims. I shrug at my grandfather, and he gives me a shrug in return with a look as if to say: Better leave her to it. I look around to see what else I can do, but it seems that, to my grandmother, everything is ruined because of the slightly overcooked duck. It's only baked brown and it looks delicious, but it's not good enough for her. Ah, I see now. There was supposed to be wine added to bake into the skin, but it's too late for that now and the skin is already crispy and thus no longer fit for her culinary experiment. I pull a coin out of my pocket and put it on the kitchen table. 'What's that?' grandfather asks. The coin has a depiction of a young man's face. I tell him who it is, a young leader of a nearby region. This is a new coin in honor of their new ruler. Grandfather is amazed and shows the coin to grandmother who is now somewhat forced to show excitement. It seems to help her put the kitchen drama behind her. She tells the maids to take off their aprons and come before the food gets cold, ruined, coagulated, or whatever else she claims in terms so dramatic that it befits describing the aftermath of a war. Grandfather asks me how I'm doing with my studies. Truth is I'm not really studying that much; I just go out and spend time outside, choosing my own education based on whatever interests me. I've been visiting a tailor. He has samples of fabric for his customers to choose from. He's willing to take me on as an apprentice. I told him I'm not sure if that's what my "father" (referring to my grandfather) wants. Well, everybody here knows I don't have a father, but still... The thing is, grandfather isn't entirely clear about what he does want me to do. So, I've been visiting this man, looking at his catalog of plain fabrics. It's so soothing. He teaches me the names of all the shades of the colors. Some even have more than one name cause some people call it one thing while others call it something else. It's one thing to know the proper name used between professionals, but you also have to know what other people call it so you know what they mean. He tells me never to contradict a LADY - he pauses for emphasis - about her description of a color. Some colors are so much alike I can't really tell the difference. He says it will come with practice. You have to develop and eye for it, he says. I still don't get it, though; all the samples on this page look just about the same. They're all a shade of burgundy. He insists there's an obvious difference between, for example, this one and that one. I squint and try to see it, then look at him and smile. My eyes are tired now. He calls his wife and asks her to have a look at me. I'm taken aback by this, but soon feel reassured as she explains that she'll show me something. I go with her up some stairs. She sits me down and closes the shutters, which make a cracking sound. They're flat panels with a heart shaped hole in them. I think she's going to show me something with needle and thread, or maybe buttons. She pulls out a rectangular tin box. 'Here, hold this' she says, putting it on my lap. It has a religious depiction on it, so I don't want to place my hand on top of it.

Q: Why not?

Mechtel: Well, it's bad luck.

It has a white candle inside. 'We're going to let you look into the candle' she says. I'm initially very wary, but since she's acting like it's fun, I go along with it. Maybe being told what to do is just what I need right now.

Q: Didn't you hear her husband say anything to give you an idea of what she's up to?

Mechtel: I wish! They speak another language among themselves.

She carefully lights one candle and then lights another with the flame of the first one. Suddenly, she appears to me like a skilled practitioner - of what exactly… I do wonder. 'What are we going to do?' I ask. She seems inclined to answer, but holds back, then says: 'We're going to make you see/watch.' She smiles reassuringly. She fixes one candle, using some molten wax as a glue, onto a surface in front of me. 'There now' she says, 'Are you ready?' If only I knew ready for what! 'What do you want me to do?' I ask. 'Just look at the candle' she says. I do as she says. Oh, I get it now. I think this will "open" my eyes so I can see the colors of the fabric better. I'll go back after this to look at the samples and will see the difference clearly! She bends and looks up at my eyes as I look in the direction of the candle. 'The light around the candle' she says, 'not the candle itself.' She gets up and says: 'Your eyes are a little bit tired, aren't they?' Tired? I suppose. 'How would I know that my eyes are tired?' I ask, wondering if that means I need glasses. She laughs at the question about glasses. 'No, your eyes are fine!' she says, 'You might have something wrong with your pigment, though.' She might as well be speaking Portuguese! It means nothing to me cause I don't know what she means with pigment. I only know the word as something they use in paint. 'Can I go downstairs now?' I ask. 'Yes, young (man)' she says, 'Do get up.' I grab the hand railing as I go down, then enter the shop again. 'I'm going to see all your beautiful colors now!' I proclaim in jest, not quite believing the claim myself, but still curious to find out if I will. 'Ah, there you are' the man says, 'Sit down, there's someone here for you.' I recognize this someone. He looks a bit unhappy and worried. 'My son' he says, nodding at me but avoiding direct eye contact. He's wearing a cloak in one of the burgundy type colors I've seen among the samples. I try to guess what they call this shade, but fail to do so. He came here to sell a ring with a green gemstone. Why would anyone want to get rid of a ring like that? He then walks out of the store as if in a rush. 'Do you know who that was?' the tailor says. 'My father?' I ask. He throws his head back and laughs out loud. 'Good one!' he says, then laughs some more as he continues putting some pins into fabric. 'Now tell me...' he says, 'Which one should I choose?' He present me with four samples of fabric in similar shades. One of them is a dull green and stands out from the rest. 'That one!' I say. 'Ah, clever choice!' he says. 'Did my wife treat you well?' he then asks. I say: 'Yes, very well. She lit a candle in front of my eyes… and made me look at it.' 'Hmm…' he says, 'You know, these colors...' - he waves at the samples - '… are all more or less the same… in varying degrees.' I nod in agreement. 'You didn't see the difference, did you?' he says. 'I saw clearly that one is different!' I gladly point out, referring to the dull green one. 'That one's not that different' he says. I don't know what he means. As far as I'm concerned, that's the only one that was distinctly different. The one in the other corner was a little darker, and the two remaining were the same, but probably - as I've already learned - not exactly the same to someone with a trained eye. I point at the one in the left upper corner and say: 'What is this? Yellow?' He says: 'What if I would say this is blue? Would you believe me?' I say: 'Yes. It's blue, isn't it?' He laughs but not as heartily as a few moments ago, then says: 'What did my lady say about your eyes?' I purse my lips and slightly shrug as I try to remember what she said about pigment, then say: 'She said I have pigment!' He laughs again now, then calls his wife by her name. She seems busy at the moment, though. 'Did she tell you you have slight pigmentation?' he says. Hmm, I don't think that's what she said, no. 'She said I have pigment' I say again. 'Good pigmentation!' I add. I believe she did say my eyes were very good, very... pigmented. She comes in, drying her hands on a brown towel - or who knows what color it is, really? - saying something to him which I don't quite understand. She then talks about me, looking back and forth between me and her husband, making circle shapes with her finger in my direction and pointing at her own right eye. God, I think I was a happier person before I found out about something I don't need to know. I don't think I want to be a tailor or a fabric salesman after all. 'You have a little pigmentation' the man then translates, now bending over to point at both my eyes. 'Thanks. That's good to know' I say cause I don't know what to say or even what it means. It's probably not significant at all, not unless you want to deal in fabrics. 'You must be tired' he says, apparently realizing that I'm in no mood to elaborate on it. I'm glad to go back home now and rest my eyes on something of which I don't have to guess what color it is.

I'm on my way home now, feeling quite deficient. What does he mean, I have pigmentation? I feel like I've been stripped naked and commented upon the color of my butt cheeks! How can anybody be that specific about colors? I think it's a bit much.

I haven't gone back there since a few days now. I've been losing sleep over this! Finally, after about five days, I can't stand it anymore and go back. I barge into the store and ask: 'WHAT… is pigmentation? And why do I have a lot of pigmentation?' He has a customer, a lady, and tactfully turns my question into a nice topic for conversation. He comes out from behind his counter telling her that this man (me) has a lot of pigmentation, by which I assume he means I have a great talent for distinguishing and appreciating colors. The lady seems very interested, most likely cause she's quite clueless herself. I see a sample of navy blue and a few others which all are rather dull and indistinct. 'Would you help me choose?' she asks me. I point to the one in the middle of the bottom row, pretending to know the significant difference between that one and the ones surrounding it. 'That one will be very nice' I say. 'Ah, but it's yellow' she says, apparently not finding that a suitable color for the occasion she had in mind. Damn, did it have to be yellow? 'Show me to your wife' I tell the man. He says: 'Magdalena is busy… sewing, but perhaps you can sit and wait.' I will! And I'd like to see how "pigmented" this lady customer is. 'I'll take that one' she says, 'It will be very nice… Won't it?' I don't think the man agrees, but he doesn't argue. After she leaves, he reproaches me for the way I came into the store. I look down, almost crying a little. 'Is something wrong with my eyes?' I ask. 'No!' he says, now coming to sit next to me, then tries to explain. 'It's just that the pigmentation in your eyes is a little different' he says. 'Okay' I say, 'I get it. But it's not wrong, right?' He shakes his head a little and gets up. 'It's not the same' he says. Then deciding to just go for it, he continues: 'MOST people… see colors a little differently from you.' Ah, most people… So, I see better than most people? Or they see better than me? Which is it? 'Do I see good?!' I demand. He shakes his head, an apologetic look on his face. 'But it's not a problem!' he quickly says as soon as he sees my initial reaction. 'Your a fine man!' he adds. I smile, but I'm on the verge of shedding a tiny bit of tears. I say: 'Thank you, uncle, for telling me.' I then leave the store again, wondering about everything I look at if it's the color I think it is. I kind of wish I never found out.

This whole situation forced me to look into colorblindness again. So, here's what I think it was...

- Deuteranomaly is present in five percent of Caucasian males. The deuteranomalous person is considered "green weak". Similar to the protanomalous person, he is poor at discriminating small difference in hues in the red, orange, yellow, green region of the spectrum. He makes errors in the naming of hues in this region because they appear somewhat shifted towards red for him.

- From a practical standpoint, many deuteranomalous people have very little difficulty in doing tasks that require normal color vision. Some may not even be aware that their color perception is in any way different from normal. They can usually pass as a normal observer in everyday activities. They may make occasional errors in color names, or may encounter difficulties in discriminating small differences in colors.