Red Roses for the Soldier and the Angel
In front of Waterfront Station stands a large bronze statue of a soldier being carried heavenward. Seen in light and shadow, sunshine and rain, this monument of the early twentieth century never looks the same twice. No matter from what angle I look at it, I never feel as if I have found the definitive view.
Tonight as I hurried past, a glimpse of red caught my eye, and I gazed up at the angel's bronze feathered wing, the uniformed soldier's limp form, his unraveling puttees, all gleaming with rain. Three red roses, still fresh, had been placed in the crook of his arm. It must have been done a few hours ago at most: the leaves were just beginning to wilt.
The statue used to seem remote and anachronistic. The fresh red roses gave it a chilling new dimension. Who put them there? What bereaved soul turned for consolation to this outdated image of comfort, sought out this old monument in a new ritual of remembrance?
I thought about Don, the artist who used to sketch the statue a few summers ago. I stopped one day to admire his work, and we started talking.
"This statue is fascinating," I said.
"The funny thing is," he said, "most people don't even see it."
My answer was mildly disbelieving.
"No," he said. "They really don't notice it. They ask me what I'm sketching, and when I tell them, 'The statue,' they say, 'What statue?'"
"What are you going to do with the sketch?" I asked finally.
He raised his eyes from his work to look at me frankly. "Maybe sell it to you for the price of a good meal?"
I gave him what money I had in my wallet, holding back only enough for a coffee. It would buy him at least a couple of meals, but still, it was little enough. Then while Don put the finishing touches on the drawing, I waited in a nearby coffee shop.
As he wrapped the drawing carefully in newspaper for me, he told me about the monument. "There are two others," he said, "one in Winnipeg and one in Montreal. They were commissioned to commemorate the men of the CPR who died in World War I and then updated after World War II to include the men who died in that war. I do another view," he added. "A close-up. You might like that one too. I'm here most days."
I came by a few days later, and finding him doing the other style of sketch, I bought that one too. The close-up view showed no background. The figures seemed to fly up into empty air. I don't know what became of Don afterwards. I haven't seen him sketching since.
Now the roses have updated the old statue once more. Someone who loved and lost a soldier still hopes he will be carried to heaven by his own personal angel.