An art lover meets a “beautiful stranger” and seeks help from a psychic and a psychologist in this short story. By Shmuel Ben-Gad Though the paintings in our small town’s only art museum seldom rose above the level of mediocrity, I visited it fairly regularly, in part because it was a refuge from both the college and the taverns, and in part because it contained a later still life of Chardin. I never was able to discover how the museum came to possess it. On this occasion, as I again stood before the painting, I sensed someone come up on my right. It was a lovely looking woman, so, still looking at the picture, I said, “It is wonderful, isn’t it?” She turned to me, and her grey eyes were serious and composed as she replied, “Yes, Chardin seems to be painting a portrait of the Platonic idea of peaches. Quite amazing.” She turned to contemplate the painting again for a few moments and then walked away. Not wanting to appear too obvious, I counted a slow ten before I turned to follow her. I was intercepted by the wife of a recently hired faculty member, however, who invited me

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