The Blood Canvas

In Kuala Lumpur, a busy street with evening sun shines brightly piercing the skin of anyone who dares to stand for long on the broadway of Bukit Bintang pedestrian area. The sound of vehicle horns, the tramp of thousands of tourists and the cries of street vendors merge into a haunting symphony. For most people, this is the sound of the city's hustle and bustle. But for a man named Hamzadi in his early 40s who had been a street artist for nearly 2 decades, the street is the sound of peace. The weird part is, he always sees shadows follow him and appear during his drawings that helped him attract pedestrian people to buy his portrait. To have believed that Hamzadi had a 3rd eye since Hamzadi’s childhood that can see the souls and jinns on the other side of the world. He was believed to be a Ghost Hunter through his canvas drawing. Many ghosts, souls, jinns want to find him and slay him to death. Hamzadi stayed near a cemetery in his old village and his father was a cemetery cleaner. A sound for earning his money as street artist through his arts inspiration to draw and sell to pedestrians that love arts. Hamzadi sits cross-legged on his small folding stool, then slowly leans his A3-sized white canvas against a wooden easel that has been worn out by termites with an old humble set of nearly depleted water colours. In front of him, there is a young girl in her early 20s sitting stiffly as if waiting to be photographed, her face clearly forcing a smile even though her eyes look withered, sunken and tired. The dark shadow started to suck up the souls of the girl and transfer to the portrait. Most pedestrian that bought the potrait either fall terrible sick, face turn to white zombie and some suicide. "Sister, look here a little. Don't bow too much," Hamzadi said slowly. His voice is hoarse, drowned in the low rumble of music from a nearby busker and the hustling and bustling or road sounds. The girl looks up. To an ordinary person, the girl only looked tired, perhaps stressed by work or love problems. However, Hamadi did not see with ordinary eyes. He sees with his heart and hears with his ears. He narrowed his eyelids like a nearsighted person trying to read without glasses, focusing his gaze not on the girl's face but he saw on something writhing behind her neck. There was something on the girl's shoulder. Something dark, like thick cigarette smoke, was wrapping around the girl's neck. The creature perched on her left shoulder, its long, pointed nails gripping the girl's skin without her realizing it, in fact the creature was sucking her life force little by little. "Separation magic..." Hamzadi whispered. He dipped his brush into a container of murky water. "How long will it be, bro?" the girl asked, her voice weak. "A little longer. I'm trying to get the spirit of your face," Hamzadi replied calmly. He opened his color palette. Among the tubes of acrylic paint, there was a small glass bottle containing a deep red liquid hidden behind a rag. Hamzadi smeared a little of the liquid, which was actually the blood mixture of a black chicken and black dog that had been recited incantations and mixed with black paint on the palette. Hamzadi began to paint calmly, every movement of his hand embroidered with incantations. Hamzadi's hand movements were very orderly, and full of care. He sketched the contours of the girl's face precisely. Beautiful, sweet. But then, his hand began to draw a shadow behind the girl. In reality, the creature on the girl's shoulder seemed to realize that Hamzadi had noticed his presence. It turned its ugly, half-destroyed face with blazing red eyes towards Hamzadi, the creature grinned, revealing mossy fangs. Blackness. Long finger nails. 'Do you see me?' the voice echoed directly into Hamzadi's mind, but not through his ears. Hamzadi did not answer. He ignored the voice but he continued painting. This time, he painted the creature's eyes on the canvas. Try to lock him in the painting. With every stroke of Hamzadi's brush on the canvas, the creature began to feel hotter and more uncomfortable. 'What are you doing?!' The creature screamed and hissed at Hamzadi, he began to be suspicious of Hamzadi. Hamzadi continued to recite the spell in his heart. The ancient verses taught by his teacher before, blended with his breath, each breath and exhalation was done like embroidery of cloth and thread, the verses were embroidered with breath, and that made his spell like a difficult to break spell. His focus was sharp. He was not just painting a portrait, he was actually building a prison. The canvas was a cell, and the brush was an iron chain that slowly infiltrated like a snake and bound its prey.. "Hold on a little, sister. I'm almost done," said Hamadi when the girl began to writhe uncomfortably. "It's hot, bro. Suddenly my shoulders felt hot," the girl complained. "Be patient. That's a sign that this 'art' is successful". Hamadi quickened his movements. He carefully painted the creature's body on the canvas, right behind the girl's portrait. However, he used an extreme chiaroscuro technique, hiding the creature's form in the shadows of the painting so that if ordinary people looked, they would only see a rather artistic and mysterious shading. But to the creature, it was a strong gravitational pull, as if it were pulling every body. The black smoke on the girl's shoulders began to be sucked towards the canvas. The creature screamed, its claws trying to grab the girl's shirt, but Hamzadi's painted prison was stronger. It was an art that no nurse had ever used before. This art was crazy, and it was like magic against magic. "Damn you human! Let go of me! Master, I will kill you!" The creature screamed angrily. Hamzadi didn't care. With one last stroke, he drew a horizontal line across the creature's mouth in the painting and that was the end and locked it. Zzap! A small gust of wind blew around them, blowing a few pieces of tissue paper. The girl was stunned. Her body trembled, as if she had just passed through another world. The black smoke had completely disappeared from the girl's shoulders, now trapped stiffly, becoming part of the oil paint on Hamzadi's canvas. The girl took a deep breath, as if she had just held her breath for an hour. Her eyes, which had been withered, were now shining again. She held his shoulder. "Eh... I feel a little light," she said as she adjusted her hair. Hamzadi smiled faintly. He turned the canvas, but quickly covered the 'shadow' part of the creature with a piece of thin paper so that the girl wouldn't see the true appearance of the thing that was riding on his body. "It's done. This is your portrait. Hang it somewhere out of direct sunlight, okay," Hamzadi ordered as he handed over the painting that was neatly wrapped. He wouldn't let the girl take the creature home. The painting given to the girl was just a rough pencil sketch made on top of another layer of paper. "This painting?" asked the girl, pointing to the still wet main canvas. "Oh, this is my master copy. I'm not selling this. I'm only selling this sketch. The paint isn't dry yet, your clothes will get dirty," Hamzadi lied. The girl looked confused but agreed when she saw the beautiful pencil sketch. She paid RM50 and walked away with a much happier step. That is his first income on first portrait. Hamzadi sighed heavily. Manly sweat dripped down his forehead. Capturing an 'Uninvited Passenger' of a kind of genie like this was indeed tiring, but not very dangerous, compared to a creature sent to kill, because the bigger the task the creature had, the stronger and more capable the creature sent was. He looked at the canvas in front of him. In the painting, behind the beautiful girl's face, there was a black figure struggling silently, its eyes looking at Hamzadi with vengeance. "Welcome to the collection," Hamzadi whispered. He took a thick black cloth from his shoulder bag and wrapped the canvas carefully. He had to go home immediately. This painting had to be placed in the Red Room of Mantra before the sun went down completely. Otherwise, the paint would fade and the creature might escape. Hamzadi began to pack his things. Actually, Hamzadi is like an exorcist of 2 in 1 whereby he draws and catches souls and jinns at the same time. As he was folding the chair, his hair suddenly stood on end. Not because of the creature in the painting. But because something was watching him from afar. Hamzadi stood up straight, his eyes darting across the street, towards the busy row of shops. In between the crowds that were crowding into the Pavilion shopping mall, he caught a glimpse. A man dressed in an all-white suit, standing static in the middle of a sea of moving people. The man was wearing sunglasses, but Hamzadi could feel the sharp gaze behind him. The man wasn't looking at anyone else. He was looking straight at Hamzadi. His direction was very precise, and most frightening of all, the man was smiling. A smile that Hamzadi knew. A smile that had haunted him ten years ago. "Pandika..." the name slipped out of Hamzadi's mouth without him realizing it. Hamzadi's heart was beating fast. How could he be here? For years, Hamzadi had been hiding his tracks, using walls, changing his name, and even changing his appearance. The man in the white suit slowly raised his hand, making a gesture as if he were holding a paintbrush, and drew an 'X' in the air towards Hamzadi. Then, a RapidKL bus passed in front of Hamzadi's view, blocking his vision for a moment. When the bus passed, the man in the white suit was gone. Gone. Hamzadi immediately grabbed his canvas bag. His hands trembled slightly. He knew what the signal meant. Peace was over. The hunt had begun. He couldn't go home on the normal road. They must have marked his tracks. Hamzadi quickly left Bukit Bintang, slipping into the dark, fishy back alleys, rat lanes known only to homeless people and rats. As he walked quickly, he could feel the canvas in his shoulder bag vibrating. The demon he had just captured seemed to be laughing. He knew. He knew that his master had come. Hamzadi gripped the strap of his bag tightly. "You're not leaving," Hamzadi whispered firmly, even as worry began to well up in his heart. "No one will be able to leave tonight." But deep down, Hamzadi knew. Tonight might be the last night he'd get a good night's sleep. Pandika was back, and he wouldn't stop until every painting in Hamzadi's house bled again. Hamzadi quickened his pace, disappearing into the increasingly dark shadows of Kuala Lumpur's dusk. To be continued…