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DargonZine | Volume 11, Number 8 |
stepped away from the posing brace on my seventh day of 'sitting'
for my daughter's wedding gift portrait without help and completely
steady on my feet. I smiled in personal triumph: a friend had told me of
this technique where you could keep your muscles from tightening up in
enforced idle situations by tensing and flexing them -- moving them
without them moving you. It was almost as boring as just leaning there
against the brace, but at least it kept my mind occupied with something,
since I had solved all of the outstanding problems at work that I was
able to with just my imagination. First I tensed one leg, then the
other, then an arm, then the other arm. Those were the easy ones --
trying to exercise the muscles in my torso without moving my torso took
practice. Fortunately, I had plenty of time. I also had the brace itself
to help. And finally, I was able to step out of the brace just as limber
as I had been when stepping into it, despite three bells' worth of being
'motionless'.
The guest table was scattered with papers and pens, inkwells and
money trays, in a kind of exaggeration of what my desk at work looked
like. Except for the area directly behind the brace where the position
of my body while posing blocked the view of it. In this space was a
nicely sweating pitcher of cool water, and the covered tray I had
brought for lunch. Iocasee and I sat down to the fine meal Margat, my
housekeeper, had prepared and started to eat.
The painting was progressing wonderfully -- full of detail and
life, even while only half done. My plans to 'cure' Iocasee were not
progressing so well. Simple conversation had proved difficult: he seemed
to hear only the things he wanted to hear at times, and when he involved
Bronna in our conversation, it just got to be too much for me to handle.
It was one thing to decipher where I was supposed to help him move a
table like that first session; it was quite another to have a three
sided conversation when I could only hear two of the sides.
I thought about trying to get him away from his sanctuary, despite
Rendon's warning. I had invited Iocasee out for a beer after our last
sitting. He had again looked tempted, but declined. But today, I had a
better plan. I was sure he couldn't refuse this one.
"So how are you enjoying the food, Iocasee?" I began. Iocasee's
response was ignored, automatically answered with a preoccupied, "Good,
good," while I mentally rehearsed my coming proposal.
"Ah, I was thinking that maybe you could help me with a little
dilemma I have. You see, my companion and I were going to go out to eat
tonight, but Eiliese's friend Shanitral just arrived and will be staying
with us for a few days. Shanitral is a couple of years younger than most
of my friends, and as I was trying to figure out who I could ask to
escort her so she could join us tonight without feeling left out, I
suddenly thought of you. Do you think you would like to meet Shanitral
and have dinner with us?"
"So how are you enjoying the food, Iocasee?" Percantlin asked.
"An excellent repast, as usual," Iocasee replied.
"Good, good."
Percantlin paused for a moment, then continued, "Ah, I was thinking
that maybe you could help me with a little dilemma I have. You see, my
companion and I were going out to eat tonight, but Eiliese's fr ..." --
>> but Eiliese's friends who were going with us suddenly had to attend
another dinner party. Our reservations are for four people, and as I was
trying to think of another couple who was free, I thought of you and
Bronna. I've wanted you and Eiliese to meet, so do you think you and
Bronna could have di ... << -- "have dinner with us?"
Iocasee's eyes seemed to glaze for a bit in the middle of my offer,
but when I finished, he sighed and said, "That does sound like a
problem, but I'm afraid that Bronna isn't feeling well and I think we
should stay in tonight. Sorry, I'm sure you'll find someone else to take
your companion's friends' place. Or you could always just let the extra
reservations go."
I was stunned. I felt like we had been having one of those three
sided conversations, but this time it had been my own words -- or at
least, how Iocasee had heard my words -- that I hadn't heard.
That was such an unexpected response that I hadn't formulated a
counter to it. I tried to be gracious in accepting his refusal -- it was
the only option left to me. Even spending the rest of the day in the
posing brace doing nothing but trying to think of a way to get around
his selective hearing -- in between flexing -- didn't allow me to come
up with a satisfactory solution.
Iocasee actually opened the door this time at my pull of the bell
rope. He said, "Come in, come in, Percantlin. The painting is nearly
finished. I've worked hard on the last details of the background, and it
shouldn't take more than a couple of bells to make sure that I've got
the last of the main body details done." He looked up at the
cloud-covered sky and sighed. "Looks like rain again, does it not? I've
got some candle reflectors set up -- no match for proper sunlight, but
good enough to remind me what it should look like." He stepped aside and
said again, "So, come on."
I stepped inside, glad that Iocasee wanted to finish the painting
today. It had been raining for the past three days, and my boots were
muddy from the walk through the streets. The last time that it had been
this cloudy on one of our scheduled sitting days, Iocasee had just
postponed the sitting until the next bright day, which had been the next
day, the 21st of last month. I had worried that he would want to
postpone again, even though I knew the portrait was almost finished. I
had set things in motion anyway, just in case, and now I was pretty sure
that everything would happen properly.
Just to be sure, I asked, "So, do you think that these final
details will stretch until lunch, Iocasee? I have someone bringing it
over later, my housekeeper got a little behind in her duties." Of
course, Margat hadn't gotten behind, but I knew she'd forgive me the
slight to her skills -- it was in a good cause.
"Probably just beyond, yes. Hard to tell, of course, but even if I
do finish before, I'll be happy to stall long enough for one more of
your Madam Margat's meals." I echoed his grin and went to stand in my
very familiar place at the posing brace.
Iocasee had already set up half a dozen candle stands of various
heights on either side of the posing brace. Each held a large-wicked
candle, with a shiny reflecting hood behind each lit flame helping to
amplify the light thrown at me in my brace. I was only settled into the
brace for a few moments before I realized that the hoods reflected more
than the light: the heat from all of those candles warmed me to a
comfortable temperature quickly after the miserable rainy day outside,
but just as quickly went well beyond comfortable. The smell of the
burning wicks and wax didn't help my discomfort any, either. Still, I
could put up with it for a little while in the cause of a finished
painting.
I wasn't the only one subjected to the smelly, hot candles. Two
more stands illuminated the canvas itself, and I could see quite a few
more candle stands set up behind the canvas, but none were lit. I
guessed that he would increase the illumination in either spot, but only
as needed.
Iocasee worked intently, hardly looking at me for long periods of
time. For the last three sittings, I had wondered why I needed to be
here at all, not that I minded, in principle, the time away from work.
But he seemed to have a very good idea of what effects he was trying to
create with his painting, and I think that he used me more as a
verification that his own mental image was correct, than as a direct
image to copy onto the canvas. But I could have been wrong.
Twice he came over to redirect the candlelight at specific aspects
of my pose. The rain started about midway through the morning, but that
didn't reduce the light coming through the ceiling windows, only filled
the normal silence of the studio with the patter of raindrops.
Iocasee stepped back from the painting one last time, looking it
over closely and carefully. He lifted a brush now and again as if to
make a minute change, but always put it down again without touching it
to the canvas. Finally, he put down his brushes and palette with a
satisfied nod. "That would be it, I think. Come over and see, Merchant
Percantlin. I think your daughter will be pleased."
I walked away from the brace and the heat around it, and went to
stand by Iocasee. I looked at the painting, and I have to say it looked
perfect. There I was in all my finery, standing in front of a glorified
version of my desk. Except for the light -- so very bright and vibrant
in the painting, so muted and dim in the studio -- I could have been
looking into a very fine mirror. And beyond the perfect details, there
was something else about the painting, something that nearly brought it
to life. Whatever that quality was, that was what made Iocasee a great
painter. It was nothing I had ever seen in a Mawdrenas portrait, anyway.
As if on cue, the door bell rang. I said, "Must be lunch. I'll get
it."
Iocasee had begun cleaning his brushes as I went to the door and
opened it. A small horse and cart was filling much of Painters outside
Iocasee's door, and its passenger was standing at the door carrying a
wooden tray. I smiled at Shanitral -- who was quite beautiful, but not
one of Eiliese's friends and not from out of town -- and stood aside to
let her enter.
"Iocasee, I'd like you to meet a friend of my daughter Bronna's,
Shanitral. She was visiting the house and volunteered to bring lunch for
Margat. Shanitral, this is the genius that has painted my portrait for
Bronna's wedding gift."
Iocasee wiped the excess paint off of his brushes before dropping
them into the cleaning fluid, while the subject of his latest work went
to answer the door. He was proud of the painting he had just completed
-- he had achieved every effect he had intended, and maybe even a few
more that had happened by accident. Like that swirl in the large ruby
earring -- it was just a brush mark, but it looked so much like a flash
of fire and he hadn't even been trying to do that.
Yes, he had managed to capture his merchant client very well. The
handsome face that wore its 45 or so years well, the dark hair swept
back elegantly under the red hat, the fit body beneath the sumptuous
robes. He had been happy to capture the exact blending of green and
brown in Percantlin's eyes, as well as the character of every individual
gem in the silver bands around almost every finger. Even the detailed
figures adorning the two studs above the ruby earring were clearly
visible. This was probably one of his finest works.
The door opened, and after a moment Percantlin opened it wide to
let someone in. Iocasee looked up and caught his breath at the beautiful
woman standing in the door. She was a vision, so lovely, almost as
lovely as Bronna. Long brown hair, another goddess' shape. She was
taller, younger, and ... and ... and real ... ...?
Percantlin was saying something, introducing the vision. "Iocasee,
I'd like you to meet ..." -- >> like you to meet my daughter Bronna.
She's brought us the lunch that Madam Margat has prepared. Bronna, this
is the genius that has painted my portrait for your wed
... << -- "wedding gift."
I was looking at Iocasee as I introduced Shanitral to him, and so I
saw the vacant look that passed over his face for a moment. And so I
almost expected what came next.
"Bronna, eh? What a coincidence that your nickname is the same as
my dear heart's name, since I remember that your father told me your
given name is Kalibriona. Such a lovely woman! Your husband-to-be is a
very lucky man, very lucky. Come over and see your wedding gift."
Shanitral looked at me with a stricken expression -- she just
didn't understand what was going on. I had grown more or less used to
Iocasee's delusions, but even though I had tried to explain it to her
earlier, the difference between words and reality was just too great.
I led her over to the table so she could set down the tray. I was
frantically trying to figure out a graceful way out of this situation --
my plans gone wrong yet again! -- but in the mean time I whispered to
Shanitral, "Just play along, dear. I'm sorry about this, I didn't think
that this would happen. Um, go look at the painting, I need to speak
with Brance. It's all right, I won't be a moment."
Shanitral walked hesitantly over to Iocasee while I darted out the
front door. Brance was an employee of Fifth I whom I had asked a little
favor of. And now I had another favor to ask.
"Brance, I want you to take the cart around the block, and return
here. Ring the bell and when I answer, tell me this ..."
I went back inside, to see Shanitral honestly admiring the
painting, even though she glanced beside her at Iocasee with a wild "I'm
going to bolt any second" look, like a spooked horse. I said, "Sh
... uh ... Bronna, why don't we sit down to lunch. You're going to
have forever to stare at that painting. Margat sent enough for three,
right?" Of course she had -- the plan had been for Shanitral to charm
Iocasee over a lunch for three. But it hadn't happened that way, had it?
Shanitral nodded, and walked over to the table. Iocasee followed as
I uncovered the tray to reveal a soup tureen and three plates of
seasoned chicken. Much fancier than the previous meals which had all
been variations on cold meat leftwiches. "Looks like Margat outdid
herself for this last meal, eh Iocasee?"
"It looks and smells almost as good as my painting!" Iocasee joked,
and I laughed along with him. Even Shanitral chuckled nervously.
I timed it perfectly. I was just lowering myself into my seat, the
others having already taken theirs, when the door bell jangled again. I
leapt up and opened the door before Iocasee could move. Of course, it
was Brance. He said, with a delivery that would credit any actor on any
stage in Baranur, "Master Percantlin, there's an emergency at warehouse
two. You gotta come quick!"
"Thank you, Brance. I'll be right there." I closed the door and
went back over to the table. "I'm sorry, Iocasee, Sh ... Bronna. I'm
surprised that nothing like this has happened before, but I've got an
emergency to deal with. Maybe you should come too, B-Bronna -- I can
drop you at home."
I cleared the tray of food, leaving it all for Iocasee, then went
to get my cloak. "The painting will be ready by the wedding?"
"Oh yes. It will be dry enough by then to frame. I'll make sure it
is delivered by the 7th at the latest. I hope the emergency isn't
serious, Percantlin. And thank you for being such a good subject. I hope
you enjoy the portrait, Bronna."
"Farewell, Iocasee. I will have your fee delivered tomorrow."
Shanitral waved, smiling weakly, and the door closed behind us. We
both climbed into the cart, and Brance got the horse moving. I certainly
hadn't wanted to leave the studio like that, but I was pretty sure that
Shanitral would not have stood up to an entire afternoon of being Bronna
in front of a madman.
And I hadn't cured him, either. He still thought his lover was
living with him. I had failed.
But at least I had gotten the portrait. I was sure it would make a
wonderful wedding gift for Bronna. *My* Bronna.
"You promised that it would be delivered by today, dear. And it
*is* getting late."
"I know, I know. But I don't understand where everyone is." Iocasee
hadn't seen any of his neighbors since yesterday when Rendon delivered
the frame he made for Percantlin's portrait and helped him mount it. He
had said someone would be around to make the delivery, but no one had
come.
"At least the rain is over." Iocasee looked up through his ceiling
windows at the clearing night sky beyond them. The clouds were slowly
blowing away, and soon it would be clear for the first time in more than
a sennight. The illumination in the studio was dim enough for him to see
a few of the brighter stars beginning to become visible. He loved it
when the moon was in the right place to shine into the studio. He would
put out all the candles and lamps in the room and luxuriate in the
bright white glow that would fill the space. He would drag the couch out
of the bedroom and he and Bronna would lie on it and soak up the
moonlight ...
Iocasee started pacing across the studio, glancing at the portrait
that was awaiting delivery. He would be glad when it was out of his
studio. Yes, he was proud of it, but there was something about it that
was bothering him. Something disquieting, where everything should have
been perfect happiness. But what was it? Why did Percantlin's picture
disturb him? Maybe he should just deliver it himself? After all, it
really should be there for Bronna's wedding.
How strange it had been to learn that his client's daughter had the
same name as his own lover. How likely was that? And she was such a
lovely woman -- he was glad he had gotten the chance to meet her.
"But that wasn't Percantlin's daughter, now was it, love?"
"What, Bronna? Of course it was. She wanted to meet me. She was
anxious to see the portrait. She ..."
"That was a friend of Bronna's. Her name was Shanitral. And you
liked her, didn't you, Cas?"
Iocasee had stopped in front of the portrait, but didn't really see
it. Something was wrong! "No, no love. No, that was the Bronna that this
painting is for. Yes, she was pretty, but ... but not so pretty as my
Bronna. Not so pretty as you!"
"You want to go to Percantlin's with that picture so that maybe you
can meet her again, don't you? After all this time, just one pretty face
and you don't want me any more!"
"No, please Bronna. No! It's just that she's getting married
tomorrow, and the portrait should be there. Really!"
Bronna never got mad at him. There had never been a reason! They
were so happy together. Iocasee grew more and more anxious as he
frantically tried to understand why she was angry with him. Of course he
didn't want to go see Bronna ... Shanitral ... Bronna ...
Iocasee found himself staring at the ruby earring in the
portrait-Percantlin's ear. At first, he couldn't see the little swirl
that he had noticed before, but slowly the light on the canvas increased
until the swirl, like a bit of fire, was clearly visible. Swirl of fire,
like Bronna's hair. Beautiful Bronna. *His* Bronna.
"You don't remember what day this is, do you?"
Day? It was the day to deliver Percantlin's painting, the day
before Bronna's wedding. Day?
"And?"
And? And? Wait ... Firil 7 ... wait ... party. Birthday! "It's your
birthday, isn't it, Bronna?" That's right, birthday party! But, usually
the whole street went out to celebrate. So where was everyone? And why
could he suddenly see the portrait so clearly when he hadn't lit any
more lanterns?
"Yes, Iocasee, it's my birthday. And you haven't mentioned it once
today, until now. You were too busy thinking about that Shanitral,
weren't you? Well, maybe I'll just leave then. If you don't want me,
I'll leave.
"Again."
"Bronna? Bronna?! No, don't go! Bronna?!?"
Iocasee turned, but she was nowhere to be seen. He looked up then,
through his ceiling windows, and saw a streak of fire in the middle of
the sky. It didn't flash by like a shooting star, it just hung there in
the sky, a streak of fire, like the swirl of fire in the ruby earring,
like his love Bronna's hair ...
"Bronna no, don't go!" Iocasee fell to his knees, arms upraised
toward the streak of fire. "Bronna, come back! Don't leave! Don't leave
me all alone! Again!"
With a last despairing cry, he collapsed to the floor, wailing his
loss -- all ten years of it -- into the night.
I walked through the streets of a Dargon gone strange with the
light in the sky. Omen, portent, harbinger of doom -- I didn't think it
was any of those things. My life, my business were run by me, not
statues in a temple, and certainly not by lights in the sky. Sun, moon,
stars had no influence over me. This new light -- mysterious and strange
though it was -- was just another presence in the sky. It was pretty,
but I wasn't afraid of it. My daughter's wedding tomorrow -- that
worried me! That, and the fact that the portrait that was her wedding
gift had not yet arrived.
I arrived at number 7 on Painters, and pulled the bell. Had
something happened to Iocasee? To the delivery man? Where was the
painting? I waited for some reply from within Iocasee's studio, but I
didn't hear anything. I rang again, and looked around. I didn't see
anyone out on the street, and all of the few windows were dark. Maybe
everyone was in one of those crowded squares I had detoured around,
listening to crazy prophets, or opportunistic scoundrels trying to get
the new light in the sky to make them some money.
I pulled the bell cord a third time, and put my ear to the door to
listen well. It wasn't all that late -- only about third night bell,
perhaps, but Iocasee may still have gone to bed. But he wouldn't have
done that if the painting was still undelivered, would he?
The echoes of the door bell died out, and at first there was
silence. But then, I thought I heard crying. Sobbing, really, a
wrenching sound even through the wood of the door. Should I go in? Maybe
he was hurt? Even though I knew that weeping like that didn't come from
a broken bone, I used that as my justification to open the door.
"Hello, Iocasee? Is everything all right?" I looked around the
studio, and saw the portrait on its easel first. I sighed with relief --
it was okay! And then, the sobbing, much clearer now, intruded and I
looked to see Iocasee crumpled on the floor, crying his heart out.
My first impulse was to get the painting and leave. Maybe make an
attempt to find one of Iocasee's neighbors and tell them the painter was
upset about something. I was not good at dealing with people -- ledgers
and shipping schedules, warehouses and goods were more my area of
expertise -- and Iocasee's sobbing was making me more uneasy than
sympathetic.
But I had spent quite a lot of time with the man, and while we
hadn't become friends -- we hadn't spoken nearly enough for that -- I
still knew him. A stranger I could have left like that; someone I knew,
I couldn't. Closing the door behind me, I walked over to the weeping
man.
Kneeling beside him, I could make out words between the sobs.
"Bronna's gone ... all alone for all these years ... why did you leave?"
I wondered what had made Iocasee see the truth behind his delusions.
I called, "Iocasee? Cas, can you hear me?" There was no response,
he just kept repeating his litany of sorrow. I reached out and shook his
shoulder, trying to make him aware of me, and eventually his crying
eased, and he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Percantlin? What ...?" I helped him sit up, but he hung his head
in sorrow. "Oh, she's gone ... she's gone ..."
I then helped him to his feet and to a chair, but he was still
slumped down in it, a man with no happiness in him at all, anywhere. I
tried to cheer him up by saying, "The painting looks great! That frame
really works with the piece, colors and proportion and all." I didn't
know what that meant, I had heard one of my more cultured acquaintances
say something like that once.
Iocasee didn't smile, but he did look up, first at the portrait on
the easel, then at me. "Yes, it's done. Take it, and leave me alone.
Like Bronna."
Before he could collapse again, I asked insistently, "Cas, what
happened? Why ..." I wanted to ask why he had suddenly realized that he
had been delusional for ten years, but I thought that a little cruel. So
I asked instead, "Why did your Bronna leave?"
"Your fault," he replied without a shred of anger. "You brought
your daughter ... no, your daughter's friend ... Bronna ... Shanitral
... Bronna ... Ah! ... And then today I was worried about your
portrait, and the neighbors didn't come, and I forgot this was my
Bronna's birthday. And Bronna got mad, and said she'd leave, and I
looked up and saw her in the sky ... and she's gone, gone, gone ..." He
pointed, and I looked up to see the streak of fire in the sky through
his ceiling windows.
He started to cry again, and as I tried to get his attention back,
I thought everything through. Rendon had told me that he and his
neighbors helped Cas celebrate two birthdays every year, but that one of
them was actually the day that Iocasee's Bronna had left him. He'd said
it was in Firil. Apparently, it was today. It also seemed like that
light in the sky had been enough to distract Cas' neighbors from
thoughts of their favorite painter as well, leaving him alone on an
evening when he was normally surrounded by people all helping him
remember that Bronna was still with him. Add in my own clumsy attempts
to lead him out of his madness, come to a delayed fruition at just the
wrong time, coupled with the advent of the mysterious, portentous fire
in the sky, and all of Iocasee's illusions had crumbled around him.
So, in the end I had succeeded -- with some help. Iocasee was no
longer mad -- he knew Bronna was gone. I had cured him after all. I
chuckled to myself -- I knew that Shanitral would get to him! If I
wasn't committed to Eiliese, I'd make a play for Shanitral myself even
if I was old enough to be her father!
Iocasee was cured, and I was proud. But not for long. I remembered
Rendon's first tale about the troubled painter, and how he had reacted
so badly the first time Bronna had left. But he would get better with
time, wouldn't he? Didn't they always say that time was the balm for
every hurt? But he hadn't gotten over her ten years ago, he had invented
things to console him in the loss of her. And this time, with such a
visible testament of her leaving -- in his eyes, at least -- as the fire
in the sky, what might he be driven to do? Suicide, maybe?
I glanced at the painting, marveling again at its perfection in the
light of the fire in the sky. It would be a tragedy if such a genius of
an artist killed himself in the prime of his life. I looked back at
Iocasee, and thought that it would be just as tragic for any one to die
before his time.
Iocasee had been happy, truly and genuinely happy, even if the
basis for that happiness was a delusion. What did that matter? He wasn't
hurting anyone, and he was a great painter. And since I had had a hand
in the breaking of that happiness, I would have to help him regain it.
If his delusions kept him sane -- or at least, functioning -- then his
delusions had to return.
I shook him again, and said, "Cas, listen to me!" His tear-blurred
eyes turned to me, and I said, pointing up, "That's not Bronna, Cas."
"Yes it is," he replied sulkily.
"No, Cas, it isn't. That is just part of the fire show I have
scheduled for my daughter's wedding. You remember my daughter, who
brought lunch last time I was here? Wasn't she pretty? Isn't Tanjural,
her husband to be, a lucky man?"
"That *was* your daughter?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes, of course it was. She wanted to sneak a peek at the portrait
before it got presented at her wedding tomorrow."
"That was your daughter. And that," looking up, "is for your
daughter's wedding."
I nodded. "Right."
He appeared to be thinking. "Who is Sh .. Shanitral?"
"My daughter's best friend. Short, milk-blonde hair, somewhat
chubby. You've never met her," I lied earnestly.
"No, she doesn't sound familiar." His words were still tentative,
as if he didn't quite believe yet.
I decided that I had to try something else. I wasn't very good at
pretending, but I dredged up memories of attending parties my Bronna had
given as a child for her stuffed toys and invisible friends, and took a
stab at it.
"What was that?" I asked, looking toward the kitchen door. "Did
Bronna just get back from an errand? I've got to get back to the
pre-wedding festivities soon, so could you call her in so I may say
farewell to her before I go?"
I was gambling that Iocasee was close enough to the edge that it
would take just a little push for him to fall back into his delusions.
He clearly hadn't heard anything from the kitchen -- there hadn't been
anything to hear -- but he called out anyway, "Bronna?"
Iocasee was more confused than he had ever been in his life. What
was the truth here? Was that light in the sky for Percantlin's daughter
Bronna's wedding? Had his own Bronna left for ever, or just on an
errand? Had there been a noise of his true love Bronna returning? He
looked over toward the kitchen door and called tentatively, "Bronna?"
Silence. The flame in the sky continued to burn, and maybe it *was*
his lovely, long lost Bronna, and not just some kind of magical effect
from a fire show. Maybe ...
"Dear, I'm back."
She wasn't gone! He had misunderstood, she hadn't left him alone,
she had just had an errand to run! "Bronna, could you come out so
Merchant Percantlin can say his farewells? He came for his painting, but
he has to be getting back to his daughter's wedding."
"Of course, dear." The kitchen door opened, and his Bronna stepped
through, as lovely a vision as she had been that first time he had seen
her. That first portrait he had painted of her was still in the bedroom,
hanging over the bed.
He turned back to Percantlin with a smile of radiant joy on his
face, and whispered, "She's back. She didn't leave!"
I waited, worrying, while the silence stretched out after he first
called Bronna's name. I saw doubt begin to creep into his face, reality
drowning out fantasy in his mind. But something -- need, belief, my
unshakeable rhetoric -- swayed that balance, and I saw his face light
up. He seemed to be listening to something, and then he said, "Bronna,
could you come out so Merchant Percantlin can say his farewells? He came
for his painting, but he has to be getting back to his daughter's
wedding."
I wondered briefly if the legendary Bronna would actually come out
of the kitchen to greet me finally. But she didn't, even though I saw
the reflection of a vision of beauty light up Iocasee's face a moment
after his request as if Bronna had opened the kitchen door and walked
into the studio. He turned back to me, that joy still shining out of his
eyes, and he whispered -- to me, or to himself? -- "She's back. She
didn't leave!"
I smiled. This time, I really *had* helped the man. I straightened
up next to Iocasee's chair and faced the kitchen door. "I just wanted to
say how much of a pleasure it has been to be in your house, Bronna. I'm
glad that the wedding of my own Bronna brought me to this studio, to
your home, and within the talent of your artistic genius, Iocasee. Thank
you so much." I bowed.
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