Illuminations

by T. Kingfisher

Aunt Nadia often got a little weird when she was working on a painting, as if most of her brain was involved with art, and the bits that controlled talking were wandering around unsupervised.

“Glorious. Terrible. I don’t know. I’m a genius or an idiot. I won’t be sure until it’s done.” Rosa nodded. This was also perfectly normal. Aunt Nadia spent at least two-thirds of every painting convinced that she was the worst artist in the world and the other third convinced that she was best.

“Humans are weird about boxes. You can put a giant sign on a box saying Open this and the world will end and your face will be eaten by badgers and people would line up to get a crack at the lid.”

That’s one of the hardest parts of being an artist, you know—learning to be patient with yourself when you’re not as good as you want to be. You have to say, ‘I may not be very good today, but I’ll be better tomorrow, and in a year, I’ll be amazing!’

Her fingers hadn’t quite touched it when the radish began to wiggle. Nadia snatched her hand back, and a rare grin spread across her narrow face. It stretched. The first radish, on Rosa’s shoulder, made a chirp of delight. The new radish seemed to hear the sound. It pulled itself up off the paper and looked around. When it saw the other one (and how it saw without eyes, Rosa had no idea) it let out a chirp of its own and began to climb up Rosa’s arm. The two living drawings settled in on Rosa’s shoulder, looking for all the world like a pair of birds cuddled together. They cooed softly to one another, and one flipped its leaves over the other like a hug.

“Spoons like to be with other spoons,” said Payne. “They feel more comfortable in a herd.”

“I feel terribly weak,” murmured Aunt Nadia. “As if the life was draining away from me…oh wait, it’s just that there’s no coffee.”

“To say nothing of what that thing might do out in the world!” said Nadia. She shook her head. “It nearly gave me heart failure. Can you imagine what it might do to the old lady next door?” “The old lady next door is younger than I am,” said Grandmama acidly. “This is excellent coffee,” said Nadia hurriedly. “Truly excellent. Have I told you lately how much I admire your coffee?”

“It’s easy when bad people die,” he told her. “And it’s not easy when good people die, but at least it’s straightforward, and you know exactly how you’re supposed to feel. But when someone who was good and bad dies, someone you loved, but who hurt you…then you don’t know how to feel at all. If you’re sad, it feels wrong, and if you’re not sad, that feels wrong too.” “That seems complicated,” said Rosa. “And hard.” “People are hard,” Uncle Alfonso agreed. “Grief is hard, too.”