After.
After our return and Elias’s hasty retreat to his room.
After I found the biscuits Guinevere left out for us and after I washed up.
That’s when I heard them. Giggles. Directly overhead.
I had not yet risked a peek into the upper studio, but I arose from my bed wide awake, the four faces in my room once again providing every reason to leave and explore.
I wandered upstairs and toward the noisy room with the door ajar. I strained my ears. My French was poor, but it took no understanding to hear the excitement in the women’s voices. I knocked quietly, and they fell silent.
“We were carried away. I’m sorry that —” The door opened and two faces peered into the hall. “Oh, do come! Tell us about your travels in you-know-where.”
“England?”
“Salem, of course!” They each grabbed an arm and pulled me into a room crammed with fifty easels. “Forgive the mess. No, don’t forgive. You’ll remember us from the lottery — I made quite the impression — my name is Doucette, and this is my sister, Roseau. We were hoping to speak with you soon.”
“Artists.”
“It is an effort,” Roseau quietly said.
“It’s more than that.” I gazed across the canvases. “They’re beautiful.”
At the compliment, Doucette giggled again. “Please then, take a closer look. And this is only two month’s work.”
I wandered among their paintings, of rivers and mountains, faces and festivals. Vibrant, alive; I wanted to stand among them, live among them.
“Is this France?” I pointed to a landscape of rolling hills and poppies.
Doucette and Roseau peeked at each other, and Roseau sighed. “Actually no, that is —” “
Someday,” interrupted Doucette, “we will have a show, and we will proudly name it ‘Images of Salem.’ Elias comes in here and sits in that rocker and speaks . . .”
I walked over to the chair and rubbed the armrest with my hand, eased down into it.
“Perhaps it’s not for you to sit in. He notices when it is off center.” Doucette beckoned me to stand. “Sessions aren’t so good when he is off center.”
I rose. “So, you paint only his world?”
“There is no place on this earth where we could experience the beauty as he describes.” Doucette sighed. “We are the artists, but I think we do not see as he does.”
“No, I imagine you don’t.” I stepped up toward a painting, an aerial masterpiece. The perspective dwarfed that seen from the skyscraper’s observation deck . . . How absurd to think the view I provided would put Elias off balance.
“His words hold more information than we can obtain with our eyes. But we are the painters.” Doucette gestured about the room.
“And the four monstrously sized men in my room . . . did you paint them?”
“Non. That is Elias’s work. Magnificent, aren’t they?”
“But this . . . We record all this for him,” Roseau quickly added.
“For him or for you?”
Doucette frowned. “It is all for him. Always, he comes in. Always, we listen and work. Always —”
“It is for us,” Roseau said softly. “It was not meant to be so. We came to stay here three years ago quite by accident. We missed our plane home, to Paris, and stayed here. For one night, we thought. We were failed, defeated.”
“You overstate our situation, sister.”
“Non. And you know this to be true. Elias came up and paid us a visit, and we painted one mountain.” Roseau closed her eyes. “And such a mountain. Had you seen anything like it?”
“Non,” Doucette said quietly.
“And we discovered that our problem was not in the hand, but in the eye. We could not see.”
“But Elias could,” I said. “It’s his gift.”
Elias’s gift. The thought of it chilled me.
Doucette plopped onto the couch. “So what do we do? Each summer we come back, and when we return with these paintings, our names begin to be spoken. I don’t think we do him harm. We ask for nothing. He gives freely.”
It is no longer a room for giggles.
“I don’t know your plans, Clara, but . . .” Roseau looked around the room. “Maybe wait to judge. If you stay long, you will see: It is frightfully easy to live in Elias’s world. There is much less pain.”
She was correct. It was easy. Addicting. Compelling.
But it wasn’t right. Deep down I knew it, and I knew they did too. They were not artists. Elias was.
The real Elias knew nothing of my past. It was time to set him free, never to be used again.
Well, after I figured out from the Other One how much of me had been discovered.
My quest had begun.
“Do you see any themes?” I asked. “When Elias speaks, do you note any themes?”
“Stars,” they said in unison. Doucette continued. “If it was up to Elias, every painting would be painted at night, which we, of course, cannot do. Always, there are stars and families of stars.”
“Constellations,” I said.
“Yes. He describes them in detail, and I admit, those descriptions we do not listen to.”
“Nothing else?” I asked.
“Non. Only stars.”
I entered my room and turned on the light.
Five faces stared at me.
“Blast! Elias.” My heartbeat slowed. “A few things you may never do. Sneaking up on me is one of them.”
“We need to leave. We need to leave now.” He stood up from the chair in the corner.
“It’s late. We’ll start in the morning.” I collapsed face first onto my bed. But Elias shook the frame.
“She said we need to go tonight.”
“She?”
“I told you. The queen —”
“My mum said many things during her life, but I guarantee she did not tell you anything of the sort.” I flipped over.
Elias backed up slowly. “Your mom, the queen?”
“Yes, my mum the queen, I mean yes to my mum, no to the queen . . . at least not my queen. Maybe your queen.”
He fell back into the chair. “Of course. How did I miss it?” He stood and paced the room. “It makes sense. Your sudden willingness to help me. Your possession of the instruction manual containing her picture —”
“You mean my diary.”
“She would only entrust someone close to her with such a delicate set of documents. You would know what to do, where to go.” He reached beneath my head and yanked out the pillow. “Come now.”
I groaned and rubbed my neck. “Fine. We will walk around a tad and then come back, and tomorrow we will sort this all out.”
“But Salem is a big place. You’ll need to get us a car.”
I sat up, a heavy feeling in my stomach.
“How far do you want to go?”
“I’m not sure. My map and your manual together will tell us. I know you like donkeys for long trips, but that’s not an option in this part of the world.”
“You can’t just leave, Elias. You can’t just leave your mum and take off who knows where without so much as a good-bye. You can’t do . . . that . . .”
I lowered my gaze. Nobody should put family through that.
“It’s unfortunate that it must be this way.” Elias bit a nail and furrowed his brow. “She’s kind.” He seemed on the verge. The thought of Guinevere’s worry looked to slow him, and he tightened both fists. Then his fingers extended, and his cadence quickened. “She would try to stop me. She is a good woman, but she doesn’t understand all that is at stake. She sees a very small picture.”
I nodded.
“If we don’t find what we’re after, all of Salem is in jeopardy. I see it now. I need your help.”
“But the boarders. What about Juan and Jakob, Doucette . . .”
“My teachers? I finished my lessons. History from Jakob. Art from Doucette. Government from Juan. My lessons are finished. My bag is packed. Now pack yours.”
I slowly rose and gathered my things.
Guinevere would be devastated.
“Give me one day. Tomorrow night, we’ll leave.” I paused, jeans in hand. “I can do wonders as a guide, but some items take time to obtain. A car is no small feat.”
“I believe you can do this.” Elias handed me my diary off the bedside table. “We’ll start at the bazaar.”
“The bazaar?”
Elias folded his arms. “The one you told me about. We’ll find someone there who can help us. Maybe Cliq.”
What have I done?
“And how do you propose we reach the bazaar?” I asked.
“There’s a new light rail in this city. I’m sure you can find it.”
I finished packing.
We’ ll just ride the light rail system from Minnesota to West Africa. I’m certain we shall not have any difficulties.
“I’m stating, for the record, that this is not the best way to begin this quest.” I grabbed my underwear from Elias’s hands. “If you would condescend to tell me what we’re looking for . . . We might even find it nearby. Right here, at the inn.”
Elias thought a moment. “Find us a car, and I will consider the next of your tests passed. Maybe at that point I can tell you more.”
“Right.” I snapped the clasp of my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Well, then, let’s get started.”
Elias walked over to the disturbing face, the one on the east wall. He stared unblinking at the man for a long time, before reaching out and placing his hand over the picture’s enormous mouth. “I can’t hear you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’m taking her away from you.”
I buried my face in my hands. I must be mad.
We quietly left the room and the inn and wandered out beneath a full-moon sky. Elias’s face brimmed with confidence, and I rubbed my eyes.
I was helping half of him.
I was using the other half.
What I was running from had found me.