Klara and the Sun

‘You keep bringing it up. Twice just yesterday.’

Rick’s writing hand paused, but he didn’t look up. ‘I suppose I’m curious. But how can anyone get jealous about your portrait getting done?’

‘Seems dumb. But you definitely sound that way.’

For the next few moments they were silent, getting on with their respective tasks. Then Rick said:

‘I wouldn’t say I’m jealous. I’m concerned. This guy, this artist person. Everything you say about him sounds, well, creepy.’

‘He’s just doing my portrait, is all. He’s always respectful, always anxious not to tire me out.’

‘He never sounds right. You say I keep bringing this up. Well, that’s because each time I do, you say something else to make me think, oh my God, this is getting creepy.’

‘What’s creepy about it?’

‘For one thing, you’ve been to his studio, what, four times? But he never shows you anything. No rough sketches, nothing. All he seems to do is take photos up close. This piece of you, that piece of you. Is that what artists really do?’

‘He prefers photos because that way I don’t get exhausted sitting still for hours in the old-fashioned way. This way I’m only in there twenty minutes tops, each time. He takes the photos he needs stage by stage. And Mom’s always there. Look, would my mom hire some pervert to do my portrait?’

Rick didn’t respond. Then Josie went on:

‘I think it is some kind of jealousy, Ricky. But you know what? I don’t mind. Shows you’ve got the right attitude. You’re being protective. Shows you’re thinking about our plan. So don’t worry.’

‘I’m not worried. This is such a ridiculous accusation.’

‘It’s not an accusation. I’m not saying it’s like sexual or anything. What I’m saying is that this portrait, it’s just part of the big world out there, and you’re worried it could get in our way. When I say you might be jealous, I’m just meaning in that sense.’

‘Fair enough.’

Their ‘plan’, though frequently mentioned, was rarely discussed in detail. Nevertheless, it was during this – still gentle – phase of the visits that I began to gather together their various remarks about it into a coherent observation. I came to understand that the plan wasn’t anything they’d built carefully, but more a vague wish connected to their future. I realized too the significance of this plan for my own aims; that as the future unfolded, even if the Mother, Melania Housekeeper and I could remain near her at all times, without the plan, Josie might still not keep away loneliness.

—

There then came a point when the bubble game stopped bringing laughter and brought instead fear and uncertainty. In my mind today, this marks the third and last phase of those visits Rick made at that time.

It’s hard now to establish which of them first altered the mood. In the earlier phases, Josie’s sketches were often created purposefully to bring back amusing or happy incidents they’d shared in the past. This was one reason Rick was able to fill the bubbles quickly and with little hesitation. But there now came a change in Rick’s reactions when the sheets floated down to him. Increasingly he would stare at them for long moments, sigh or frown. Then when he wrote his words, he’d do so slowly and with more concentration, often not replying to anything Josie said until he’d finished. And Josie’s responses, once Rick had passed the sheets back up to her, became hard to predict. She might study a sheet with blank eyes, before placing it amidst her bedclothes without comment. Or sometimes she’d flick a completed sheet back onto the floor, this time to a spot beyond Rick’s reach.

Every now and then, the mood might return to the way it was before, and they’d laugh or argue in a friendly way. But increasingly, either Josie’s picture or Rick’s words would cause an unkind exchange. Even so, a comfortable atmosphere would usually have returned by the time Melania Housekeeper called up the end of the thirty minutes.

—

Once, Rick reached forward and picked up a sheet, regarded it carefully, then put down his sharp pencil. He went on looking at the picture for some time, till Josie, noticing from the bed, stopped her sketching.

‘Something up, Ricky?’

‘Hmm. I was just wondering what these were supposed to be.’

‘What do they look like?’

‘These folks surrounding her. Am I to assume they’re aliens? It almost looks like instead of a head, they have, well, a giant eyeball. I’m sorry if I have this all wrong.’

‘You haven’t got it all wrong.’ There was a coldness in her voice, and also a small fear. ‘Well, at least not really. They’re not aliens. They’re just…what they are.’

‘All right. They’re an eyeball tribe. But what’s rather troubling is the way they’re all staring at her.’

‘What’s troubling about it?’

The silence continued behind me and, in the window reflections, I saw Rick continuing to stare at the sheet.

‘So what’s troubling about it?’ Josie asked again.

‘I’m not sure. This is an extra large bubble you’ve made for her too. I’m not sure what I should write.’

‘Write whatever you think she’s thinking. No different from the others.’