Page 16 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

He hadno(lowly)ideawhat was happening.

(As a reminder, Yumi’s and Painter’s languages have this curious feature that makes narratives rather hard on a storyteller speaking to a crowd of people without high or low variations in their boring languages. Conveying this can be awkward, but I’m doing my best. You’re welcome.)

Anyway, while Painter was confused, hewasalso hungry. And these women appeared to be waiting for him to eat. He decided that the confident thing to do—the way of the solitary warrior—was to get some sustenance so that he could continue being mysterious without his stomach growling. So he settled down and took the bowl of rice from the hands of one of the women.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the maipon sticks from another. He started eating. “You have anything to go with this?”

The two women gasped.

“Why, spirit?” Yumi begged. “Why have you taken my form? You…cast me out? I am only a soul, and you have my body? But why canIsee you in the shape of a young man?” She knelt before him, in line with the others. “Please. I don’t understand.Please.Tell me your will.”

He hesitantly stopped, the mouthful of rice half-chewed. One of the women reached for the bowl and he shied back, then took another bite, judging their reaction. Horror?

“Is it…poisoned or something?” he said. “Not that I mind. I am strong enough to stomach any poison, of course.”

The two women fled, abandoning the table and other dining implements. They left the door swinging—spilling in more garish light—and ran off, their feet clopping on the stone ground. Were they…wearing wooden shoes?

Yumi watched him with tears in her eyes. Then remarkably, subtly, her expression shifted. Drooping lips went taut. Teeth clenched. Her muscles tensed.

“That’sit,” she said (lowly). “I’mdone!”

It’s a commonmistake to assume that someone is weak because they are accommodating. If you think this, you might be the type who has no idea how much effort—how muchstrength—it takes to put up with your nonsense.

Yumi wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a pushover. Don’t assume fragility where you should see patience. Beyond that, she did have her limits. They had just been reached.

“I’ve served you all my life!” Yumi said, standing tall. “I’ve giveneverythingto you!”

The spirit blinked. And, well, Yumi hadn’tintendedto make an outburst. I think that is rather part of the definition. The words simply gushed out.

“I made a mistake!” she said. “I somehow workedtoo hardyesterday. Is that why you decided to rise? Why you demanded my help, then took my shape? Isthatwhat this is? Punishment? You’re here to embarrass me! Youknowhow someone like me is to act. You decreed it! So the sole reason you’d grab that bowl and start eating is to humiliate me!”

Yumi finished, sucking in deep gasps, filled with a remarkable species of anger. She’d never let herself act like this before. One might have assumed it to be refreshing, but for her, it was more…inevitable. You dropped a brick and it fell. You dropped a flower and it floated. You pushed a person too far and…well, they exploded. Like a steamwell. The pressure had to go somewhere.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hands making fists, and braced herself. She wasn’t certain what happened when you defied the spirits in such a terrible, insolent way. There were all kinds ofimplicationsof course, but few explicit answers. An ordinary person could have escaped with only some bad luck, but she was a yoki-hijo.

She expected to be ripped to pieces. Perhaps to be compressed to the size of a marble. Maybe she’d be fortunate and the spirit would merely curse her to spit lizards when she tried to talk. But she couldn’t have stopped the outburst. She was exhausted, sore, overwhelmed.

She waited. An uncomfortably long time.

Then finally, the spirit spoke.

“Let’s pretend,” it said, “that I’mnota spirit like you think I am. How bad would that be?”

Yumi cracked one eye. He sat there, a piece of rice sticking to his cheek. As soon as he noticed she’d opened her eye, he puffed up a little, sitting straighter, and made a strange face. As if…nauseated? She couldn’t read it.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I wish that I did,” he said. “But I’m not a spirit. I’m a person. Granted, amysteriousone.”

“Mysterious?”

“Incredibly,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what this place is or whyI’m here. But I think…I might be from another planet.” He winced when he said it. “Does that sound crazy?”

She cocked her head.

“That star in the sky?” he said, standing up and pointing at the window. “The one you called the daystar? I’m from there. Maybe. It’s my best theory.”

“You’re…human?”

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