Page 68 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“We agree,” he said, washing his own hair, “that it’s okay to relax a tad. You went to eat with the others. I decided to eat on my own.”

“Opposite actions.”

“Done for the same reason.”

“I think it’s a stretch that weagreeon this.”

“Well, it felt fun to say,” he said.

“This much confusion is worth a chance for you to make a little quip?”

“Well, obviously.” He smiled, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Ithought it was funny, at least.”

“Funny? How?”

He shrugged. “Just…funny?”

She shook her head. “That is not what humor is like, Painter.”

(She was, of course, dead wrong. Remember what the poet said: “Never let something trivial, like a sense of humor, get in the way of a good joke.”

The poet was me.

He said it right now.)

Afterward, they both rested on their backs and floated for a time to soak, and didn’t say much. Eventually they climbed out of the bath. He held the clothing toward her so she could make a copy. This, fortunately, did not vanish once donned. They didn’t know why. (It has to do with them automatically incorporating the clothing into their vision of themselves at the time, but that’s beside the point.)

The two turned back-to-back as a token nod toward modesty as they dressed. Which was amusing, since puttingonclothing wasn’t exactly the immodest part of the experience.

Painter found it aggravating how difficult it was to tie the bow on his outfit. He pulled it too tight, then tried it loose, and then looked flabbergasted at Yumi, who had tied hers into a basic knot like she often did. She shrugged.

“At least,” she said to him, “I didn’t dismiss the people who could have done this correctly for me.”

A valid point.

A short time later, the attendants dropped them off at the orchard shrine, where trees drifted and bumped against one another like people in line for concert tickets. Painter felt bad every time they came here, as he knew for a fact they were interrupting the work of the orchard keepers. Then again, maybe the workers wanted an excuse to take a break.

Liyun was nowhere to be seen—the yoki-hijo was supposed to be alone during meditation—but she had done as Painter had requested, leaving a scroll, some painting ink, and a small brush for him. Judging by the symbol on the leather sheath for the brush, she’d commandeered them from the scholars. Well, they were probably too busy trying to make their machine work to bother with writing anyway.

“So why this?” Yumi asked, gesturing to it.

“Well,” Painter said, “you keep telling me I need to clear my mind while meditating—”

“You do.”

“—which is basically impossible—”

“It’s absolutely not.”

“—but I considered and realized thereisa time when I mostly clear my mind.” He held up his brush. “When I’m painting.”

She cocked her head and watched as he rolled out the scroll, then knelt to begin painting. He started into it, expecting her to condemn him. If she’d hated it when he’d improvised earlier in the day, she would undoubtedly hate this doubly—as he was supposed to be worshipping the spirits at the moment. Or something. He still didn’t quite get the point of this part.

“You’re…actually trying,” she said softly, surprising him. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“A lot of it,” he admitted, doing a quick painting. Just some flourishes of the brush to create curved lines.

She knelt beside him. “When I was painting those bamboo stalks, I…got into a rhythm. Time passed. Almost like I was meditating.”

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