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Surigama Sensei… can I ask you something? he said carefully. Its about your husband. he said timidly. I heard he… he passed away. Is it okay if I offer you my condolences? I just… Im sorry. That is horrible. he looked genuinely upset for me. I sat back and turned my head away. I heard him take a deep breath. What do I say to this? Even accepting condolences from him, for something that made me so happy, made me feel deceitful. I had played the dutiful widow. Acting anymore for Hiros benefit was something I decided I would not do, not with Alan. Turning back to face him I said Alan… thank you. I… I want to be honest with you. I am sorry but I want to say something I have not said to anyone but my parents and… well it may not be very nice for you to hear, but I cant do this… charade anymore. Alan looked concerned but said Please… you can say anything to me. I nodded and said My husband, he was a devil, a demon who tortured me and made my life hell on earth from the day we married.. I just paint over it with white paint, or some other color and begin again. Canvas is to expensive for a starving artist to just throw out. Again, there may be some wealthy painters who just throw them out the window, but I’ve never met any. I went to work sketching out my vision, integrating the features of each picture and making it my own. In a couple of hours I was finally finished with stage one and I really did need to eat, use the bathroom and get something to drink. My throat was dry from all of my thoughtful and slow breathing, usually from my mouth despite the hazards that this presents. Its ok, I’ve gotten enough done now that I can cut myself some slack, stretch out a little rest my eyes and fill my tummy. Besides, this book really isn’t about my painting career either, although that too is a big part of who I am. If my relationship with my mother explains why I’m nearly insane, my painting explains why I’m not. Sure, as an artist I’m a little loopy as a rule. Sure I hop.
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