Now, standing before the easel, Josef grinned from ear to ear. In his mind’s eye, as clearly as he’d ever seen anything in his life, he saw an oil painting of the Hosentauf farm in the summer, the fields rich, the sturdy house surrounded by tulips. The greens glowed with vitality. It was in the middle of the season, with only sneaky touches of brown hinting at the over-ripeness that would be its own undoing. Even the grays beneath the yellows and whites of the house suggested that the farmhouse, while secure, would not triumph over time. Yet somehow the overall effect was still one of vitality, as if the entire scene would endure even while it was so physically vulnerable. He’d never seen a painting so clearly in his mind before.

The canvas was coated, all ready to work, and as the thoughts went flying through his mind, Josef’s hands were busily mixing the colors for his palette, combining the dry pigments with linseed oil. He felt swift, sure, godlike, with this sudden unexpected rush of inspiration. Singing, almost shouting, he began to paint.

Partaking of Josef’s experience, Oversoul Seven forgot everything else. Once when Josef picked the wrong color, Seven called, “No, no, you’ll spoil it. You want earth tones there.” Another time he cried, “No, you dunce, this is only the underpainting.”

Cyprus waited, never interfering. Only once she spoke. “This part of the examination is only supposed to involve a brief viewing,” she said, making her tone as neutral as possible.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be with you shortly,” Seven muttered. Then, “No, no, transparent color there. Not opaque,” he called to Josef.

Five hours of Earth time passed. There was a knock at the door. “Go away. I’m working,” Josef shouted.

The door flew open. Mrs. Hosentauf and her eldest son, Jonathan, came pounding into the room. “Ahhh, now maybe we’ll get a look at the painting that isn’t there. I want to see underneath that cover. I don’t believe a word you say—” Mrs. Hosentauf shouted. Then she and her son both stopped, speechless.

“Now you see. Go, go leave me alone,” Josef muttered. Nothing mattered but the painting.

“It’s of my lovely house,” Mrs. Hosentauf said. “It’s beautiful.”

“An inspiration,” Jonathan said. “Man to man, let me apologize.”

“Apologize then, and let me work. Can’t you see I’m busy? I’m not finished. I’ve barely begun—”

“And you’ve started the portrait too?” Jonathan asked hastily.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Josef cried automatically.

“Liar,” Seven shouted, to Josef’s mind. “You promised not to lie or cheat again.”

A sudden pang of guilt just made Josef angry. He wanted to get on with his painting. “‘You’ll have your portrait in good time,” he said. “Can’t a man have peace to work?”

Mrs. Hosentauf and her son moved toward the door, almost deferentially.