For once Elgren motioned his son to be quiet. “The destruction of perfect glass,” he said. “Only the finest houses can have such windows. They’re the pride … the pride….” He broke off. “It’s demoniac. Wanton destruction. I liked you. Despite it all, I liked you.”

“You had a fine way of showing it,” Josef shouted, getting redfaced. “Locking me up—”

“For your own good. To make you fulfill your bargain. That was only right,” Jonathan shouted back.

“We gave you food again when you started to paint, even though you made no progress on our painting,” Elgren said, as if his heart would break.

“Thank you. Thank you. I’m grateful, I’m sure,” Josef thundered. “And there’s your painting. It’s started. Begun.” He pointed dramatically at the one prosaic, uninspired painting in the room. “The undercoating’s done. I’m just waiting for it to dry.”

Jonathan ran over and touched it. “It feels dry enough to me,” he said. “You just set it aside to do these other crazy paintings; to spite us.”

“The window glass,” Elgren said, with a deep sigh. “We can just stop feeding you again. You take our food on false pretenses unless you finish our painting.”

“I don’t care about eating anyway,” Josef said. His warm brown eyes filled with vehemence. “I’ll just paint what I want, and eat the pillows if I have to—”

“Eat the pillows! I told you, he’s mad,” Jonathan said.

“There’s still something here that we don’t understand,” Elgren said to his son. “So shut up and let me think.”

Josef snorted.

Jonathan paced the room angrily.

Elgren stared at Josef. “We might as well not exist for you,” he said finally. “You don’t see us at all as us. Just as we … affect you and your paintings. We don’t exist for you.” He paused, struck by his own words, frightened by them even.

“Ahhh, I just want to work, to paint,” Josef said, not understanding at all. “You’ll get your painting. I’ll do it. You see, it’s begun. I’ll pay for your glass. I’ll sell some of these paintings, and I’ll pay—”

“He’s possessed,” Jonathan shouted. “That’s it.”

“Possessed by nincompoops like you,” Josef yelled back. But real uneasiness gnawed at him. Something in Elgren’s face worried him, and he realized suddenly that he needed the Hosentaufs. Suppose they put him out and he lost his work space? He was dependent on them right now. All at once he felt threatened, really threatened. Any commotion and his inspiration could vanish—who knew, forever maybe?

He tried to smile pleasantly, feeling the muscles in his face go all wiggly with the effort. “Just let me paint, and you’ll have all the fine paintings you want—the one of the house, and the portraits, too—” He blushed furiously, feeling abject, miserable, amazed at the change in circumstances.