The Hosentaufs left. Josef eyed the windows which thankfully were now unboarded, remembering that soon the land would be clear and open. The fairs would be starting in a month or so. In his mind’s eye he saw himself jaunty and free, doing sketches for a good price, sleeping in cool fragrant barns. But his eye fell on his unfinished paintings. He had to finish them. He had to have a quiet place to work. What had happened to his freedom?

Frowning, he went back to the easel. He wasn’t going to marry Bianka, paintings or no. And all the while that he was talking to himself so vehemently, uninvited mental images came into his mind; Bianka leaving him a tray of food while he worked—Bianka as a model, taking every conceivable pose; and in years to come, Josef the artist, lord of the manor, rich and prosperous while fat sons did all the work in the fields that he and Bianka had somehow inherited.

“You’d better jump out of the window to the shed and just keep going,” he told himself, alarmed by these seemingly independent thoughts that glowed so temptingly. Was he being offered an opportunity unequaled where he could work in peace? Or was he in mortal danger of losing all independence? Or both? Or neither? Groaning, he threw his brush down and stared at the wall.

Chapter Fourteen

Proteus’ Decision — Window’s Window into the Past (and Aspect One)

Cyprus and Oversoul Seven sat nonchalantly on a pile of rock on the rim of the hill overlooking the Dig of the Tellers. “I lost myself in Lydia’s life, then Ma-ah’s, then Josef’s,” Seven was saying. “It’s great to surface again. I’m worried about Josef. I mean, he is forming his own reality but he doesn’t know it, of course, and he thinks the Hosentaufs are tricking him.”

“I take it that Josef is still your favorite?” Cyprus asked.

“Well, no, not really. He’s just more like me. Or he seems like me. Anyway, he reminds me of myself more and more. He gets lost in his paintings now, as I get lost in my personalities. And you know, before my examination he didn’t paint like that; and I just peeked into my personalities to help them out now and then. I mean—now sometimes I think they own me; and Josef’s worried about losing his freedom. Well, I don’t relish losing mine, either, in their experiences.”

“Is that what happens?” Cyprus was smiling.

“Well, it’s certainly what seems to happen,” Seven said, testily. “It’s easy for you to talk in your position—” Seven broke off in consternation. Cyprus was gone. “Cyprus? Cyprus?” he called.

“Yes?”

Seven blinked. That was Cyprus’ voice, but it wasn’t just that she’d dematerialized her image—he could have perceived her presence in any case—

“Over here,” she said.