Nothing stirred, I could have been a small animal. There was the worn stone step. The door was a low one, old wood, whitewashed. It had a round knob, also worn, the kind that turned. I imagined it would make a sound, a sound of the metal against metal, inside its mechanism, a small, small, sound.

But then, I stopped. I’d heard the dogs barking up in the yard, they had broken the silence, the spell. Because a spell it was. I stood for one more moment, perhaps Joseph would come out? But no. I turned around quickly and walked, very fast, up the hill. I hastened, under the trees, past the patio, my abandoned lunch on its white plate, into the house, into the dark passage, and walked quickly, quickly, to my room. And then I was there.

I shut the door behind me, and stood with my back against it, breathing, I remember my breathing. And then I went to my dressing table. I saw my face in the mirror. It was flushed, I never had a flushed face. I remember my eyes.

It took me a while to calm myself, I paced back and forth, back and forth, in front of the dressing table, the mirror, and in front of the window, where I looked, again, into the garden, so green.

And then, finally, I lay down, for my afternoon rest. But those afternoons no longer had my painting in them, in my mind. My mind, now, was blank.

LATER THAT DAY I asked Emily, in the kitchen, how Joseph was doing. Was everything alright with him, I said. Ja, is fine, Emily said. He eats all the food, that’s how I know he’s fine. He eats the scrambled eggs, the toast, in the morning, and I leave him bread and cheese and butter, for lunch. Everything gone when I come again at night, she said. That’s good, that’s good. Thank you, Emily, I said. Thank you.

But ma’am, she said. She looked up then from her wooden board, she was chopping things, vegetables, for dinner. I could see she didn’t know how to carry on. She put her knife down. Ma’am. I stand on the step when he opens the door, she said, and I see, behind him I see, is his table, his small table you put there. There’s papers, pages on the table, many pages. There’s also books, books piled next to the table, on the floor. He has a pen always in his hand, even when he’s opening the door for me. His light is on, even though it’s daytime. I see this is because he’s reading. And writing. And he’s wearing his glasses, you know his glasses, ma’am. Yes, Emily, I said, I know. And he’s wearing, you know, the same clothes, the same shirt, every day, she went on. Once I see he changed his shirt, only one time. But he’s a very clean man, you saw that also, ma’am, you saw that. Yes, Emily, yes, I saw that. Ah, Emily said, and she shook her head. Is not good situation, she said. Yes, Emily, that is true, I said. We stood, the two of us, at her board, the kitchen counter: Emily’s place; her domain. Thank you, Emily, I said, and I went to my room. But my room was no longer a refuge, it no longer felt calm.