Chapter 10.1 - The Void

“There is one thing I don’t understand,” Claire frowned while she sipped her tea. 

“Lucky you! Most of us have quite a few of them,” Grandmother teased.

“Remember what I saw in that dream? That reality is made of light?” 

“Vividly,” Grandmother smiled, pleased.

“What does that make me, then?” Claire raised her eyes and looked at her grandmother with a tormented gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“The shadow,” Claire uttered. “I mean the shadow. Why am I haunted by the shadow if the whole world is made of light?”

Grandmother put the teacup down gently.

“Follow my thinking, if you will. If everything there is, if all reality is made of light, what is the shadow then?”

“The absence of light,” Claire followed her train of thought.

“Which in this context is?”

“The absence of reality,” Claire pronounced befuddled.

“Exactly.”

“But there is no such thing as the absence of reality!” 

“Why wouldn’t there be? Everything in this universe is of dual nature. Everything but God.”

“What does that even mean, ‘the absence of reality’, it doesn’t make any sense!” Claire protested.

“There are more things under heavens than us frail creatures will ever be able to understand. It’s the space between existence, the silence between the sound, the pause between thoughts: nothing.”

“There is no such thing as nothing, if you can think it, it is,” Claire presented her argument.

“That’s right,” Grandmother nodded. “Thoughts are reality too, and they too are made of light. Thoughts don’t belong in the space between existence either. In the beginning everything came out of nothing, and in the ultimate sense everything and nothing are of the same essence, which they eternally exchange between themselves. Everything that was and ever can be came out of the space between existence. Everything that is yet to be is still waiting in there, absent time, all mixed together in a jumble of all possibilities, not subject to any rules or motives. It can never be explained, but you might be able to experience it.”

“But there is no reason to believe this,” Claire retreated into her rational model of reality for safety and comfort.

“Think about it, bebelle. Can you honestly say you can explain everything that has happened to you?”

“Just because I have this thing about the mirrors…” Claire went on the defensive.

“It’s not about the mirrors!” Grandmother retorted. “It’s not about your dreams, it’s not about continuity gaps, it’s not about the moon, it’s not about your intimate connection with nature, it’s not about your communing with the departed, it’s not about your heritage, it’s not about turning paint into light, it’s not about anything. It can’t be, by its very nature.”

“So, what should I do about that?” Claire asked.

“Who says you should do anything? People always assume that doing is preferable to not doing. It’s not, they’re equally weighted choices. And stop worrying about the shadow. You create things, Claire. How can you draw water from the well if you don’t go to the well?”

“What are you two talking about, leave the poor girl alone, she’s weird enough already,” Grandfather commented from the doorway. “Are you waiting for somebody?”

“Yes, the gallery curator is coming today to discuss the details of an upcoming interview,” Claire answered.

“And you’re going to receive her like this? This place is a mess! Where is the interview going to take place?” Grandfather looked around.

“Here, eventually,” Claire preempted a protest. “Not today.”

“When?” Grandfather persisted.

“That’s what the meeting is for, to discuss the details,” Claire repeated.

“You need to put away your art supplies, this is getting out of hand. First they were only in the drawing room, now they’re spilling out into every room in this house. This place needs to look spotless!”

“Papa, I’ll take care of it,” Claire got up and started straightening up the room.

“You know, with all of this philosophical discussion about being and not being we’re all going to drown in our own higher meaning. Here’s a list for you: food, shelter, safety, family, he started enumerating exasperated. Last I checked you still needed feeding.

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“What’s for dinner?” the latter continued unperturbed.

“Pot roast,” Claire replied.

“Is it in the oven?” Grandfather asked.

“No.”

“So it’s not going to be done in time for dinner and we’re going to have to eat it raw,” Grandfather continued going through his list.

“I’ll get to it,” Claire defended herself. “We don’t want it to be overcooked either.”

“It’s five.”

“Yes, we’ve got three hours.”

“Three hours are not enough. It’s going to be undercooked.”

“Why don’t you leave the cooking to us,” Grandmother jumped to Claire’s assistance. “I think we got more experience with that.” Grandfather continued grilling Claire.

“What about your visitor? Is she going to stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know, I’ll ask her.”

“Is there going to be enough food? What about dessert?”

“Papa, I’m perfectly capable of handling dinner.”

“Just stay out of the creative well this evening, will you?” Grandfather mumbled, shuffling his feet down the stairs to the cellar to pick the appropriate libation for the event. “It’s not like people are breaking the doors down to spend time with you or anything. You can at least try to be sociable to the few who do.”

He returned with the drinks and lingered around the kitchen to kibitz the preparation of dinner.

“So they don’t have male curators at this gallery?” he turned to a completely unrelated subject.

“Why?” Claire turned towards him, surprised.

“I don’t know, are you going to join a convent?” Grandfather continued his train of thought.

“Papa, why are you so focused on marrying me off?”

“Because any moment now some being from beyond is going to emerge on the front lawn and take you away to God knows where!” Grandfather sighed dejected. “I wanted you to have a real life, Claire, a family, children…”

“Who in his right mind would want to come and live here? Everybody I know thinks this place is haunted!”

“They are kind of right about that, you know,” Grandmother joined in the conversation.

“That’s exactly why I asked you to leave, move to New Orleans, rent a place like a normal person, make friends.”

“I don’t want to leave! I’m happy here, why would I want to leave? I finally have a place where I can feel like myself. I don’t want to get a fake life so that everybody thinks I’m normal. I’m not normal!”

“That’s an understatement. This whole other side of your family qualifies as strange, but I think you take the cake. Thank God for your artistic inclinations, you can pass yourself off as eccentric for a little while, but you’re going to fall off that social ledge pretty soon, by the looks of it. Let’s make this brief: I want great-grandchildren.”

“If it’s meant to be it’s going to happen! Why worry about it?” Claire managed to light the fuse under one of her grandfather’s biggest pet peeves. 

“So help me, it’s like talking to the walls! What is it with women and their almost religious urge to renounce free will? There is no fate! You make your fate! I’ll make your fate for you if you don’t start soon! Give me strength!”

“What if I do marry a cousin? What then?” Claire took the opportunity to test the limits of said free will before it got rescinded and blown to smithereens.

“You can marry a cat for all I care. Just give me descendants. Who’s going to inherit this place after you’re gone? I made a promise to your grandmother’s kin to take care of this land.”

“I never realized you felt that way,” Grandmother commented softly, choked by emotion.

“Speaking of seventy years of marriage,” Grandfather retorted frowning.