Behind the Canvas (4 page)

“I should like that very much,” Pim said with a smile.

She held the painting in her lap and looked at her painted friend. “I wish you could. I wish you could walk with me into Mr. Griffiths's class. On your own feet, I mean. I wish you could sit right here next to me, Pim. I wish we could eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches together.”

“Me, too.”

“I know you don't want to talk about your past or about how you got stuck in there, but maybe we can get some help for you. There's got to be a way to get you out of there.” The wish was so deep that she blinked to keep the tears at bay.

“Claudia, listen, I…” Pim's gaze suddenly focused on something over Claudia's shoulder. In an instant he had faded from view.

She spun around on the bench to find Mr. Custos right behind her, his immaculate three-piece suit buttoned up and free of wrinkles.

She hugged the painting to her chest.

The museum curator stared at her with wide eyes. “It would appear you have a talking boy in your painting.”

The lump in Claudia's throat prevented her from either swallowing or speaking. “I—I don't know what you mean,” she finally said.

Mr. Custos continued to stare. “The last time you visited, when you said there was a boy in the painting of the Dutchmen, I didn't realize…”

“Mr. Custos,” she whispered. “What are you talking about?” Her fingers squeezed tight against the wooden frame of her painting. They would take it away from her. Scientists would poke and prod at her painting and keep Pim away forever. Mr. Custos would tell her parents. She would never see Pim again.

But Mr. Custos nodded, as though the situation had become suddenly clear. He spoke slowly now, enunciating the consonants at the ends of words as he always did. “I think, Miss Miravista, that you need to meet Granny Custos.”

“What?”

“Granny Custos. Yes. She will definitely want to speak with you. Tonight. My house. Seven o'clock sharp. Both you and, uh”—he waved toward the painting—“your friend.”

She had never heard of Granny Custos before, and she had no idea what Mr. Custos's grandmother might have to do with Pim. “But I…”

“Don't worry. Your grandfather knows where I live. He can bring you.”

An elderly couple appeared on a nearby path, walking their dog.

“Seven o'clock sharp,” Mr. Custos whispered. “Bring the boy.” He spun around and waved at the couple as he passed. “Hello there! Gorgeous afternoon for stimulating your cultural sensitivities, isn't it?”

Claudia shoved the small painting into her backpack and tried not to break into a run as she left the park.

*   *   *

More than an hour passed before Pim returned to the painting, his head barely peeking around the frame. “Is it safe?” he whispered.

Claudia nodded from the place on her bed where she was sketching absentmindedly in her notebook. “We're home.”

“What happened?”

“What, no joke this time?”

“I think the museum director scared them out of me. What did he say?”

“He wants us to meet his grandma.”

“What?”

“I know. Weird, right?” She stood up and looked out her window at the long evening shadows. “It was like he wasn't even surprised. He was but wasn't at the same time. Instead of asking who you were or what was up with my painting, he asked me—well, told me—to come to his house tonight to meet his grandma. So strange.”

“Do you know the curator well?”

“Only from visiting the museum. But my grandpa's known him for decades.”

“Are you going?”

She looked back at Pim. “Well, if I go, I'm not going alone. He told me to bring you along.”

“Me?” Pim looked shocked, but the expression slowly melted into a half smile. “It's been a long time since I've had an invitation to someone's home.”

She pulled back her thick hair and looped it into a ponytail. “Don't get too excited. Mr. Custos isn't exactly normal. I can't imagine what Granny Custos is like.”

“Who?”

“That's his grandmother's name. Granny Custos.”

Pim raised his eyebrows.

“What? Have you heard of her?” she asked.

He shook his head, slowly at first and then more firmly. “No. No. Of course not. Well, I've heard the name before, but I don't remember where or when. A long time ago.”

“Really? What else have you heard about her? Why would she want to talk to us? Why would she be interested in you?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, think. If you heard the name somewhere, then she probably has a connection with the world behind the canvas, right?”

“I don't know. I don't know!” he snapped.

“Okay, take it easy. Just thinking out loud.”

If Pim had heard that name before, and Mr. Custos thought she would be interested in Pim … maybe Granny Custos knew something about Pim's past. She might even know something that would help him.

“Well, I think we should go,” she said. “You don't give me any answers about where you come from. Maybe she has some.”

“Not all questions are meant to be answered, Claudia.”

A shout came from the floor below. “Dinnertime!”

“Well, you can stay home if you want,” she said. “But I'm going to see Granny Custos.”

 

C
HAPTER
4

“G
RANDPA, SLOW
DOWN!”
The cool spring breeze chilled Claudia's face as she hurried to catch up.

Grandpa glanced back at her. “You don't want to be late, do you? Didn't he say seven o'clock sharp?”

She sprinted, her yellow backpack flopping on her back, until she was even with him. He had seemed tired and reluctant to go out with her when she had asked him after dinner. But when she mentioned that Mr. Custos wanted to introduce her to his grandma, Grandpa practically pushed her out the door.

“Do you know Granny Custos?” she asked as they charged down the sidewalk.

“Know her? I should say so! She and I knew each other very well when I was younger. Very well indeed. It's been years since I've seen her, though. You know, she was quite the artist at one point in time. More talent and knowledge of art history than Sal—er, Mr. Custos—has, that's for sure. I had thought of introducing you myself one of these days. I guess Sal beat me to it. Still, you could learn a lot from her.”

Breathless, she followed Grandpa up one street and down another through the neighborhoods. Eventually they came to a part of town where the architecture was tall and cramped, and the paint on many houses was peeling. Finally they stopped in front of a Victorian with steeply pitched roofs reaching toward a soaring turret. Her grandpa glanced at the outer gate and pulled a bow tie from his pocket, which he clipped onto his buttoned shirt.

“A bow tie, Grandpa?”

He paused and pursed his lips before ushering her through the gate toward the front door. Clearing his throat, he gave the door a solid knock.

She brought down the backpack from her shoulders. Her worries from the park surfaced again. What would happen when Mr. Custos pointed out the boy in her painting? Would everyone try to take it away from her?

The door opened, revealing an old woman in a thick and expansive woolen shawl. The shawl enveloped her body down to the ankles, allowing her head and arms to protrude like those of a tortoise. Her silver hair had mostly fallen out of its bun and swirled in loose wisps around her head. The woman's olive skin didn't seem nearly as wrinkled as Claudia expected of someone everybody called “Granny.”

She stood upright with a slight hunch, her hand resting on the edge of the door. Her eyes were the deep brown of chocolate on candy bar commercials, melted and swirled into confectionary perfection. She stared at Claudia. Claudia shifted her feet but forced herself to return the old woman's gaze. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something powerful about this woman.

“
Mi estrellita
, it's so good to see you again,” Grandpa said. He moved forward to give the woman a
besito
on the cheek, but she held up a hand.

“You,” she said, “sit.” She pointed to a swing hanging from the porch roof off to the side of the front door. “And wait.”

Grandpa looked as though he was about to argue, but then his shoulders slumped and he nodded. He skulked toward the porch swing as the old woman grabbed Claudia's arm and yanked her through the door. It slammed closed behind them.

Claudia tried to turn back to the door. “But what about my—”

“Zoot, zoot!”
Granny Custos poked Claudia in front of her and shooed her forward, as though clearing chickens from the yard. They passed down a narrow hallway and through a parlor. The room radiated a warm, inviting light. Claudia had expected to see walls filled with paintings in the home of the museum curator, but they held only knickknacks and needlepoint that matched the old-fashioned furniture.

They entered the dining room and Granny Custos silently pointed to a chair at a large mahogany table detailed with gold inlays. Claudia hesitated, not sure what to make of the pushy old woman. She relaxed a tiny bit when Mr. Custos poked his head out from what appeared to be the kitchen.

“Ah, Ms. Miravista, you made it,” he said. “So glad to see that. And your grandfather?”

Claudia sat in the chair and scowled at Granny Custos. “He's waiting on the porch.”

He glanced at the old woman. “Ah. I see. Well, did you bring your friend? You know, the small one?” He held his fingers an inch apart.

Granny Custos hissed. “Salvatore. Out you go.”

Mr. Custos winced. “Yes, Granny.” He nodded to Claudia. “I have to get up early and all—you understand, I'm sure.” He lingered a moment longer, cleared his throat, and then ducked back into the kitchen.

Claudia's eyes widened. Both Grandpa and Mr. Custos cowered in front of this senior citizen. What was she getting herself into?

The old tortoiseshell woman lowered herself into a chair on the other side of the table.

She dug around in her shawl before surfacing with a long wooden pipe. She tapped the bowl against her hand and then set the end of the long stem between her teeth.

“Show me the boy.”

Claudia stiffened at the frank command. The old woman hadn't even introduced herself yet. Claudia hadn't come here to be bossed around. But her curiosity won out, and she unzipped her backpack. She pulled the painting from within and gently propped it on the table.

Pim blinked at the sudden light of the room and then focused on the elderly woman. He bowed low. “Granny Custos, it is indeed an honor.”

Granny Custos regarded him without expression, tilting her head slowly like a cat. “Are you flesh, boy, or are you paint?”

“Well…” Pim spread his hands. “I was born flesh, and I was flesh when I came in. I'm not sure what I am now, but I hope to be flesh again someday.”

The woman chewed the stem of her pipe.
Click-clack
. “If you were flesh when you went in, then flesh you can become again. Who is your witch?”

Pim's eyes grew wide for a moment. “What do you mean? My what?”

Granny Custos gave a small smile, wrinkles forming where smooth skin lay seconds before. Wrinkles that somehow, Claudia knew, were born of secrets. “You don't just climb into the world behind the canvas on your own, boy. No door, no window, no path. If flesh you be, then it was someone what put you there. A witch is my wager. What is her name?”

Pim shook his head. “No no no no. I don't … I can't…”

The air in the room seemed to sag now with a new weight. The old woman's words buzzed in Claudia's ears.
The world behind the canvas
. In her room or around the neighborhood, having Pim in a painting almost seemed a surreal game, something she kept to herself, apart from reality. But now here was a woman who knew about that world—and probably about many other things as well. Like witches?

“Boy,” said Granny Custos evenly. “I did not let you through my door to play childish games. Who is your witch?”

Fidgeting with a button on his jacket, Pim cast a long look behind him. Finally his shoulders drooped and his hands fell to his sides. “Nee Gezicht. It is—was, I mean, was—Nee Gezicht.”

Granny Custos slowly took the unlit pipe from her mouth and leaned forward. “Nee Gezicht?” The pipe stem found its way back into her mouth as she thoughtfully repeated the odd name. “Nee Gezicht. How long?”

Pim sighed. “Three hundred and sixty years. Give or take a decade.”

Claudia gasped. “Three hundred and—? You mean you've been around for three hundred and sixty years?”

“And you probably didn't peg me for a day over twelve,” Pim said with a sly smile.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Pim, mistress. My name is Pim.”

Granny Custos jabbed the bit of her pipe toward his tiny image. “You, Pim, have a story to tell. And I want to hear it.”

Claudia leaned in confidentially. “I've been trying to get him to tell me about his past for weeks now, but every time—”

“
Silenzio
, child,” Granny Custos said. “Pim is about to tell his story.”

Who is this woman?
Claudia thought as they turned their heads toward Pim.

Pim looked from one pair of eyes to the other and then sighed again. He nodded and began his story.

 

C
HAPTER
5

C
LAUDIA COULDN'T
believe it—she had poked and prodded Pim for more than two whole weeks to hear his story. And now he was going to tell Granny Custos only five minutes after meeting her. But then again, it seemed that no one could really say no to Granny Custos.

Pim cleared his throat and Claudia scarcely breathed. The walls around her seemed to fade away as her friend spoke.