The wind stopped. The dust settled. The audience grew rapt, and Teal held his breath.
A bright, nearly blinding light burst into the cell, filled it. Dazzled, most people had to look away, shield their eyes. They didn’t hear, couldn’t see the water spraying into the cell. But when the light dimmed enough, they saw Nimbus standing erect, both arms upraised and the dirt and paint all washed away from her body. Clean and beautiful, the soul not gone in death...but restored.
The cell went black. The whole artwork went black. After a few stunned moments, there was an explosion of applause, and tears welled in Teal’s eyes. Yes...he had done it. It was a complex display. An uncomfortable, and questionable, display. But it was powerful, and beautiful, and he was choked with pride. It almost... almost...eclipsed all the guilt.
They waited an hour to go through the whole process again, a clock by the display giving a digital countdown. After that, another break. This time Nimbus came out to look at the other art, wrapped in a bathrobe and with slippers on. People congratulated her more so than Teal.
Nimbus, Teal and his uncle were standing about chatting when two men in immaculate suits came to them. One was a human, the other a humanoid from Kali, a blue satin turban covering his black hair, his skin a glossy gray, lips very full and eyes slanted, the eyes themselves entirely black like obsidian. The Kalian shook Teal’s hand. “Mr. Teal, my name is Darik Stuul, and I can’t tell you how impressed I am with this piece of yours. A brilliant work on the stages of life, the whole life experience...and the fact that the display begins anew every hour only makes it more powerful, by demonstrating the on-going cycles of life, death and renewal. Very significant to me as a Kalian, in particular. It echoes my religious beliefs.”
“Thank you. It’s a universal theme.”
“Indeed. I’d like to buy it.”
Teal blinked, half chuckled. “Oh...ah...really?” He felt Nimbus squeeze his arm excitedly.
“It is for sale, isn’t it? This is my art broker, David Nussbrown.”
“Yeah, hello. Well...yeah, sure. Um...”
“What are you asking?”
“Well, I’d have to think. I don’t really know...”
“Ten thousand,” said Nimbus.
Teal whirled his head to glare at her, but he looked back when he heard Stuul say, “Sounds very reasonable indeed. Mr. Teal?”
“Sure...yeah. Sounds reasonable.” He tried to repress his smile.
“David here advised me not to make the purchase, because of the possibility of mechanical failure...”
“Well, it is pretty delicate...I’m only an amateur at that stuff...”
“Such humility! I’ll hire an engineer to go over it...without tampering with the intent of the piece in any way, naturally. David also says art must not depreciate, and the young woman here will age, obviously, as time goes by, but we’ll worry about that as it happens...”
“What?” said Nimbus.
“You don’t mean...you want to buy Nimbus, too...”
“Well, you don’t buy a person, obviously, but she must come with the piece, absolutely...or I’m afraid I must decline. She is so exquisite, so wonderful, that I can’t imagine the piece without her.”
“Well, sir, she can’t live inside that thing!”
“She will live in my house as my servants do, and will be paid five hundred munits a week for her work. She will be free to come and go as she pleases. But from six in the evening, when I come home, to midnight when I retire, she must go through the full routine. Once every hour, resting or whatever in-between. I think that’s quite fair. And quite an easy occupation! Of course, on weekends you might be required to perform more often, if I am home...”
“You wouldn’t consider another performer of your own choice?” Teal said.
“Teal,” Nimbus whispered. “Five hundred munits a week! And ten thousand for you! We wouldn’t have to worry any more!”
“We wouldn’t be together, either.”
“I can come see you, every day!”
“Certainly.” Stuul smiled magnanimously. In his slate face, his white teeth were startling.
“We need to talk, to think about this,” said the artist.
“No we don’t,” said his partner, his masterpiece. “Teal, if you turn this down you’re a fool. And you’ll be an imprisoned fool, and then a dead fool. But if you take this you begin becoming an important artist. And a rich artist! This man has friends. His friends will see Stations.”
“Absolutely,” said Stuul.
“It will just be like me having my own place, and a job.”
“For her, it will be just that, Mr. Teal. A job.”
Yes, thought Teal. But being a prosty had just been a job, too.
* * *
Nimbus had made a tent for Teal of her knees propped under the blanket. It was a frail tent in the vast cold wilderness of life, but it was all he had and he entered it eagerly, and the shelter of her warm inner slickness as well.
“I don’t want you to go,” he told her, rocking his hips in a subdued rhythm, rocking himself in her pelvic cradle. “There has to be another way...”
“He told you; there isn’t. He wants me.”
“Yes, he does, doesn’t he? He wants you more than he wants my art, I’d reckon.”
“Are you being jealous?”
“Of what? That you’re going to go live with an exotic rich businessman? What’s to be jealous of?”
Nimbus smiled up at him. “You are jealous, aren’t you? And insecure. Hey...I’m doing this for you...” She brought her legs rasping up tighter around him, hooking her feet over the backs of his legs. The orange glow of the heater, now switched to its battery setting with the power shut off, highlighted the gently straining muscles in Teal’s neck and upper chest, a hypnotic effect.
“You want to do something for me? Then don’t do this. If you do, it isn’t for me.”
“Yes it is. Like it or not, it’s what’s best for you.”
“You’re not my mother. And I’m not so sure I believe you...”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a great opportunity for me, Nim...but it’s a great one for you, too, isn’t it? To live in a mansion in the money sector. Five hundred munits a week. You’re doing this for me, Nim, or are you really doing this for you?”
“Get off me.” She released him from the jaws of her hungry legs, pushed at his shoulders.
“No, listen.”
“Get off me!” She slid out from under him, slickly lubricated with their mixed sweat. Her angry soles slapped the cold floor as she paced. “You don’t give me any credit, do you? You think I’m only out for myself...”
“You say this is for me but I don’t want you to go!”
“I can see you every damn day! So what if I don’t live here...”
“You won’t see me every day. At first, maybe. But you’ll like that rich sector, Nim...a lot. You won’t want to leave it. Not to come into this old neighborhood and be reminded of being homeless. Not to come to this flea bag apartment. Not to spend time with a flea bag like me.”
“No credit at all, you give me.” Tears glistened hot in Nimbus’s eyes. She slipped on a pair of panties. “None. You think I want to live away from you? Fine. Think whatever you want...”
Teal watched her dress, lace her heavy black boots, pull on her heavy mock-leather jacket, tinkling with zippers, straps and studs. “Where are you going? To go find Stuul? Stations isn’t even at his house, yet, Nim...”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“He wants you for a freak, Nim. To perform in that thing for a week is not to live in it. He wants you as a pet. And he wants you as a possession.”
“So do you.”
Teal wanted to protest, to tell her then that he loved her, but he was too angry, too hurt and confused, and Nimbus had already slammed the loft’s door behind her.
* * *
They couldn’t hear each other through the clear ceramic wall.
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It was but the fourth time Nimbus had performed inside her cell for Stuul. The third time, he had had two friends over to watch...but he had told her that he would not be permitting any others to view the piece until he gathered his friends and associates for a large, formal unveiling.
This time, they were alone together.
For the first time, he had slipped both arms inside the black rubber gloves, and caressed the paint- bombarded Nimbus when she danced close enough. At one point he caught her by the arm, held her. Not hard, but firmly, and she didn’t pull away. His other hand slid between her legs, up between her paint-greased buttocks. He slipped a finger inside her, another finger in the other hole. The non-toxic paint lubricated his motions.
Nimbus freed herself more forcefully then, but turned the motion into a whirl of her dance. She nearly fell, but caught herself. She saw Stuul outside as a dark blur. Anger flushed her face inside her mask. Her heartbeat raced. Her mind was so full it went blank. She continued her dance.
She saw his hand extended, waiting to touch her again. Not only waiting, but giving a flicking gesture for her to come back. The gesture was curt, demanding. Impatient. He wasn’t happy she had wrenched away.
The gloves were for hands. Those at the gallery had touched her. Stuul expected to do the same. He had paid good money to do the same...
Good money that would keep Teal out of prison...
Nimbus again spun within his reach. He caught her with both arms. Slipped one around her belly. And his right hand, again, slid between her legs.
Nimbus closed her eyes inside her mask. She wanted to pull away. She really did. Hadn’t she suspected it all along, as Teal had? But that ten thousand would get them out of debt, and the weekly paycheck would give them security. She didn’t pull away from Stuul. She had no choice, really, but to endure being the toy he had purchased...
* * *
Stuul shut off the machine, shut down the artwork, and instructed Nimbus to come out, although she was still drenched in paint. He had spread out a drop cloth so she wouldn’t stain his expensive carpeting, which in metallic thread portrayed the nightmarish Kalian god-demon Ugghiutu consuming souls only to defecate them back into existence. Nimbus stepped out reluctantly, full of dread. He had only had the artwork four days and already he was bored with its intended use?
“Lie down please,” he instructed, smiling, caressing her mask’s colored cheek.
“This isn’t part of the performance,” she said in a sleepwalker’s voice.
“Miss,” Stuul said evenly, smiling, but she saw his chest filling with air through his nostrils as if he were puffing himself up with his determination, and anger. Nimbus thought of a cobra rearing. “Please don’t make me dismiss you, and return this artwork. You know you and your partner can not afford that...you told me of your lamentable situation. So please...lie down.”
Several ticking beats. Nimbus again went blank, all her thought reduced to the sensation of the paint drops winding slowly down her arms and legs. And then, without another word, she did as he asked.
The Kalian disrobed, neatly piled his clothing to one side. His penis shaded much darker than the rest of him, almost black, very long but very thin like a dog’s. He had stroked it erect from its protective sheath and it glistened with its natural lubrication. Stuul lowered himself onto her, and then into her. He didn’t remove her mask, however. A living statue.
Nimbus watched her expressionless artificial face reflected in his eyes of volcanic glass.
“Yes,” he grunted, sloshing down wetly onto her, into her, the paint getting on him. “Yes, yes...so beautiful...yes...uh...so...uh...beautiful...”
All around them hung expensive paintings in gilded frames. Sculptures and holograms stood on pedestals. His own private museum...and them fucking on its floor.
The next day was worse. He insisted on going through the stages of the art-machine with her. A twin in the womb with her. And he had sex with her on the floor while the paint storm engulfed them, taking her from behind with feverish thrusts, wearing a painter’s filter mask to protect his face and crying out inside it when he came, slapping his front against her glossy, many-hued bottom.
This time was worse because he had defiled Teal’s art, she felt, by entering into it where he didn’t belong. By invading it, and altering its purpose, its meaning.
While Stuul cried out inside his mask, Nimbus merely cried inside hers.
* * *
Since coming to live with Stuul a week ago, she hadn’t gone back to visit Teal once. He would think his prophecies had come true. How could she tell him that the real reason was her shame?
An engineer had come to fine-tune Teal’s work. Nimbus watched him wag his head, baffled and amazed. “What a crazy mess! Incredible! How’d he get it to work?”
“Do what you have to,” Stuul said, “as long as the results are the same. And I absolutely have to have it working perfectly by this weekend; I’m having a dinner party and I’ll be introducing this piece to a lot of important people.”
“I’ll have to rework almost everything, Mr. Stuul...this thing is a disaster and it wasn’t built to last.”
“I got it at a steal as far as art goes, Mr. Lang.” Stuul suddenly appeared to think better of his candor and grinned at Nimbus apologetically. She just stared back at him blank-faced...then she gazed again at what the engineer was doing, and thought of the performance she was expected to give that weekend. Rich people watching her like a whore stripping behind glass for a token. Rich people groping her with black rubber gloves. Safe sex. Maybe Stuul would even invite certain special friends to take her, as he had...
She watched what the engineer was doing very carefully while she thought these things.
* * *
They wore five-piece suits and evening gowns, tuxedos and glittering sheaths. There was a well-known robot artist which despite its lack of emotions and scarcely anthropomorphic form still managed to convey a tremendous ego. There were Kalians in rich golden robes with rich golden voices, in blue turbans, strutting imperiously. Their women were beautiful in spite of their ritual scarring and smiled politely but were not permitted to speak. Tinkling laughter, tinkling glasses. Nimbus had been instructed to remain out of sight so as not to spoil the impact of her presence inside the artwork, but she peeked out from behind the control center for the artwork, where she crouched.
A familiar face made her freeze. She hadn’t recognized him at first, because he was dressed fairly well, but his eyes flashed with reflected light. Teal...
Of course; the artist had been invited. Nimbus watched him. In the large room beyond this one, Stuul was shaking Teal’s hand and then introducing him to others. Even at this distance, Nimbus could see that Teal wasn’t smiling. He looked emptied. She knew him well. She wondered why he had even come. A sense of obligation to his art? Masochism? Or to see her?...
She hoped he would understand why she had ruined his masterpiece...
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Darik Stuul announced, lifting his arms like a side-show barker. “I give you Stations of the Cross; or Every Man’s a Martyr!”
Applause...and it began. Nimbus was a fetus. She was born to the spilling of blood. She was cleansed to go out into the world. The dinner guests all drew nearer, enraptured, mesmerized. She imagined the erections growing inside tuxedo pants. Even the snotty robot was rapt. She didn’t look out at them. Didn’t want to see Teal, most of all. He wouldn’t be proud of her, this time, watching her.
And now, the child Nimbus portrayed ventured out into the world to be overwhelmed in colors and wind. People moved closer to fill the gloves; Stuul made sure the turban-crowned Kalians, dignitaries perhaps, were the first in line.
The paint storm began, and the top of the compartment blew off like the lid of a jack-in-a-box, hoses thrashing like furious snakes, casting paint of many colors all over the large room, Stuul’s private gallery.
“No!” he screamed. “No!”
Tuxedos were
spattered. Expensive coiffures were drenched. One of the Kalians sputtered paint out of his mouth, blinked paint out of his eyes, his turban blasted askew. A hologram of Marilyn Monroe smiled, her skirt billowing, as paint streams passed right through her ghostly form. Jets of yellow blew sculptures off pedestals. Jets of red slammed into oils in their gilded frames. The white walls and ceiling became one big ugly painting by Jackson Pollock in mere seconds.
“Teal!” Stuul cried. “Shut it down, will you, shut it down!”
Teal rushed to the controls. He was also saturated. He removed the panels and said, “Jesus...you switched it all around!”
“God damn it!” Stuul shoved him aside and yanked at hoses. One snapped free and a jet of red-dyed womb water blasted him right up both nostrils.
Teal began laughing. He looked to find Nimbus, and there she was, having found her way out of the artwork, naked and dripping. She was grinning at him, came to him.
“I’ll sue you for damages, Teal!” Stuul raged.
“You tampered with it,” Nimbus told him. “You can’t hold him responsible. It worked for him.”
Stuul clawed at valves, flicked switches. Dust began howling out of the machine to stick to all the paint. “I’ll have my money back!” he bellowed.
“Take your money back!” Nimbus shouted over the chaos and screams. “But you can’t sue us; this was all your fault. You should have listened to your art broker. And by the way—I quit.”
Nimbus took Teal by the hand and in the pandemonium they made their way to a back hallway, where they dripped on the pristine carpeting.
“I’m sorry,” Nimbus whispered.
“It’s all right.”
“It’ll be safer for us if we do give him his money back.”
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