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Authors: Mike Resnick
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Jinx.
      "Freud would say I was exorcising my demons, but in fact I shall be capitalizing on them. Everyone has dreams and nightmares, me more than most. Freud made his reputation by expunging them from his subjects, but I will cherish mine, for they will bring me worldwide fame. Who else would be so bold and so innovative as to share his most secret longings, lusts and fears with the viewing public?"
      "So you will paint what you see?"
      "No, young Jinx," he said happily. "Or, rather, yes, I will paint what I seeâbut more to the point, I will paint what no one else sees, what no one else will ever see!"
      "Except me," she reminded him.
      "Except you what?" he asked, confused.
      "You will paint what no one sees except you and me."
      "It would be nice if you saw it," he said with a shrug. "It would be nice if you were here, but . . ."
      "But what?"
      "I have concluded that you don't exist," said Dali with a confident smile.
      "What are you talking about?"
      "It's all very Freudian," he said. "I invented you, because I could not approach the conclusion directly. I needed you to point me in the right direction. I don't know why, because it now seems to simple. But I was stymied, mired in mediocrity. Then I spent an afternoon with Freud, I read his books and monographsâand suddenly here you were, an impossible girl from an impossible world, who was created by my subconscious for one reason and one reason only: to point me in the right direction as an artist. I don't know why I couldn't see it myself, but the mind is a strange instrument, and mine required you."
      "So that is your conclusion?" said Jinx. "That I am a figment if your imagination?"
      "Absolutely."
      "I am going back through the door to my world now, Salvador," she said. "But you owe me painting lessons, and I will be back for them."
      "You are never coming back," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "You have served my subconscious mind's purpose, and now you will return there."
      "I have one question for you before I go back into your brain, Salvador," said Jinx.
      "What is it?"
      "Could a figment of your imagination do this?"
      She kicked him as hard as she could in his left shin.
      He howled in anguish and fell over, his hands clutching his leg as she walked back to his house in solitary splendor.
      Seven hours later his shin still hurt, it had turned an ugly share of purple, and he was forced to the rueful conclusion that whatever had kicked him, it wasn't an imaginary girl.
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Chapter 8: New Perspectives
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      There was a knocking at the door, and Dali raced to open it, hoping it was Jinx, fearful it was Gala with blood in her eye. It turned out to be Ramon the iceman.
      "Good morning, Senor Dali," he said, bent under the weight of the ice block he carried on his back.
      "Good morning," said Dali, escorting him into the kitchen, where he gently lowered the block of ice to the table, then opened the icebox and began positioning it inside the ice compartment.
      "It's a very nice day," said Ramon. "They had predicted rain, but the sun is out, and the weather is pleasant and mild." He looked at the items in the icebox. "You are keeping more fruit and meat than usual."
      "I expect guests," said Dali.
      "I'll stop by again tomorrow and see if you need more ice," said Ramon. "By the way, have you
      "Freud would say I was exorcising my demons, but in fact I shall be capitalizing on them. Everyone has dreams and nightmares, me more than most. Freud made his reputation by expunging them from his subjects, but I will cherish mine, for they will bring me worldwide fame. Who else would be so bold and so innovative as to share his most secret longings, lusts and fears with the viewing public?"
      "So you will paint what you see?"
      "No, young Jinx," he said happily. "Or, rather, yes, I will paint what I seeâbut more to the point, I will paint what no one else sees, what no one else will ever see!"
      "Except me," she reminded him.
      "Except you what?" he asked, confused.
      "You will paint what no one sees except you and me."
      "It would be nice if you saw it," he said with a shrug. "It would be nice if you were here, but . . ."
      "But what?"
      "I have concluded that you don't exist," said Dali with a confident smile.
      "What are you talking about?"
      "It's all very Freudian," he said. "I invented you, because I could not approach the conclusion directly. I needed you to point me in the right direction. I don't know why, because it now seems to simple. But I was stymied, mired in mediocrity. Then I spent an afternoon with Freud, I read his books and monographsâand suddenly here you were, an impossible girl from an impossible world, who was created by my subconscious for one reason and one reason only: to point me in the right direction as an artist. I don't know why I couldn't see it myself, but the mind is a strange instrument, and mine required you."
      "So that is your conclusion?" said Jinx. "That I am a figment if your imagination?"
      "Absolutely."
      "I am going back through the door to my world now, Salvador," she said. "But you owe me painting lessons, and I will be back for them."
      "You are never coming back," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "You have served my subconscious mind's purpose, and now you will return there."
      "I have one question for you before I go back into your brain, Salvador," said Jinx.
      "What is it?"
      "Could a figment of your imagination do this?"
      She kicked him as hard as she could in his left shin.
      He howled in anguish and fell over, his hands clutching his leg as she walked back to his house in solitary splendor.
      Seven hours later his shin still hurt, it had turned an ugly share of purple, and he was forced to the rueful conclusion that whatever had kicked him, it wasn't an imaginary girl.
Â
Â
Â
Chapter 8: New Perspectives
Â
      There was a knocking at the door, and Dali raced to open it, hoping it was Jinx, fearful it was Gala with blood in her eye. It turned out to be Ramon the iceman.
      "Good morning, Senor Dali," he said, bent under the weight of the ice block he carried on his back.
      "Good morning," said Dali, escorting him into the kitchen, where he gently lowered the block of ice to the table, then opened the icebox and began positioning it inside the ice compartment.
      "It's a very nice day," said Ramon. "They had predicted rain, but the sun is out, and the weather is pleasant and mild." He looked at the items in the icebox. "You are keeping more fruit and meat than usual."
      "I expect guests," said Dali.
      "I'll stop by again tomorrow and see if you need more ice," said Ramon. "By the way, have you
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