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Authors: Mike Resnick
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heard the news?"
      "What news are you referring to?"
      "I heard on the radio at Gregorio's taverna that no less than six American businessmen committed suicide this month."
      "The Depression," said Dali knowingly.
      "They should have been here," said Ramon. "We've been depressed for so long that they'd have developed an immunity to it."
      He laughed at his own joke and walked to the front door, then stopped.
      "What is it?" asked Dali.
      "I thought I heard a noise from there ," he said, pointing in the direction of Dali's studio and bedroom. "You must be mistaken," said Dali uncomfortably.
      "Could be mice," continued Ramon. "Your fruit is quite ripe. You might check your closets. Mice love to hide in them."
      "I'll check as soon as you're gone," said Dali.
      "I could help you, Senor Dali."
      "No," said Dali. "That won't be necessary. I wouldn't want to delay you."
      "It's no trouble. I'd be happy to help a famous painter like you."
      "I appreciate the offer, but I won't have someone else's food spoil because of your good intentions."
      "You're sure?"
      Dali nodded, and Ramon finally left.
      The painter walked into what he thought of as "Jinx's closet," faced it, and raised his voice. "You can come out now, Jinx."
      The door opened and the redheaded girl approached him.
      "Welcome back."
      "I told you I would be here for my lesson."
      "I half-thought . . ." he began.
      "Would you like more proof that I'm real?" she asked with a smile.
      "No," he said promptly, his hand moving instinctively toward his shin. "No, that will not be necessary."
      "Good," she said. "My toes are still sore from where I kicked you."
      "You could have just slapped me, you know."
      She shook her head. "It wouldn't have left a bruise," she explained, "and by now you'd have convinced yourself it was all your imagination."
      "Probably," he admitted.
      "You have a remarkable imagination, Salvador," continued Jinx seriously, wandering over to look at his latest canvas. "You should make it serve you, rather than hindering you."
      "I'm all through doubting your existence," said Dali. "But I'm also through with guessing games. Let's proceed with your lesson. If you want to tell me something about myself or my painting, tell me. If not, not. But no more hints."
      "All right, Salvador," she agreed.
      "Good," he replied, getting to his feet. "Now sit," he said, gesturing to his stool.
      She sat down. He then covered the canvas on which he'd been working on with a large sheet of blank paper and handed her a piece of chalk.
      "We will begin," he announced, "with perspective."
      "Why?"
      "Because every artist experiences reality differently than his peers, and you can alter reality more with perspective than with anything else."
      "Explain, please," said Jinx.
      "Let me give you an example," replied Dali. "The other night I was awakened by the buzzing of a bee as it flew around a pomegranate. And during those last few seconds of sleep, I dreamed that I was fishing, and I had hooked a small fishâbut as I pulled on my line, the fish opened its mouth and out sprang a full-sized tiger which had been living inside the
      "What news are you referring to?"
      "I heard on the radio at Gregorio's taverna that no less than six American businessmen committed suicide this month."
      "The Depression," said Dali knowingly.
      "They should have been here," said Ramon. "We've been depressed for so long that they'd have developed an immunity to it."
      He laughed at his own joke and walked to the front door, then stopped.
      "What is it?" asked Dali.
      "I thought I heard a noise from there ," he said, pointing in the direction of Dali's studio and bedroom. "You must be mistaken," said Dali uncomfortably.
      "Could be mice," continued Ramon. "Your fruit is quite ripe. You might check your closets. Mice love to hide in them."
      "I'll check as soon as you're gone," said Dali.
      "I could help you, Senor Dali."
      "No," said Dali. "That won't be necessary. I wouldn't want to delay you."
      "It's no trouble. I'd be happy to help a famous painter like you."
      "I appreciate the offer, but I won't have someone else's food spoil because of your good intentions."
      "You're sure?"
      Dali nodded, and Ramon finally left.
      The painter walked into what he thought of as "Jinx's closet," faced it, and raised his voice. "You can come out now, Jinx."
      The door opened and the redheaded girl approached him.
      "Welcome back."
      "I told you I would be here for my lesson."
      "I half-thought . . ." he began.
      "Would you like more proof that I'm real?" she asked with a smile.
      "No," he said promptly, his hand moving instinctively toward his shin. "No, that will not be necessary."
      "Good," she said. "My toes are still sore from where I kicked you."
      "You could have just slapped me, you know."
      She shook her head. "It wouldn't have left a bruise," she explained, "and by now you'd have convinced yourself it was all your imagination."
      "Probably," he admitted.
      "You have a remarkable imagination, Salvador," continued Jinx seriously, wandering over to look at his latest canvas. "You should make it serve you, rather than hindering you."
      "I'm all through doubting your existence," said Dali. "But I'm also through with guessing games. Let's proceed with your lesson. If you want to tell me something about myself or my painting, tell me. If not, not. But no more hints."
      "All right, Salvador," she agreed.
      "Good," he replied, getting to his feet. "Now sit," he said, gesturing to his stool.
      She sat down. He then covered the canvas on which he'd been working on with a large sheet of blank paper and handed her a piece of chalk.
      "We will begin," he announced, "with perspective."
      "Why?"
      "Because every artist experiences reality differently than his peers, and you can alter reality more with perspective than with anything else."
      "Explain, please," said Jinx.
      "Let me give you an example," replied Dali. "The other night I was awakened by the buzzing of a bee as it flew around a pomegranate. And during those last few seconds of sleep, I dreamed that I was fishing, and I had hooked a small fishâbut as I pulled on my line, the fish opened its mouth and out sprang a full-sized tiger which had been living inside the
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