Juinlift sat on the green grass, focusing on the straw in her hands, slowly weaving. Kringt, the festival of spring cleaning, had just gone by so people were done buying all those dusters to take care of their rugs and linen. But just having thrown out the old and unusable, they might be willing to buy some new baskets from her. She had to hurry to make them so her older sister could sell the first ones tomorrow.
The sun was shining brightly, making the river a few steps away glitter in the light and some small lizards come out and rest on the stones, soaking in the warmth. Juinlift hummed to herself, feeling that the only thing making this afternoon even more perfect would have been a bit of company to chat with while she worked.
Unfortunately, her older sister was at the market, trying to sell the wares she had prepared yesterday, while her younger brother was once again out who-knows-where, probably trying to serenade some young lady. And she really couldn’t expect her mother to come and just sit with her. She still had to take care of the garden, after all.
Seeing as there was nobody else to accompany her, she could only continue to hum to herself, focusing on the task at hand. Anyway, she might not stay alone for long. Thinking of that, she glanced to the other side of the river but for now, the spot over there was still empty.
Juinlift huffed, feeling that that painter was really too unreliable. Coming here one day but then not the next, what was she to make of that? If you liked the person, shouldn’t you be more forthright? There really was no need to leave out any days. But anyway, she couldn’t force the issue.
Thinking of that, she continued with the first basket, soon finishing it and putting it aside. She glanced up to the other side of the river again, only to find it still empty. With another huff, she picked up the willow branches she had taken along, starting on a smaller but sturdier container.
When you wanted to sell your wares, it was always best to offer variety so the people could choose what fit their purpose the best. If you only had one type, then if somebody wanted something else, who would they buy from? Certainly not you. Thus, she would make baskets from different materials in at least three different sizes and even in different shapes if there was enough time. At the least, some should be thin and some should be wide. That was the secret to a well-running business.
While she was making her baskets, continuously humming a song that had already been joined by some of the birds that were sitting on the branches of the trees close by, there was finally some movement on the other side of the river.
Stiwa was hiding behind one of the trees on the other side, poking her head out to make sure that the person in question was actually there and alone. Spotting Juinlift, she smiled to herself. She retraced her last few steps, grabbed her easel and bag, and flung the latter over her shoulder before she went to her usual spot to sit down, setting everything up while whistling.
Hearing the familiar melody, Juinlift glanced up. She chuckled to herself and then just continued to hum before she suddenly stopped. Actually, what had she been humming? It wouldn’t be the same tune that that painter would whistle every time she came over, would it? No, it wouldn’t!
She thought for a bit and then hummed a folk song instead that she had heard in the city the other day when she accompanied her sister instead of their brother who had bailed on them once again. Then, she pretended that she hadn’t noticed at all.
On the other side, Stiwa glanced up as well. Seeing that Juinlift hadn’t seemed to realize that she was there, she pursed her lips. Finally, she opened one of the little vials that she carried around, took out the canvas, picked up the brush, and started with today’s masterpiece.
The two of them worked on opposite sides of the river, both humming a different tune while trying not to get swept up in the melody of the other person and stealing glances every now and then. It really was a wonder that for all this time, their gazes didn’t meet even once. It was as if all the months this had been happening, they had achieved some kind of wordless understanding. I look and look away, you glance over, then I can look again, so you can steal a glance.
Finally, after almost four hours had gone by, Stiwa finished the last brush stroke and once again looked up at the person who had modeled for her without being asked. She smiled to herself and rolled up the scroll, securing it in a woven straw tube before she went down to the side of the river to clean her brushes.
Hearing the sound of the water, Juinlift raised her head and looked right at the painter. For half a year, this woman had quietly worked on the other side of the river. Now, she still didn’t seem like she would manage to open her mouth. After painting her every single time, what was she even thinking? It seemed that she’d have to take matters into her own hands if she ever wanted to hear her speak. “Oi, Ms. Painter! Aren’t your customers getting sick and tired of only ever seeing the same thing on your canvas?”
Stiwa raised her head as well and smiled brightly. “Oi, weaver girl, my paintings aren’t to be used for practical purposes like your baskets. They’re only to look at and make the heart flutter with joy. And nobody will ever get enough of the sight of a beauty.”
Juinlift chuckled at that. “Oh, did you paint one?”
Stiwa raised her brows as if she had just been enlightened and jumped to her feet. “Now that you mention it, let me check again!” She went back to her easel, putting down the now clean brushes, and took the painting out the tube again, making a show of unfurling it and looking at it for a couple of minutes.
Finally, she lowered it again and furrowed her brows. “I saw a beauty sitting in the meadow and painted her. But now that I look at the painting, I have to realize that I did not quite do her justice. The painting simply isn’t true to reality just yet. I’m afraid I’ll have to come by again soon to give it another try.”
Juinlift shook her head at her. “How many tries do you want to give it? Haven’t you been trying this for several months?”
Stiwa nodded slowly. “Ah, I sure have. But you know, no endeavor is too difficult when it comes to art and a woman’s beauty. I will paint until I manage to get it just right! It’s like you with your baskets. Just because one doesn’t work out, you wouldn’t just stop weaving them, would you?”
Juinlift laughed and held up the almost-finished basket she was working on. “Are you saying my baskets are ugly?”
“I wouldn’t dare to insult your baskets. They are surely a work of art in their own right. I’m just saying that if — not that I think you would — but if you were to botch one up, you would not refuse to make another one ever again. So just because I botch up a couple of my paintings, I will not stop painting beauties either.”
“Oh? Maybe it’s not that the paintings are bad. Maybe you’re being too harsh on yourself.”
Stiwa looked at the painting again and then glanced to the other side of the river. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.”
“Well, if you came over, I could lend you a pair of eyes to appreciate it.”
“Ah, my customers have already done so. They always say it’s a beauty but they don’t understand art.”
“Well, since my baskets are a piece of art in their own right as you said, I’m sure that I would be able to tell you more about it. Unless you were joking when you said so?”
Stiwa lowered the painting, seeming a little thoughtful. “Well, I wouldn’t want to say that you do not understand enough about art to tell me whether I have captured the beauty well enough. But if you were to say that I had, then what should I paint from now on?”
Juinlift smiled at that. “Well, I could help you figure it out if you were to come over. In any case, maybe I will look at it and find that you are far from achieving your goal. I might be able to give you some pointers. Wouldn’t you just love to get those?”
“I don’t know. Would you want to hear me talk about your baskets?”
“Well, if you wanted to praise them, I certainly wouldn’t mind. In any case, I don’t think you’d have anything bad to say about them. My baskets are a piece of art in their own right after all. You can tell as much even from the other side of the river.
“Not to mention that I don’t doubt my mastery over my mode of creation. In my hands, whether it is straw or willow branches, they are like clay in the hands of a master sculptor or a knife in the hands of a talented chef. If you were to come over, I could make you a beautiful pair of straw sandals in five minutes!”
Stiwa raised her brows at that. “A pair of straw sandals? Well, that sounds neat to have for the summer. If I come over, are you going to just give them to me?”
Juinlift put on a thoughtful expression and even rubbed her chin. “Well, I could probably give you one sandal for free. If I were to give you two, what would my customers say?”
“They would surely praise you for your charitable heart since you are willing to make a pair of sandals for a starving artist.”
Juinlift’s brows shot up at that. “Oh? Ms. Painter is actually starving? In that case, I should give you a basket instead of a pair of sandals so you can go and pick some fruits. Might be better than whatever you’re doing on your side of the river there.”
Stiwa tilted her head, looking as if she almost agreed. “Well, whether it is a pair of sandals or a basket, I would be happy to receive anything from you, weaver girl.”
“Well, then come on over.”
With that, they arrived back at the beginning of the conversation again.
Stiwa looked at the painting in her hand and then at the river separating the two of them and shrugged her shoulders. “But how am I supposed to come over? Unless you are able to weave me a bridge out of straw, I’m afraid it won’t work, weaver girl.”
Juinlift laughed at that. “Why? Is the river too deep to wade through? And here I thought it would at most go up to your knees.”
“Most likely it would only go halfway up my shins but I only have this one pair of shoes. So if I go over and they get too wet to use, whatever will I do?”
“Stay a while, maybe. Or maybe ask me for that pair of straw sandals after all. Then you would have a new pair of shoes.”
“That sure sounds tempting. You’re truly making me consider this by now.”
“And yet, Ms. Painter is still just considering. You’re so hard to negotiate with.”
“If I wasn’t, wouldn’t I have been sitting on your side of the river at the beginning of winter already?”
“Ah, I thought that had been because Ms. Painter was afraid of the cold. I remember that when the first snow fell, you wouldn’t sit down on your side of the river. Instead, you would be standing there, looking as if you were rather cold.”
“Well, I also do not remember you sitting there and weaving baskets. Instead, I remember somebody throwing snowballs at me.”
“Oh, I surely didn’t throw them at you. I am sure I threw them at my brother. He just so happened to stand in the same direction as you did. In any case, it seems that I missed both of you.”
“I guess your hands are only used to weaving baskets after all, not throwing snowballs. Since we are on the topic, I might add that while I might not be as proficient at painting beauties as you are at weaving baskets, I can throw snowballs decently well.”
“You should demonstrate for me when winter comes again.”
“Maybe I will. It’ll have to depend on how much snow there will be.”
Juinlift shook her head at her, feeling that she wouldn’t manage to get her to come over today. With this painter, it was one thing after the other. You argued and argued and when you thought that the argument had stopped, she would suddenly pull something else from wherever she got these arguments from. And then, you would be stuck in another loop until you got back to the same point and the game would repeat.
If things continued like this, she might suddenly look up at the sky and tell her how late it had already gotten. Then, she’d rush to pick up her easel and run away. Juinlift could already imagine how she’d still hear her whistle for a while even after she was long out of sight.
Thinking of that, Juinlift could only sigh. “What a pair of magical hands you have there. A pity that I’m never able to see the result of what they do. Whether it’s throwing snowballs or those painting of yours, I’m afraid it might never happen. I’d better focus on my own hands and weave some more baskets.” With that, she lowered her gaze and started on her own creation again, not entertaining the other woman any longer.
Stiwa looked at her, not sure what to make of this. Since the day she had first come here, seeing Juinlift have a snowball fight with her siblings and almost being hit by that stray snowball, she had come here as often as she could, silently watching or painting her.
For a while, she hadn’t been sure if she was welcome but since Juinlift never spoke up until today despite clearly noticing her, she had figured she shouldn’t have a problem with it after all. Right now though, she felt that Juinlift seemed a little frustrated. Most likely, she was getting sick and tired of this whole matter.
Well, Stiwa couldn’t fault her. If you were being observed and pinned on canvas by a stranger for half a year, a lot of people might get angry sooner or later. And now, they had finally talked for the first time but it hadn’t seemed to lead anywhere. That sure seemed frustrating.
Stiwa stood there for a moment, still holding the scroll of paper with her latest painting before pushing it back into the tube. Then, she sat down on the grass and looked at the water for a moment. The thing with her shoes was made up. She wasn’t that poor even though being an artist wasn’t always easy. She wasn’t one to needlessly ruin things though so she still took them off before she waded into the water and over to the other side.
Juinlift raised her head at the sound of the water splashing, her eyes widening when she saw that that wily painter had made the effort to come over after all. “Oi, Ms. Painter, who would have thought you’d actually do what you said after so much time?” She completely forgot to continue weaving her basket over this, just staring in doubt.
Stiwa arrived on the other side with a bright smile. She shook her head and then one foot after the other, getting rid of the water. “Well, you do owe me a pair of straw sandals now.”
“What a pity, I already used up all the straw in the meantime. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow to get them.”
Stiwa stared at her, not sure what to make of this but finally just laughed. “Well, if there’s time, I will do that.”
“Then, can you show me that painting of yours now?” Juinlift smiled, happy that she had won.
Stiwa smiled as well and went over the rest of the way, moving Juinlift’s empty basket out of the way that had originally been holding the straw and willow branches. Then, she sat down where it had stood, right next to Juinlift.
Opening up the tube, she took out the scroll and unfolded it. “It can’t quite live up to the real thing but I tried my hardest so try to go easy on me.”
Juinlift smiled when she was finally shown the painting. She hadn’t been sure what to expect. With how much time the painter had spent over there, it should be a good painting. But then, she had said that it wasn’t as good as the real thing and there might have been some truth to that. So really, the painting could have been anything from absolutely dreadful to completely amazing.
Finally looking at the real thing, she realized that Stiwa had been exaggerating. To her eye, the painting was beautiful, breathtaking even. The woman depicted in the middle was smiling not brightly but with a certain air of mystery about her as if she was in on some joke nobody else was getting. Her hair draped over her shoulders like a soft veil, the flowing lines curling at the end where they met those of the dress.
The whole picture was illuminated by a few rays of light falling in from the side, seeming warm and comfortable as if you could sit down in the house of the beauty and simply talk to her over a cup of tea like two old friends might that hadn’t seen each other in a long time but could pick off right where they left off months ago.
Juinlift looked at the painting for a few moments longer, taking in all the small details both about the woman in the middle and the background. Honestly, she didn’t think that the painter needed any advice from her. She hadn’t expected that from the beginning but seeing the painting itself, it became more than clear. In the end, she simply smiled. “The beauty seems quite beautiful to me. But I would be worried about something else if I was you.”
Stiwa turned the canvas back to her, taking a look at the painting again. “What would you be worried about?” This time, she honestly looked confused. Indeed, she had no idea what Juinlift might be referring to. Even though there were some details she wasn’t completely happy with, she would describe this painting as ‘good enough’ at the very least.
Juinlift pointed to the background of the painting. “Well, where did all these baskets come from?”
Stiwa blinked her eyes and then looked at the small heap of baskets on Juinlift’s other side that was barely as high as the woman herself sitting down. In fact, it was more accurate to say that the uppermost basket reached her shoulder. And even then, that was only the highest point. On the other hand, in the painting, the beauty was sitting on a chair, framed by accurately stacked baskets on three sides.
“Well, clearly, she weaved them with her own hands.” She motioned to where the beauty in question was currently holding a couple stalks of straw, intending to make yet another basket to add to her collection.
“She must’ve been at it for a while if she managed to weave this many. It looks as if she would be able to build a castle with them.”
Stiwa tilted her head in one direction and then the other, finally shaking it. “I think you’re exaggerating. Even if she could build something with them, it would at most be a small house or rather a hut. There aren’t that many baskets yet.”
“Well, weaving a house, that does sound like an interesting idea.”
“I’ve seen them build houses over in the city, they indeed use straw for that.”
“They use straw for that even outside in the villages. Ms. Painter should probably go and look around the countryside some more so she can paint the landscape more truthfully in the future.” Saying this, she scrutinized the painting in Stiwa’s hands again, furrowing her brows. “Actually, what’s that in the background? Why does it look as if she isn’t outside at all?”
Stiwa raised her brows at that, the look of surprise on her face clearly just acted out this time. “Why? Well, because she’s at home obviously! That has to be her house if she wants to store all of her baskets there.”
“Hopefully not the one that she built out of all the baskets. Otherwise, what is a house doing in a house?”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you. You’d have to ask the beauty.”
Juinlift looked up at Stiwa, keeping quiet for a moment.
“What’s the matter, weaver girl?”
“If I asked the beauty, do you think she would answer?”
Stiwa raised her brows and then her hands as well, looking as if she also couldn’t tell. “Well, when I called out, there was an answer.”
“Did you call out to her, yes?”
“Well, I was secretly chanting in my mind for her to speak to me, and then it felt as if I had heard somebody call for me. I figured it had to be her since I had wished for that and felt that it would be impolite not to respond. But then, it might just have been my imagination that she called me first. I have a very active imagination, you know? So who knows what is real and what is only happening in my head?”
“Oh, I’d be interested in finding out about the latter. There seem to be a lot of things going on in your mind.”
At that, Stiwa smiled brightly. “You would? Oh, that’s just splendid! You see, tomorrow, I will have to stay in the city. Why don’t you come and weave there for a change?”
“Come all the way to the city? And where would I be weaving my baskets there?”
“Well, there is a house.”
“Oh, is that the beauty’s house?”
“Well, it isn’t yet but if she wanted, it could be in the future. That would just require some negotiations I guess.”
Juinlift pursed her lips, not sure if she had understood that right. If she had though … well, her siblings would go to the market tomorrow anyway. She might as well accompany them in the morning and take a look. It couldn’t hurt. “Well, where would I find that house if I wanted to go?”
“Well, you see, it is one that can’t be easily missed. When you go to the market square in the city and take a turn on the left side, there is a rather broad street. In that one, there is a beautiful old wooden house. The entrance has a small roof covered with shingles which rests on two thick wooden columns that have been carved and painted dark. Usually, there will be a painting displayed bright below that roof so you can’t miss the house or mistake it for a similar building.”
Juinlift nodded, feeling that this was a rather unique description. Also, her older sister and her brother had gone to the city rather often. They would certainly know just which house she was talking about if she asked about it. Actually, just asking about the house of the painter should be enough. How many could there be in a small city? “Well, I should be able to find that.”
“Great! But then, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave now.”
Juinlift raised her brows at that. “This fast? Why? Is there a beauty waiting at home?”
Stiwa raised the painting in her hand. “No, but there’s one that wants to be taken to the house and if I’m about to get a visitor, I need to tidy up. Too many baskets standing around.”
Juinlift laughed and waved to the other side of the river. “Well then, better hurry up. Not that I think you’ll have to worry. Baskets are perfect for storing things so they will come in handy when you start to tidy up.”
Stiwa nodded earnestly as if she would take this advice to heart. Then she got to her feet, dusted off her butt, and rushed down to the riverside, looking back at Juinlift before she waded into the water and made her way to the other side.
Having gotten there, she turned back again and smiled brightly. “Don’t forget to bring the straw sandals you promised me, weaver girl!” She rushed to grab her easel and her bag, and then off she was, vanishing behind the trees.
Juinlift could only laugh and shake her head at her. Then, she also started to gather the baskets she had woven today, stacking them as well as she could before she made her way back.
Tomorrow, she would go to the city and have a look at that painter’s house. It was a good opportunity after having her around without saying a word for half a year already. If she didn’t take it, who knew how many months it would take to actually make some progress?
That was cute.
I'm glad you like it so far! Next part is coming up soon