Behind the Canvas Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.
    â€œAh, 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.
    â€œShow 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?”
    â€œWell…” 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?
    â€œBoy,” 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