Free A Fair Maiden by Joyce Carol Oates Page A

much better." Mr. Kidder switched on lights at the rear of the studio, dragged over a wooden stool with a back and arms of about the height of a baby's highchair for Katya to sit in. He stood at the easel, more comfortable there, and began rapidly sketching, pausing from time to time to adjust Katya's arms, legs, shoulder, head, as if she were a mannequin; he asked her to remove her hair from her ponytail, which she did. "Ah! Such lovely hair, it seems cruel to disguise."
    By degrees Katya began to feel less self-conscious. This was flattering—wasn't it? How many girls, how many women in Vineland, had ever posed for an actual artist? Katya smiled to think how she would show her portrait to her sisters and to her mother; just possibly to Roy Mraz, who might not laugh at her but be impressed. This rich guy. In Bayhead Harbor, right on the ocean ...
    Mr. Kidder was saying that he'd known from the first, seeing Katya on Ocean Avenue, that there was something special in her, and something special between them; in the course of a life, there are not really many mysteries, not mysteries you would call profound, but he had no doubt that this was one of them: "The link between us. Which isn't yet evident. But will emerge, I think—like a glass flower taking shape, molten glass at first and then shaped, completed."
    Vaguely Katya nodded, though she wasn't sure that she understood; she did feel, she supposed, some sort of rapport with this man that she'd never quite felt with any other older man, she guessed. Her father had been much younger when she'd last seen him...
    Mr. Kidder paused, lightly chiding her: "Dear Katya! No melancholia, please. The gift of joy is my subject tonight."
    Katya looked up, and Katya smiled. She could almost think that Mr. Kidder had the power to make her beautiful, if he drew her "beautiful." If Katya was beautiful, maybe her picture would be in the newspaper one day, or on TV; her father would see her, recognize her, and return to Vineland... Stupid, Katya thought. You are such an asshole — just stop.
    Mr. Kidder told her that he was by nature a nocturnal being and wondered if Katya was, too, and Katya said yes, she'd always liked to stay up late past her bedtime and read, since she'd been a little girl. And sometimes she would sneak away—not even her sisters would know where she'd gone—out of the house and into a neighbor's old barn that hadn't been used for years but still smelled of hay, and of horses and cows ... Mr. Kidder asked Katya what she liked to read, and Katya said any kind of book, from the public library in Vineland; when she had a book to read, she never felt lonely. Mr. Kidder asked her if at other times she felt lonely, and Katya said "Yes!" Yes, she did. Not meaning to speak so emotionally, but that was how it came out, for Mr. Kidder spoke so kindly to her, Katya was drawn to say more than she meant. And Mr. Kidder paused in his sketching, saying that that was true for him, too: "The more people you know, like me, the vast network of relatives, old, dear friends, business associates—ah, so many of these!—for Marcus Cullen Kidder is, among myriad other identities, a trust-fund child—shamelessly so, at this advanced age yet a child—the lonelier you are."
    Such a twisty speech, like a pretzel: Katya had to laugh. Mr. Kidder was like no one she knew, both eloquent and comical. He was the most intelligent person she'd ever met, far more intelligent than any of her teachers at Vineland H.S., and yet he was so playful, like someone on TV. Behind the easel he did a kind of shuffle-dance and made a snorting noise with his lips. Katya felt inspired to say, "Mr. Kidder, that can't be right. Anyone would think that a person who lives in a house like this right on the ocean and has a famous name everyone in Bayhead Harbor knows would never be lonely," and Mr. Kidder made the snorting noise again, saying, "'Anyone' is a blockhead."
    Blockhead! Katya had never heard this word before.