Free A Division of the Light by Christopher Burns

mean—the right way? There’s only one way to ask and that’s what I do. It’s not my fault when you say no.”
    Alice shook her head in disbelief.
    â€œThomas, you never make me feel that you want to photograph
me
. You just want me to be part of an arrangement. Like posingagainst a view to give it scale. I always feel that I’m just a kind of ornament. Or, even worse, a measure, like a surveying pole. I may as well be divided horizontally into black-and-white sections.”
    â€œHow can you say that?” he asked, the timbre of his voice shifting as he sensed control slipping from him. When Alice descended into doubt her behavior was unpredictable and sometimes intolerable.
    â€œOnce I allow myself to think it, then saying it is easy. Telling the truth isn’t difficult once you’ve thought everything through.”
    Her fingers had stopped tapping her skin, and now they dug into the flesh. He could see the force in her grip. Without relenting, Alice went on.
    â€œIn fact, telling the truth becomes a necessity. It’s something to do with ethics, about being honest with yourself and those around you.” She waited a moment and then spoke again. “And you know about being honest with yourself, don’t you?”
    Thomas stepped away, put his hands behind his back, and leaned against the wall. His palms were flattened against the vertical, fingers pointing down, and he pressed hard against them as if they had to be kept under control. The texture of the wall was slightly uneven and he could feel its blemishes against his skin.
    It was unreasonable of Alice to suggest that he could not face the truth, because she had always avoided candor about her own past. Thomas knew that she had had several lovers before they had met, but he knew little of their names or their personalities. Retorting that she had always been silent on such matters would, he knew, only make things worse.
    â€œAlice, I know why you’re acting like this. By chance you met a man with a camera and he’s been fabricating some tale or other—”
    â€œI told you. He’s a professional. His latest work is printed in next Sunday’s—”
    â€œI’ll believe that when I see it.”
    â€œYou’ll see it all right. I’ll make sure I buy a copy.”
    Thomas waited for a few moments. “You can’t believe a person like that.”
    â€œHe sees things in me that you can’t. And
I
know they’re there, even if I’m not sure exactly what they are. That’s why I believe him.”
    â€œHe’s trying it on. Can’t you see that? He thinks that compliments will work because he assumes you’re either vain or vulnerable.”
    â€œIs that what you think about me?”
    â€œYou know it isn’t.”
    â€œThen why should Gregory Pharaoh? He wants to take my portrait, that’s all. At first I said no, but then I thought—why not? He can make his choice from hundreds of women.
Hundreds
. Maybe that should tell you something about me.”
    To Thomas, it seemed absurd that they should be arguing. The kitchen flattened and degraded their voices so that both he and Alice seemed like immature versions of themselves. Even the words they used did not sound fully formed.
    â€œLet’s go and sit down and talk this through,” he suggested again.
    â€œNo, Thomas, let’s stand here. There’s nothing to discuss. I’m going to sit for a portrait. That’s my decision. I’m just telling you what it is.”
    He nodded mutely. Her next question was put like a demand.
    â€œAre you angry?”
    â€œNo. No, I’m not angry.”
    â€œJealous, then?”
    Thomas denied it with a shake of his head, but he was acutely aware that jealousy was a constant measure in his life.
    Everyone else seemed to have been given opportunities that Thomas had been denied. For years he had remained at the shadowy