and threw her arms around her husband. Theo laughed and embraced her. Maggie was surprised to learn he
had been gone for two weeks. He had grown thinner, but otherwise he was in good health and ecstatic over
his successful hunt. He told her he had domesticated an animal unlike anything their predecessors had dared
to bring back. Maggie asked him what it was, but he only grinned and said it was a surprise. He insisted that
transportation was no longer a problem. They could go anywhere. Maggie watched her husband beam with
pride, standing taller and mightier than ever before.
Maggie never mentioned the portrait to Theo. It was just as well, for he never perceived her sadness.
Maggie only explained that Shanae had broken up with Neal, leaving him to make the bungalow a shell of
what it used to be. Theo’s solution upon hearing this news was simple; they would move. Just as soon as
he had decided, Theo set them upon the task of dismantling their furniture and packing enough food and
clothes to fill two bags. Maggie had forgotten how practical her husband was—how commanding. By the
time they finished, their home bore no trace that an intelligent being—one capable of artistic endeavors—had
once resided there.
That night, after she made sure that Theo was fast asleep, Maggie put on her yellow clogs and climbed
down from the cupboard. She wanted to take a final look at her work. The portrait, still clipped to the easel,
stood in a pool of moonlight slanting in from the window. Maggie stared up at the portrait, searching for
an answer in Shanae’s frozen gaze. At last, Maggie lowered her eyes, and she saw that a screw halfway up the
easel’s front leg was coming loose.
Maggie looked around. Behind her was the couch, with its row of bullion fringe skimming the floor.
She grabbed at the white cotton cords of the fringe and began to unravel them. When she had yanked out a
sufficient length of thread, she cut it free with her teeth. Then, taking off her yellow clogs and picking up just
one, she wound it over and over with the thread. She turned back to the easel. She wound up for the pitch,
and when she let go, her makeshift lasso flew toward its target, coiling around the screw again and again.
Finally, Maggie gripped the end of the thread and pulled, and the loose screw slid out with little resistance,
clinking as it landed on the floor. The easel, however, still stood intact. Recalling how Neal had laughed about
the portrait with Joe, Maggie tossed the thread and the clog aside and backed away. Once she was satisfied
with the distance, Maggie took off, aiming straight for the easel’s skinny front leg.
As soon as her body connected to the wood, the easel came down with a crash. The light switched on
beneath Neal’s bedroom door. Maggie scurried away just in time as the door flew open and Neal walked out,
his footsteps thundering behind her. Neal crossed into the living room and found his easel collapsed on the
floor, its two front legs akimbo, like an insect turned on its back. The portrait—a ghostly sheet dancing in the
air—landed gently by his feet. Maggie, breathless, turned in the shadow of the kitchen and saw Neal bend
down to pick up the portrait. For a brief second, she saw something close to fear flit across his face.
“H-hello?” Neal’s frail voice echoed in the room.
Maggie, with a final look back at him, withdrew into the wall as quietly as she had come.
At dawn, Theo whistled into the sky. A mourning dove swooped down from a nearby tree and l
anded in the front yard. It waddled right up to where Maggie and Theo stood waiting and cooed in
submission. The bird’s marble eyes closed as Theo ran his hand along the curve of its neck. Theo was right.
Never before had anyone captured a creature so magnificent—Maggie knew her husband would be
remembered for his feat. Theo mounted the dove and pulled Maggie alongside him and instructed her to
15
Cauldron Anthology