The Original

Posted on Mon 10th Aug, 2020 @ 9:14pm by Purulence Addams

1,099 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Resolution
Location: Addams Family Home, Deck 1554
Timeline: MD-5, 1930 hours

Supper had ended for the Addams household about an hour before, and the dishes were washed. Purulence Addams sat at the desk in her room, studying her computer screen. Keeping track of the accounts was one of the more tedious, but necessary, aspects of running a business. She had inputted the costs of her painting supplies for the current month so far.

If she got the commission she had applied for, Purulence thought, she would need a lot more paint. A decorative wall had been constructed on Deck 636, where the consulates were, and she had found out the diplomats were looking for someone to paint a mural for it. As she had the advantage of residing onsite, Purulence figured she had a decent chance of being awarded the commission to do the job. It was worth a shot, anyway.

Her computer pinged with an incoming email, and Purulence shook herself out of thinking about the mural so she could pay attention to the newest message. The subject line, 'Sale,' was certainly nice to see. Purulence opened the message to see which of her prints had sold.

Her heart nearly stopped.

"Hands sold?! The original? Oh, my God...."

All she could do for a moment was just stare at the screen, at the insane number of credits that her 13 year-old self had assigned as the painting's price because she hadn't wanted to sell it. Purulence looked for the buyer's name but didn't find one. She rolled her eyes, realizing that the buyer's only identification was a Swiss bank account number. She couldn't even send the person a thank-you note except perhaps through the bank.

Okay, deep breaths, Purulence told herself. I need to find Grandmama.

It wasn't all that difficult to find her, once Purulence had stopped hyperventilating -- the old woman's mobility was limited, and she moved very little. She sat in the downstairs parlor, a reading lamp over her shoulder, a book in her hand, and a covered tea pot on the table at her elbow. She looked up from her reading, her rheumy, fogged eyes catching the darkness that was Purulence. "Hello, dear. Were you looking for me?"

"Hi, Grandmama," Purulence said and pulled a chair over to sit closer to her grandmother. She inhaled and then let out a deep breath. "Do you remember when I was 13 years old and painted a picture of your hands?"

"No," the old woman said in a thoughtful tone. After a moment, she laughed at the expression on Purulence's face. "Of course I do, ma chérie. I am old, yes, but not so old I would not remember such a beautiful compliment from ma petite!"

Purulence laughed. "I was about to be very worried about you!" She relaxed into the chair. "Back when I painted it you told me not to keep it as a family painting but to offer it for sale, that the right person would buy it someday. Well--someone just bought it. And they didn't even try to haggle. I kind of wish they had."

Grandmama chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that turned into a cough. She picked up her teacup and took a sip. "Because then you could have refused to sell?"

"Of course not. I would have sold it for a more reasonable price," Purulence said. "The painting is good, and it's full of love. But I was 13 then. My technique has improved a lot. There's its worth to me, which is priceless, but then there's its fair market value. I grossly overcharged."

The hag's laugh came again. "Value is an illusion, vnuchka. Each of us sets it for ourselves. I told you to offer that painting for sale because you needed the boost of confidence -- to know that your babushka thought your art was good enough to sell. You priced it as you did, because you didn't want anyone to actually buy it. Now, someone has come along to whom that price is worth spending." The old woman spread her gnarled hands. "Each of us has our own values; our own system of deciding whether a cost is worth paying. Who am I -- or you -- to argue with someone else's decision?"

Purulence sighed. "You're right. I made my bed; now I must lie in it, as they say. I can't argue with the buyer, anyway; that would make me a very foolish businesswoman--and I certainly won't argue with the buyer's taste! So I will just have the painting shipped and put the credits to good use." She smiled at Grandma. "I just wanted you to know that it did sell, since you were the subject of it."

"Soon, then, someone out there will have my hands to hold. But you, sætt... you shall always have the true original to hold when you need." The old, old woman held out her hand, wrinkled with age, gnarled by arthritis. Love shone from her visage.

Purulence clasped Grandmama's hand with her own. "Chlamydia, Ischemia, and I have been lucky to have you for this long. Do you know what I was thinking when I painted you?"

"Ha-shem, let me not grow so old?" the hag teased.

Purulence burst out laughing so hard, tears flowed from her eyes. "I think that came a little later, when I began experimenting with make-up and thought I was cute." She wiped at her eyes with the back of one wrist and sat back in her chair, still half chuckling. "No, it was the stories. Every single line in your hands was a story to me. It was as if you had lived infinite stories--almost overwhelming--and I was trying to capture them all, until I figured out that I shouldn't. I had to pick and choose, that it wouldn't be good for me to know you completely because that would ruin the mystery. You were a beautiful, wonderful mystery to me. You still are."

"There was a man once," Great-Grandmother Addams said in a wistful tone of voice, "a very lovely man, who unfortunately for me, preferred the company of other very lovely men. He wrote, 'I am large; I contain multitudes.' He meant that people are complex. No one outside our skull can ever truly, completely, know us. There is always mystery; always something left to be discovered."

"I'm glad there is," Purulence said. She clasped Grandmama's hand for a moment. "Shall I brew you some more tea and leave you to your book, Mystery Lady?"

 

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