Tinka’s Art

Tinka Taylor crumpled the sheet of paper into a misshapen ball. The letter in her hand spelt the end to her grand dream. The bank was refusing to lend her the money she needed to save her cottage.

Still clutching the objectional letter, Tinka walked outside into the chilly but bright day. She knew better than to put her weight on the bottom step. Ugh. The second one was now also feeling unsteady. Sadly, the cottage had been neglected for so long before she bought it that it was barely habitable.

The developers would gloat. They had offered her a pittance for the land, saying the cottage was beyond repair. They wanted to create yet another bland but expensive suburb. Tinka, though, felt she would die without the old cottage and the large block of land it sat on. This was more than her home, more even than her sanctuary. This was where her muse lived. Inspiration hid in the old floorboards and the gnarled trees.

The cherry blossom tree that had looked so beautiful when Tinka moved in, grew in the centre of the patch of grass that she called her back lawn. The blossoms had long since fallen and now the leaves were doing likewise. Tinka stumbled across a gold and orange carpet to reach the tree. Beneath the drooping branches, hidden from the world, she felt safe enough to let her tears flow.

This overgrown, wreck of a home was all she had left of a life once filled with promise. Now the bills were piling up and she had no income. The dreams she had once shared with her father were in ruins. He had believed her when she said she would make a living selling paintings of fairy landscapes.

She sniffed as she contemplated her bleak future. No, no matter what, she was never going to go back to being a checkout operator in a supermarket. She would prefer to die. And, there was nobody left to miss her.

Tinka sat up straight and her tears stopped as resolution filled her. She was going to stay even if it killed her.

In the quiet after her noisy crying had stopped, she heard what almost could have been an echo. Someone else, close by, was crying. They sounded as woe-begotten as she had just moments earlier.

Tinka felt her brow furrow into a frown. There was no one else on the property. It had been a long time since anyone had come down the long, rutted driveway.

The crying continued so Tinka stood up and looked around. The noise seemed to be coming from over by her herb garden, somewhere near the tap that always dripped. Tinka crept over. She no longer doubted what she was hearing but she could not see the troubled person.

“Weird,” she muttered.

The silence was sudden. Her mutter had been heard. A movement among the mint showed where the crying one was. It almost felt orchestrated. Tinka reached out towards the plants and a small body thudded against her palm.

Tinka felt her jaw drop as she gazed at the creature she had just caught. She was looking at a tiny, winged, female person who wore a cherry leaf to cover her body.

“Oh, my, what?” Words failed her.

She had always seen the little folk, but only ever from the corner of her eye. She had never dreamed of an up-close encounter like this.

“Let me go!” The little creature cried.

“Was it you crying?” Tinka demanded.

She did not release her fingers. The creature was held but not being hurt.

“I can’t find the door back home.” The creature sobbed as she pummelled Tinka’s thumb with her fists. “You big people destroyed it.”

“Wait a minute.” Tinka was not going to take the blame for something she hadn’t done. “I haven’t destroyed anything.”

Then she realised what the creature was talking about. She sighed. “It wasn’t me. It was the developers. They want to put a pile of houses up. Not that you care who did it. They have wrecked a lot of the area.”

Trees had been bulldozed, the stream piped and even asphalt laid for the new streets. Tinka’s falling down cottage was on an oasis of riotous, unchecked, nature.

“Can we please start again? I would like to help you,” Tinka asked as she stared at her captive. “I would really love to know what you are and why you’re here. The subdivision has been underway for months.”

“Have you got any water?”

Autumn had been exquisite, weather-wise. Rain had only been sporadic sprinkles. Tinka had reused all her water so her plants could thrive. She frowned again. Where could the wild animals drink, now that the stream was piped? That was probably why they were having this conversation in the herb garden. The dripping tap was one of the few sources of fresh water around.

“Inside the cottage. Can I carry you?”

“Thank you. My wing. I injured it.”

Tinka loosened her fist and saw that the left wing-tip was crumpled, much like the paper Tinka still carried.

“Oh no. Oh, sorry. Did I do that?”

“No. I got caught in some rubbish. That’s why I couldn’t go home straight away. When it was healed enough, I found the doorways had been destroyed.”

“Do you have a name?” Tinka asked the question as she negotiated the dangerous steps. She focused on where she was going rather than looking at the amazing creature in her hand.

“Deloria Sylph. I didn’t know big people knew about names. Do you have one?”

“Oh, me. I’m Tinka Taylor.” Tinka blushed as she said her name. Some days she loved it. Other days she absolutely hated it.

It seemed that Deloria missed the embarrassing reference because she did not laugh.

Tinka carried Deloria into the kitchen. She placed the sylph carefully on the dining table. There was water in the kettle, boiled for safety, so Tinka poured a small amount of this into a cereal bowl. Deloria walked to the bowl then reached in. With cupped hands she scooped out a drink. She then splashed her face before going back to drinking.

Tinka watched her guest and marvelled at the change. Deloria grew translucent, like raindrops on a cobweb in the sun. She was no longer easy to see. It was as if her body had turned into the water she was drinking, except that she shone.

“Wow!” Tinka whispered.

Even Deloria’s damaged wingtip looked sparkly and mended. Dehydration had caused the sylph a lot of suffering.

Tinka kept looking, studying Deloria carefully. Although she knew it was a futile wish, she dreamed of painting the little folk so others could share in their magic.

Tinka’s ability to see them had led her to paint fanciful castles as their homes but she had seen one so close or had them stay longer than just for a moment. Dad had encouraged her, never questioning or doubting her vision, found buyers for her work, and paid some of her expenses. Since he had passed away, the was no one willing to offer her support.

Deloria finished her drink and stretched her arms up. She was like a crystal in the sun, flashing sparkles from her wings across the room.

The cottage seemed brighter, less derelict, with the sylph in it. But Tinka knew the cruel truth. Deloria would soon leave. She had to return to her own home and the cottage would, once again, show how neglected it was. Tears gathered in her eyes as she remembered the letter from the bank and what it meant.

“Why are you crying?” Deloria’s voice cut through Tinka’s grief.

Tinka sniffed. “I wanted to make this my home but I can’t afford to keep living here. This world is very different from yours. We have to pay for everything, all the repairs.”

“I’m sad for you. This seems like a good house.”

Perhaps the sylph could not see the rot, the rusted gutters or the cracked windows. Tinka gave a wry smile. She had not noticed the flaws before she bought the cottage either.

Deloria checked her wingtip. From Tinka’s viewpoint, the damage was now barely visible. Deloria nodded to herself and flicked the wing, testing its strength.

“I will be able leave soon, and try and find a doorway back to my home. But I want my wing to dry just a bit more. Do you mind me staying?”

“Of course not.” Tinka was delighted with the sylph’s company.

“Would I be able to have a look at your home?”

“Sure. Do you want me to carry you?”

“Could I sit on your shoulder?”

There was not a lot for Deloria to see. They were in the kitchen; a tiny room with a potbellied stove, a sink and a few cupboards. The table was tiny, a two-seater, squashed into a corner. Next door was an equally tiny bathroom that only had a shower. Beyond that was the back porch with a laundry tub and the exit.

Going out the other door from the kitchen took them into the lounge. A log burner of a much later vintage than the kitchen one sat in the corner. Next to it was the window with a view of the cherry blossom tree. The rest of the room was empty. Tinka had planned to buy some furniture before she realised she could not afford to.

“I bought the cottage with the money Dad left me. I thought I could make a go of it, living as an artist, but I failed.”

Deloria said nothing. Tinka guessed the sylph didn’t understand what the problem was.

They continued the tour. “My bedroom. “

This was the nicest room in the cottage. Tinka had decorated it with white furniture, pastel blue paint and green curtains for it.

“What’s in there?” Deloria pointed to the other doorway off the lounge.

Tinka sighed. “My studio.”

Her room of shattered dreams was a better description. She did not want to let Deloria see the stark reminders of her failure as an artist. Yet she could feel that the sylph was waiting.

Tinka opened the door. The room was a busy mess. Canvases were propped up against all the walls. Only her newer work faced into the room. A trestle table, covered with paper jutted out into the centre of the room. Over by the window, where the light was good, stood the easel. Dad had bought her that.

“Oh.” Deloria sat forward on her perch.

Tinka smiled at the pleasure expressed in that single syllable.

“So many,” Deloria exclaimed.

“I paint them but no one wants to buy them.”

“Big people are silly,” Deloria commented as she fluttered off Tinka’s shoulder.

The sylph landed in front of landscape with a green castle. She reached out a finger to touch the paint. Sparkles raced across the painting and sunk into it. She moved on to the next one.

It was at the fifth painting that Deloria gasped. This one had been an experiment. Instead of her usual landscapes, Tinka had done a close up of what looked like a simple wooden door. Not that it was really simple. Hidden in the woodwork were faces, worms roiled in the stone and birds were emerging from the lintel. No one at the markets ever looked at it long enough to notice.

Deloria whispered, “Oh. It’s my door.”

“What do you mean?”  Tinka demanded.

Deloria ignored Tinka’s question. Instead, she put her hand on the blob of paint that was the door knob, turned it, and pulled the door open. She then stepped through and closed the door behind her.

Tinka sunk down into a sit on the floor of her studio. She just sat there staring at the painting until she finally noticed the light was growing dim.

“I must be crazy,” she muttered. “I dreamed up a sylph.”

She shook her head as she stood up. Even if she was crazy, she still needed to eat. She headed out to the kitchen. There, she saw the bowl of water still sitting on the table. Again, she shook her head. She could not guess what had happened.

At least there was bread in the pantry, and some strawberry jam. It was a pathetic dinner. As she ate, she ruminated. Her thoughts, unlike earlier, turned practical. She was not ready to die, so she was going to need a job and somewhere to stay. The sale of the cottage would bring her enough money to last a little while.

A huge yawn suggested that she needed to go to bed. She prepared, including filling up a hot water bottle but wondered if she would be able to sleep. Soon, she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

She thought of Deloria. How could she have dreamed up such a fabulous creature? Her eyes fell closed.

She woke twice during the night. The first time, she had to turn off the bedside light. The second, she thought she heard an unusual sound. But she was warm, comfortable and very tired. When the noise did not repeat, she slipped back to sleep.

Dawn arrived with a flock of raucous birds singing lustily in the cherry blossom tree. Tinka groaned. She did not want to move. But nature was calling. She had to get up.

A flash of purple caught her eye as she passed through the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. The bowl, still on the table, was now filled with violets. Tinka felt her jaw drop even as she hurried to her destination.

In the bathroom, Tinka made another discovery that made her smile. Beside the toilet was a stack of broad leaves. She glanced at the roll of toilet paper. It was well past half gone.

Then she looked at herself in the mirror and shock tingled through her. She no longer was looking at a reflection mottled by marks and hairline cracks in the glass.

She opened the back door and gazed around. The rotten steps had new boards, the rusted gutters were sound, and the dribbling tap was no longer dripping. Feeling dazed, she wandered through the cottage, a sense of wonder and disbelief growing within her as she walked. Overnight, there had been renovations done everywhere except her bedroom.

Tinka was nervous as she turned the doorknob to her studio. She was certain that all the repairs had been the work of Deloria and friends, but what would they have thought of her paintings?

As she had feared, the room was in disarray. The canvases were lying across the floor, all face up.  She cringed. There were dozens of reasons to protect painting by leaning them face down against the walls. But she was quick to notice a pattern. Castles on high cliffs were relegated to the behind the door, those with dragons, next to them. Ones with garden were in better light, while ones with clearly visible doors were under the window.

But none of the castles sat on her trestle table. The paintings there were her oddball, experimental works. These pieces showed magic and nature mixed, like a fairy and a spider, a gnome wrestling a leaf out of a pond, a one-eyed tabby cat chasing a pixie. Propped up against the table legs were the last few. These were magical cottages and doorways.

The doorway that Deloria had passed through was up on the easel. The door was firmly shut, just as Tinka had painted it. Yet, Tinka paused and studied the painting. There was something very different about it. On the doorstep was something she had not included. It looked like a stack of coins.

Tinka nervously touched her fingertip against the top coin. The entire stack tumbled right out of the painting. While keeping her eye on the painting, Tinka reached down and scooped the coins up. They were heavy and golden. Their weight convinced Tinka they were no illusion.

Tinka grinned madly as she looked around her studio. She had the money to stay. She was going to be able paint more of her goofy pictures.

“Deloria,” Tinka spoke aloud although she did not think the sylph was nearby. “You and all of your friends are welcome here, and to use these doors whenever you like. I’m going to always leave water out for you and the animals.”

“She clinked the coins in her hand. “And, maybe, I can buy some more land so I can make a proper place for you to visit.”