The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(43)

The day was especially chilly, and Nita used a paper cup of hot coffee to warm her fingers through her gloves. The sky was overcast, with a light drizzle trickling down periodically. The sun was nowhere in sight, so Nita knew she’d have to stomach the cold for as long as she could before giving up and closing the stall again. She’d been there for three hours, and a few tourists had stopped in and idly perused a few of the canvases before scurrying off in search of a café or bistro to escape the weather.

She had kept her canvases of Sophie in a stack next to where she sat, eyeing them periodically, both hoping people would notice the work and not wanting to share Sophie with anyone else. She buried her face in a French children’s book she had borrowed from the stall next door so she could practice her French while waiting for customers.

“Well, well,” she heard a familiar voice say. “Mathieu, you get better looking every day.”

She looked up and saw Simon nearing her, his arm comfortably around a pretty girl with dark hair, fair skin, and high cheekbones. She was very petite, and he stood easily a head taller than her.

Nita felt awkward exchanging bisous with him in front of his girlfriend but managed to shake it off and exchange them quickly with her as well.

“This is ?lise,” Simon said, cupping her hand in his. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling even as he said her name. His dark-green eyes beamed as he looked down at ?lise through his thick lashes.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Nita said to her.

“Toi aussi,” she said, and then in her cute, accented English added, “Simon speaks of you and Mathieu often.”

“Speaking of,” Simon said, “why does he have you taking over business for him?”

Nita pictured her disheveled boyfriend, who couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed and earn money that they desperately needed. “I thought it would be fun for me to try today,” she said, keeping her voice breezy.

“You picked one of the coldest days in the year to try!” ?lise said.

Simon added, “No kidding. You should’ve waited till spring!”

“It’s not so bad,” Nita said. “I just wish more customers were out and about.”

Simon’s eyes fell to the stack of paintings of Sophie near Nita’s stool. “What have we got here?” He began flipping through the canvases, pulling them out and holding them up to get a better look at them.

Nita averted her gaze to the sidewalk. “Oh, nothing,” she said softly. “Just some things I’ve been working on as practice.”

Simon whistled. “Nita, these are great. Has Mathieu seen them?”

She nodded.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but you need to be selling these instead of the same tired paintings he’s had in this stall for years.” Simon held up one of Sophie seated at a vanity with Nita behind her. The child used an oversize brush against her small head. Her expression was questioning, as if she weren’t sure if she was doing it correctly but wanted Nita’s approval from the reflection in the mirror.

“Who’s the girl?” ?lise asked.

“My niece.” Nita found the lie easier to tell this second time.

“She’s going to be a stunner one day!” Simon said.

He took the remaining two canvases and placed them side by side in a more prominent center place so that passersby would not miss them. Picking back up the one of Sophie with the brush, he turned toward Nita.

“I’d like to be your first customer and buy this one,” he said.

Nita smiled at his kindness. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not buying it because I have to.” He reached for his billfold and removed a handful of francs. “Assuming I can afford it, of course! How much would it cost to have?”

Nita shifted her gaze to the painting, to Sophie’s questioning eyes, which wondered what she had done wrong to make her mummy leave her. Had she not brushed her hair correctly, the way her mummy had showed her? And here Nita stood, again willing to give up her daughter and sell the painting to another person. She had not realized how difficult it would be to part with these canvases. Simon looked so genuine and earnest, and she knew she did not have a good excuse to refuse him. They did need money, even if it was charity from Simon.

“Forty francs?” she said, knowing Mathieu sold his for at least four times that but adjusting for her lack of experience.

Simon handed her two hundred francs and made her close her fist around the bills. “You should never undersell yourself.”

His words warmed Nita’s heart. It was facile à dire, mais difficile à faire—easy to say, but hard to do. She nearly hugged him for his kindness but refrained when she saw ?lise squeeze his hand. It was easy to see why a woman would be lucky to have Simon as her boyfriend, bad French accent and all. There was no quality more desirable than compassion.



After those initial moments of feeling a sense of loss over the painting and reminding herself that it was going to a friend and if she ever truly wanted it back, it would be easy enough to get, she felt pride and excitement. She had sold her first painting! And for two hundred francs, no less! The most surprising thing she had learned about herself since arriving in Paris was that she could survive, no matter how dire the situation seemed. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, but if she could sell a few more at that price, she and Mathieu would be okay for a month, and maybe he would feel better and get back to his own work rather than sulking around the apartment all day.