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shrugged, and suffused my entire being with strength and vigour. “Fine,” I said. “I was just giving you a chance to rest.”
    Up in the sky, my uncle Actis was about four-fifths through the daily grind. I hoped he hadn’t seen me, but when I looked closely, he winked and waved. Clown.
    “You shouldn’t do that.”
    “What?”
    “Stare straight into the sun. You’ll hurt your eyes.”
    “Sweet of you to be concerned,” I said.
    The collar of the illusion of a coat was chafing the back of my neck—yes, all my imagination, but a chafing sensation is none the less uncomfortable when it’s all in your head—so I peeled it off. He screamed, and dropped to his knees.
    “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” I created the illusion of a longsleeved blouse.
    “You stupid bloody woman,” he was shrieking. “I’m blind. I can’t see.”
    “Careless of me,” I said, restoring his sight. “It’s all right. No harm done.”
    He opened his eyes, rubbed them and groaned. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re like a giant in a playground. You never look where you’re putting your feet.”
    “I said I’m sorry.”
    He was massaging his forehead. “Headache?”
    “Yes. No, don’t do anything ,” he snapped, “just leave me alone, all right?”
    “Now you’re being childish.”
    “This is hopeless,” he said. He struggled to his feet, then sat down on the ground. “No offence,” he said, “but how would it be if we split up and I met you at wherever this place is we’re going?”
    “Don’t be stupid. You’ll never get there on your own.” “I can try.”
    “You’ll die,” I told him. “And if you die before you’ve fulfilled your penance, you’ll suffer eternal torment. Probably,” I added. “At any rate, it’s not worth the risk.”
    He sighed. “I don’t think I can stand any more of this.”
    “What?”
    “Being with you.”
    S TICKS AND STONES can’t break my bones, but words sure can hurt me.
    Words, in fact, are the only things that can hurt us, in our family. It hit me like—well, like the ground, I suppose; except that when one of us gets hurled from the ramparts of heaven, it’s the ground that takes the heavy damage. I was so shocked I couldn’t bear to stay there any more. With a thought, I soared back through the clouds, to where I always go when I’m upset; which is silly, because that’s where nearly everything that upsets me happens.
    “Hello,” I called out. “I’m home.”
    Mother was in the Lesser Great Hall. I perceive it as a bleak, freezing cold hexagonal chamber at the far end of the house, with the back wall forming a huge picture window looking out on the Eastern Sea. She looked at me. “What are you doing here?” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”
    She was weaving. It’s supposed to be the destinies of men, but I think it’s just something she does to pass the time. Could be both, of course. “I needed a break.”
    “Really.”
    “That mortal just insulted me.”
    “Poor baby.”
    “He said he couldn’t stand being with me.” She clicked her tongue. “Well,” she said.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    A silence can be more eloquent than a million words.
    “What?” I demanded.
    “That’s mortals for you,” she said. “No tact.” Coming from her, it was one of the most outrageous
    statements ever made. “Tact,” I repeated. “You agree with him, don’t you?”
    “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
    “You do. You think I’m unpleasant to be with.”
    “Sweetheart.” She wasn’t looking at me. “You’re my daughter and I love you. I want you to know that.”
    Terrible things happen when we get angry. Not to us, naturally. “But?”
    She took just a little bit too long over choosing her words. “I’ve had plenty of time to get used to you,” she said.
    T IME . T HE T word, in our house.
    A mortal stands on the same hilltop every night and looks at the sky. To him, it appears that the stars