MAGIC WINDOW By ROBERT F. YOUNG By what strange magic could an ordinary window reflect the beauty in the soul of a lonely girl I DONT know which was the more improbable—the girl or her painting. Of all the artists displaying their wares at the sidewalk exhibit she was the only one with but a singlecanvas. She stood beside it timidly as though afraid someone would stop and make fun of it—or asthough afraid no one would stop at all. In a way she looked like a child with her odd blue eyes and hersunny hair one lock of which the April wind had playfully tumbled down upon her forehead a charmingand undernourished child playing grown-up in a blue artists smock and an absurd beret. As for her painting— Well try to imagine a vast meadow rolling away to low lavender hills. Nowscatter a handful of small lakes over the meadow and sprinkle them liberally with starlight. Now raiseyour eyes. The first thing youll see is a line of exotic mountains capped with starlit snow and then youllbehold a sky so crammed with stars — blue ones white ones red ones yellow ones—that theres noroom left for darkness. Now think of the title—Meadow Lakes by Starlight ... quotYou—you do see them dont you The stars I mean.quot I wasnt aware that Id paused. Art is not mycup of tea and the only reason Id been walking through the exhibit was because it stood between theparking lot where Id left my car and the office of my next customer. quotWhy of course I see themquot Isaid. I dont believe Ive ever witnessed anyones eyes become so bright as hers did. quotAnd—and themeadow and the lakesquot quotAnd the mountains too ... Do you think Im blindquot quotSo many people are. Especially the candlestick makers.quot quotThe candlestick makers People dont make candlesticks any more.quot quotBut they think like people who do. They see like them. The butchers and the bakers arent so bad.They can see a little. But the candlestick makers cant see anything at all.quot I stared at her. Her eyes were disarming enough but a bit too earnest for comfort. quotWellquot I saidquotIve got to be getting along.quot quotDo—do you like my paintingquot There was a desperate quality both in the way she spoke and in the way she looked at me. But therewas another quality present too—a quality that made dishonesty impossible. quotIm afraid notquot I said.quotIt—it frightens me a little.quot Her lashes fluttered once over her blue eyes like quick clouds over blue patches of sky. Then:quotThats all rightquot she said. quotPlease dont say youre sorry.quot Id been about to say just that and now that I couldnt there was nothing else I could say. I stoodthere a while longer wondering what to do feeling for some illogical reason as though a significantmoment had come and passed and that I had lived through it like some dull clod totally unable to graspits context. Finally I touched my hat muttered a little quotGbyquot and walked away. It was a long morning