A Sky He Could Be Satisfied With

Vihal finished his letter of explanation while Edwin ate his lunch, promised to go shopping together when the day's work was over, and went back to work.

Whatever failure a Cloud Painter made, he was not taken off that day's duty.

The reason was a shortage of hands—but Vihal thought it had turned out for the better.

The sky he had painted after that first failure, with trembling hands.

It had been far, far from anything ideal—and yet it had become a confidence in him, the knowledge that he could do it properly after all.

At the Weather Bulletin Office, where Vihal had come to check the time of his next shift, the angels of the Planning Division tossed jeers at him.

"Don't go making more work for us, Vihal!"

"Mind you don't fail this time!"

Whatever they said, Vihal thought they were entirely right, and he checked his assignment in silence.

He had decided not to let it bother him—and still, the words they had spoken piled up on him.

But he had to get over even that, he told himself; he turned his face forward with all his might, shouldered his brush, and took up his bucket—and then:

"You there! To feel out the strength of the Cloud Painters and divide the work accordingly—that is our Planning Division's task!"

A High Angel of the Weather Planning Division came in and said it.

"Understand that this failure is a debt of yours as well!"

As the Planning Division's angels rose with a rustle and straightened, the High Angel came straight toward Vihal.

"Vihal. Do not strain yourself. Go on accumulating your studies. The power within you is a real thing."

At that soft, shining smile, the piled-up words—all of them, without end—were wiped away, and Vihal's heart grew bright.

"…Thank you…!"

His remaining two shifts that day he gave over to following the percentages and the instructions faithfully, and he got through them without trouble.

But what stayed in Vihal's heart was the feeling: *this isn't it.*

Because he had heard, from souls who had climbed the Angel Road, stories of people who had found the will to live simply from the beauty of the sky—and so he believed that a Cloud Painter's work was not only to do as instructed, but also to make something that people on the earth below would look up at and be healed by.

He put away brush and bucket, and together with Edwin—talking of how at least there had been no failure worse than that one today—he headed for the largest shopping center in all of Heaven.

"Looks like you got through the last two all right?"

"…Yeah…"

"Not satisfied, though?"

"…………"

He knew perfectly well how presumptuous it was—for someone ten days into a trial period to be talking about painting a sky he could be satisfied with.

Edwin, after all, had never once spoken of his own failures, but Vihal had heard that it had taken him months to grow used to the work.

"Why is that, I wonder… I suppose I must be greedy… I keep wanting to paint a more beautiful sky…"

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