"I'm not a sculptor," he said. "Nor am I God."
"I'm glad you finally realize that."
"That still doesn't prove," he continued stubbornly, "that you're real. I don't know what my subconscious mind is capable of."
"Make something for me," she said abruptly. "I'm tired of listening to this nonsense."
I've hurt her feelings, he thought. The only other human on Earth and I've hurt her. He nodded, took her by the hand and led her out of the cave. On the flat plain below he created a city. He had experimented with it a few days back, and it was much easier this time. Patterned after pictures and childhood dreams of the Thousand and One Nights, it towered black and white and rose. The walls were gleaming ruby, and the gates were of silver-stained ebony. The towers were red gold, and sapphires glittered in them. A great staircase of milky ivory climbed to the highest opal spire, set with thousands of steps of veined marble. There were lagoons of blue water, and little birds fluttered above them, and silver and gold fish darted through the still depths.
They walked through the city, and he created roses for her, white and yellow and red, and gardens of strange blossoms. Between two domed and spired buildings he created a vast pool of water; on it he put a purple-canopied pleasure barge, loading it with every kind of food and drink he could remember.
They floated across the lagoon, fanned by the soft breeze he had created.
"And all this is false," he reminded her after a little while.