Hopes and Dreams
Some time later Mel left the fane almost in a state of shock. He ran back through the village and burst into his tiny home. The stranger had left and his parents sat side by side on the settle, deep in conversation.
‘Is it true?’ Mel shouted, as he struggled for breath.
His father said nothing. He did not even look at his son as he rose, walked over to his loom and began weaving again, his face set like stone. He wove at a frantic pace, violently stamping on the treadles and dashing the shuttle from side to side with a speed Mel had never witnessed before. He turned to his mother and noticed that her eyes were red.
‘Mum, is it true? What Fa Theum told me?’
‘Come outside with me, sweetheart, and help me pick the vegetables for supper,’ said his mother softly.
When they were alone in the vegetable patch, Mel asked, ‘What’s the matter with Dad?’
‘Leave him be. This whole business has come as a bit of a shock. He needs to adjust to the idea. We both do.’
‘Yes, Mel, it’s true.’
‘Fa Theum told me that I’m to go and – ’
‘Nothing’s certain yet. Please don’t get your hopes up.’ She gently caressed his cheek. ‘The gentleman had to continue his journey but he will return this way in a few weeks. There’s a great deal to be discussed before then. It’s best if you don’t dwell on this too much.’
An impossible request; from that moment on Mel thought of nothing else.
That night, as he lay in bed, Mel turned over the momentous events of the day. Fa Theum had explained to him that he had written to Fa Marten, an old friend in the Maven’s household, to ask if he knew anyone in the capital who might be interested in commenting on Mel’s artistic gift. He had received a reply that exceeded his wildest expectations. He had produced a thick sheet of paper from inside his cassock and unfolded it with a soft, crackling sound.
‘The first part does not concern you, Mel, but this bit surely does.’ Fa Theum turned the page.
‘“I found the story of your young protégé fascinating and the boy’s precocious talent is amply demonstrated by the drawing you enclosed. I took it at once to show to Dirk Tot, steward to Ambrosius Blenk, the greatest artist in the Seven Kingdoms. Dirk Tot was as impressed as I was and took it to the great man.
“Now, you may know that Ambrosius Blenk’s studio employs many apprentices and is almost like a factory for producing paintings. These apprenticeships are usually purchased for large sums of money by wealthy families. Occasionally the master will offer a free apprenticeship to someone who is too poor to pay but who shows truly exceptional talent. I am pleased to report that your boy is so considered. However, artistic ability alone will never be enough to make an artist. Quite apart from a skill in draughtsmanship, the boy would also need a discerning and inquiring mind, the right attitude and, above all, a great passion for art if he is ever to succeed.”’
Mel did not hear the rest of the letter or Fa Theum’s caveat that any apprenticeship depended on the agreement of his parents. He had been in an almost delirious state of excitement ever since, despite his father’s odd behaviour. Willem had not spoken another word to his family all day and went to bed without a glance at his wife and son.
Now, unable to sleep, Mel tossed and turned on his straw pallet. His entire universe had spun on a great, invisible pivot and faced in a totally different direction from before. At breakfast he had been a happy enough boy who was good at drawing and who would grow up to become a tabby weaver like his father. By supper, another magnificent vista had opened up that held the promise of becoming an apprentice and, eventually, an artist who would spend all day, every day, doing what he loved most – making the most wonderful pictures. Mel’s deepest wish, a wish he had scarcely dared to admit even to himself, had actually come true.
Obviously his parents could not sleep either, and their muffled voices rose and fell in the bedroom. Mel lay there in the darkness until his curiosity got the better of him. He just had to know what they were saying. He rose from his bed and crept towards their room.
‘… not so loud, you’ll wake Mel,’ he heard his mother say as he placed his ear to the door.
‘But how can you bear to be parted from him? If he went away we might not see him for years on end.’
‘It’s just as hard for me as it is for you, but think of his future. He would get away from here, make something of his life.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ shot back Mel’s father. ‘Suddenly being a weaver isn’t good enough for him? Let me remind you that weaving puts food on the table. Weaving keeps a roof over our heads. He might go off to Vlam, spend years playing about with paints and never make it as an artist.’
‘Will, you know as well as I do how talented he is. And Fa Theum, he wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble if there was no talent there.’
‘Don’t talk to me about that interfering old priest, after he’s gone behind our backs like that. Why didn’t he discuss it with me first? I could have put an end to this nonsense then and there.’
‘Mel’s shooting up,’ continued his father. ‘Soon his legs will be long enough to reach the treadles. I’ll build him his own loom and he can weave alongside me. Think what a difference that will make. Double the cloth, double the income. Why, we would be able to move out of this place into somewhere larger, with better light. I could buy the Pleasure to make finer cloth, and we could have the things we’ve dreamed of.’
‘You think I would want that rather than Mel’s happiness?’
His father blew out loudly in exasperation. ‘And then there’s Vlam. Do you know what goes on there? There’s drinking dens and worse. Do you know that?’
‘No, Will, and neither do you. Neither of us has ever been more than ten miles from Kop.’
‘But I’ve heard stories. I’ve got ears.’
‘All I’m asking is that you think about it.’
‘There’s nothing to think about. My mind’s made up.’
Then the argument seemed to start again from the beginning. Mel stole back to bed. His mother would get her way. She always did. Well, nearly always.
Eventually he dropped off to sleep and his dreams were full of fabulous hybrids romping about in the most glorious colour. In the morning he awoke with a wonderful feeling of elation and anticipation. Mel also felt more than a little guilty at being the cause of his father’s anger and the disharmony between his parents. Was he selfish to want to be an artist, to be so delighted about going away to distant Vlam?
His father’s black mood lasted all the next day and into the one after but it did not dent Mel’s joy.
By the fourth day following Dirk Tot’s visit, Mel sensed things were beginning to return to normal and he and his father managed to exchange a few words. He took this as a sure sign that his mother had won the argument.
One week later, with normality more or less restored, as they sat around the table after supper, there came a knock at the door. Mel rushed up and opened it.
‘Fa!’ he exclaimed to the visitor.
‘Good evening, Fa,’ said Mabin, as she gestured for the old man to enter. ‘Please join us. Will you have something to eat? To drink, maybe?’
‘Thank you, but no.’ The old priest sat down. ‘It’s been over a week now and Dirk Tot will be returning this way soon. I realise that there has been much for you to think about. We really must have an answer for him.’
Willem looked at his wife and then back at their visitor. ‘Fa, this apprenticeship is wonderful, there’s no denying it. I know opportunities like this rarely come along – and never to the likes of us. This has made our decision so very difficult. At first, I was confused and angry that you had done this thing. That you had approached someone else about Mel’s future. A future that would mean us living apart. You should have discussed this with us first.’
‘I know, Willem, I apologise. But there was no certainty in this matter. I took it upon myself just to find out if Mel’s work was as good as we all think it is. That Mel should be asked to join Ambrosius Blenk’s studio was as much a surprise to me as it must have been to you both. And what a delightful surprise!’ The old priest smiled.
Willem paused and lowered his eyes. Then, turning to Mel, he said, ‘I’m sorry, son. We’re simple folk; artisans. This thing isn’t for the likes of us. Surely you can see that? You can continue to draw in your spare time but this apprenticeship is out of the question.’
Mabin sighed and leant over to hug her son. There was a tear in her eye. ‘Your father’s right, Mel. I know it seems hard now but it’s for the best. This apprenticeship was a dream – for both of us – but now we must wake up. You’ll stay here with us, just like it’s always been.’
‘But, Mum, Dad ….’ The words died on Mel’s lips. He wanted to argue but the tone of his father’s voice told him it would be futile. Willem’s mind was made up. Mel fought an overwhelming desire to break into tears as the disappointment settled on him with an almost physical presence.
‘Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind, Willem?’ said Fa Theum. His face betrayed a regret almost as bitter as Mel’s.
‘Nothing. This is how it must be.’ Willem turned again to his son. ‘Mel, I know how hard this must be for you but you’ll get over it. Weaving is a fine trade. Why, it’s almost an art in its own right. In a few months none of this will matter. It will all be forgotten. What do you say?’
Mel could say nothing.
That night, the tears did come. Rivers and silent sobs racked his small body as he cried himself to sleep. That night he did not dream in colour. He did not dream at all.