THE PICTURE
Streamline Graded Readers
Level 2 Jenny Pearson
Series Editors:Bernard Hartley and Peter Viney
The picture was always a part of my life. When I was a little boy, more than fifty years ago, I visited my grandmother on Sundays. Her house was very near the sea. We lived in an old fishing village in Cornwall, in the south- west of England, and the sound of the sea was all round us.
While my grandmother and my mother were talking, I always walked round the little sitting room, and looked at all the things there. The room was small and dark, with a square window. The window looked out onto the garden. My grandmother wasn't rich, but the room was clean and warm. A fire burned in the fireplace in winter, and I loved the moving flames.
Above the fireplace there was a shelf. My grandmother put her special things there, a big clock, a silver mirror, a bright blue teapot and two brown and white china dogs. The dogs looked down at me kindly. But my favourite thing in the room was the picture. It was on the wall in a corner near the fireplace. It was very dark there and I had to stand very near the picture, before I could see it clearly. It was like the room, small and square and brown, and I thought it was very old, like my grandmother. It was a picture of an old lady. She was wearing an old-fashioned red dress. She had a round, kind face, and she was wearing a little white hat on her head. In my imagination she was saying, 'Don't worry, Peter, I'm your friend, and I understand you.' When I was very small, I was happy when I saw the old lady's face. When I was older, about ten or eleven, I often visited my grandmother. Our house was quiet. My father was dead, and my mother had a little shop. She had to work there all day. She had to earn money for us both. I loved my grandmother and often talked to her about her life when she was young. One day I asked her about the picture, 'Granny, who is the lady in the picture? Was she in your family? She looks like you.' Grandmother smiled. 'No, Peter,' she said, 'I don't know her. The picture was your grandfather's and he got it from his father. Nobody knows anything about it. I don't think it's a very special picture, but I like it. I never feel alone, because the old lady is my friend. I talk to her sometimes—but don't tell anybody!' Those times with my grandmother were happy ones for me. We talked all the time, and I ate some of her special chocolate cakes. My motherland I didn't have much time together. She worked very hard. In the morning when I got up, I found my breakfast on the table. My mother was already working in the shop. In the evening, when I came home from school, we had our evening meal together. We talked a little about our day. After the meal I had to do my homework, and we both went to bed early. I was an only child. I had friends at school, but I didn't often ask them to come to my house because we lived outside the village. Most of the time I was alone. But I wasn't unhappy. I liked reading, and sometimes I listened to the big brown radio on the kitchen table. Then I could escape in my imagination from my boring, quiet life and travel round the world. I could climb mountains, visit Australia, and live with the Eskimos in Canada.
'When I leave school,' I told my grandmother, 'I'm going to sail round the world and make a lot of money. Then you and mother can have a good holiday.' Grandmother always smiled at these dreams.
When I was seventeen, my grandmother died. Suddenly there was nobody to talk to, nobody to listen to my exciting plans. I missed my best friend. For a long time my life was empty, and my mother missed her badly, too. We had to sell my grandmother's things. Two men came and took everything away. Just before they came, my mother said to me, 'Peter, you can take one thing from Granny's house. You can choose anything.' I went to the dark house, and looked round the little room. The dogs watched me from the shelf above the fireplace. Were they saying, 'Take us'? I loved the clock, and the beautiful blue teapot. But I had to take the little picture of the old lady, because when I looked at her, I thought of my grandmother. I took the picture carefully from the wall. It was small, but heavy, and the frame was made of wood, with old bits of gold on it. I carried the picture home and put it up on my wall. The old lady smiled down at me, and I felt she was happy with me. I didn't tell anybody but I felt that my grandmother was there and sometimes I talked to her about my problems and my plans.
The years after that went quickly. I left school and got a job in an office. It wasn't very interesting, but I was happy. Now I could give my mother some money. Then, suddenly, it was that terrible summer of 1939. The war began, and everywhere people had worried faces. One day I got a letter. I had to go to the Navy office the next day. That evening Mother and I sat quietly in the sitting room. She smiled at me. 'Be careful, Peter,' she said, 'and come back soon.' I put my hand on hers for a moment. 'Don't worry, Mother,' I said. 'I'm going to send you postcards from a lot of exciting places! But what about you? Don't work too hard!' Early the next morning she kissed me before she went to the shop. I didn't see her again for months. I liked my life in the Navy. After a few months I got a job as an officer on a big ship. Sometimes it was dangerous work, but it was also very exciting. The most interesting thing for me was travel. We travelled all over the world. We visited islands, cities and new countries, and the world got bigger and more exciting all the time. I often wrote letters and postcards to my mother. When we stopped at a port, I usually found a letter from her. 'Life here is hard for everybody,' she wrote, 'and I'm in the shop from 7 a.m. until 9 p.m. But we're lucky here. It's worse for the people in the cities. I often think about you, my dear Peter. I hope you're all right.' On the ship I had a very good friend, Frank. He came from Malta, and he often talked to me about his parents, his brothers, and all his cousins. He was a big, happy man. He often sang songs and played the guitar. Sometimes we sat quietly and talked for hours about the war and our plans for the future. One day our ship arrived in Valletta, the port of Malta. Frank was very happy. I went with him and visited his cousins. His uncle had a cafe in Sliema, near Valletta. He was a big, friendly man. 'Welcome, Peter,' he said. 'You are one of our family now, and you must see all of our beautiful island.' We all sat in the sun outside the cafe with our cold drinks and I was very happy. I looked at the blue sea and the busy people, and I forgot the war for a short time.
While we were sitting there, a young woman came towards us. When she saw Frank, she ran and kissed him. 'Frank!' she said. 'It's wonderful to see you!'
Frank kissed her. 'Maria, this is my friend Peter,' he said. He looked at me. 'Peter, this is my cousin, Maria.' She was wearing a red dress. It was the color of flames in the fire. She held out her hand to me. 'Peter,' she said, 'have a wonderful time in Malta.' She smiled, and we all smiled, because she was so beautiful. She sat down with us, and asked Frank a lot of questions about the Navy and the war. They talked, and I watched Maria — her dark hair, her eyes, the way she moved her hands when she was talking. I was in love.
From that moment Maria was the most important person in my life. We were together for ten days. We ate in little restaurants beside the sea. We listened to music in the clubs and bars. We walked over the island. We looked at the flowers, the horses and the people. Every day I learned more about her; and she had dreams for the future. 'I'm going to be a doctor, Peter,' she said, 'to help people. And I want to travel round the world.' I kissed her. 'When this war finishes,' I said, 'we're going to travel together.' We couldn't forget the war. After nine days I had to go back to my ship. On my last afternoon Frank drove us up to the hills near Luga, and Maria and I walked together for an hour. It was spring. The sun was shining, and the hills were bright with flowers. But we didn't see the colours round us. We sat quietly together.
Maria looked at me. Her face was angry. 'I hate war!' she said. 'Why do people fight, Peter? You don't want to fight, do you?' I held her hand. 'I don't want to — but I have to. But don't worry. I'm going to come back after the war. And then ...' I couldn't say any more. Maria said quietly, 'People change… Are we going to be different after the war?' 'Oh, Maria, I don't know,' I said, 'but I'm going to come back. We can always be together.' Maria didn't answer. I looked at her; her eyes were full of love. I thought about the eyes of the old lady in the picture. We didn't say anything after that. We just sat together and watched the sky and the sea. The next day I went back to my ship. For many months our ship was in the centre of the war. One terrible day Frank died, and a lot of other people on the ship. I was lucky — I didn't die, but I was in hospital for six months. In Malta life was difficult, too. A lot of people died there. I didn't hear from Maria. Perhaps she… but I couldn't think about that. I wanted to write to her, but in hospital I couldn't. Then I was afraid. The war finished, and I left the Navy. I lived with my mother in Cornwall, but I was not happy. One day Mother said, 'Peter, you must go back to Malta. You're thinking about Maria all the time, I know.' That night I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about Malta—about Maria. The next morning I knew. Mother was right. Only Maria was important in my life, and I had to find her again. I bought a boat ticket to Malta, and in a week I was in Valletta. When I arrived, it was very late. I couldn't visit her. I stayed in a hotel near the sea, and the next day I got a bus to