Who stole the paints?

A young man teaches art in an old people's residence. A new experience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHO STOLE THE PAINTS?

 

When Phillip was offered the job of teaching painting and drawing to a group of pensioners he accepted straightaway. His money situation at that moment didn’t permit him to reject a job, however unpleasant he found it.

The first day of autumn was when he saw the residence. The rain that had started during the night was still falling. It had soaked the yellow leaves that had been wrenched from the trees by the firsts gusts of wind since the summer. As he got out of his car, his face was hit by the wind and the rain. His feet splashed in the puddles in the short walk to the front door.

The residence was a huge old English house, around which there was a garden with a lawn, flowers, and trees. While he was waiting for the door to be opened he observed with his painter’s eye the damage caused by the wind and the complete untidiness of the fallen leaves that were everywhere. He looked at the low white sky. It was so near that it was possible to touch it.

A uniformed woman opened the door and Phillip turned his head from the damp smelling garden to the interior of the house which smelled of old age, medication, and cleaning products. The shiny floor was witness to the importance given to the upkeep of the building.

The woman, Miss Millett, guided him along a passage to the door at the far end. She knocked twice and a voice invited them to enter.

Miss Vane, the matron, behind the desk stared at Phillip, and said, “Good morning, Mr Brown, please sit down. Not a good day to start a new job, is it? Miss  Millett will show you where the classes are to be given. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” 

 

The room chosen for the classes was at the back of the house that gave onto the back garden. It was a large room that received plenty of light from the French windows that ran along the length of one wall. Phillip was surprised to see it really was a studio. There were easels, chairs, a blackboard, and a cupboard for paintbrushes, paper, paints, and so on. He turned to Miss Millett and said, “I see that art classes are not a new thing here. I didn’t know.”

“A few months ago a lady taught classes here, but one day, I don’t know why, she rang to say she wouldn’t be back. Since then there have been no classes. This room has been closed all that time.”

“Why have you asked for a new teacher when the previous one turned out to be a failure?”

“Because the residents wanted another teacher. Don’t you know how boring it is for many of them to be here. They are old, but nothing else. There are no sick people here. For those who don’t receive visitors from the outside world this is an incentive. It helps make them remember that they are still alive. Painting is one of the few things that they can still do. Sports are prohibited and if they can’t play a musical instrument, the only things left are the television, the radio, and reading. So, you see, you are much more than a painting teacher. You stand for the life and movement which they no longer feel a part of. In some cases it’s a world that has rejected them and in others they have rejected the world. Whatever they did before coming here is now unimportant. Once inside everyone is the same. We try to keep them happy and animated with some activity or other that makes them feel that life is worthwhile.”

Phillip listened to Miss Millett attentively, and recognised in her the typical woman who is dedicated in body and soul to caring for others.

Phillip opened the cupboard. It was antique, very large, and dark. The lady switched on a light to make Phillip’s observations easier. Picking up some tubes of paint Phillip said, “There’s no paint left in these tubes. They need throwing out. I’ll bring some new ones.”

Miss Millett nodded and went to greet Phillip’s pupils who had just entered.

“Mr Brown, your pupils are here. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

“Thanks for your help,” and turning to the recently arrived, he said, “Good morning everyone. My name is Phillip.”

The faces of those present looked at him with little interest, accepting him at once. They were too old to feel strong emotions on meeting a new person.

Philip had no experience of old people and he let them choose what they wanted to draw. As there was a lack of paints, he gave them paper and pencils and they suggested drawing a tall tree in the garden.

Apart from a couple of questions, complete silence reigned in the room and time passed quickly. Phillip was observing which people had a natural talent and which had little idea at all.

On closing the cupboard after the class, Phillip was aware of the total darkness inside, and for a brief moment he had the sensation that there was something alive and breathing that reigned in there, and that he had no business there at all. That he was an intruder.

 

The next class was the following week. The group was waiting for him on his arrival. They stared at him without paying him too much attention.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I have here some new tubes of paint. I’ll place them on the table here for now, but normally they’ll be kept in the cupboard.”

Although Phillip would never have admitted it, he had a dual sentiment towards the class. One of upset because it made him feel a failure, and the other was of curiosity for the house, the people, and the life of those who were so near to death.

That day everyone had taken something to draw, from a flower in a glass of water to a small chess set. At least they were not copying from photos or other drawings. Phillip passed between them giving advice and praise when it was needed. As he walked around he saw that the fresh paint palettes were untouched. He realised that no one was keen on using the paints. Better, he thought to himself, like that they’ll last longer.

The cupboard was open. Phillip was putting things away, tidying up the contents, and at the same time cleaning the shelves with a cloth. Once again he felt like an intruder and finished the job quickly. There was a small tray where he put the new tubes and paint palettes. He closed the door carefully and left the room. In the corridor he met up with some of his pupils. “See you next week, Phillip.”

“Good morning,” and he left the residence. It was a bit warm outside, in spite of the rising wind and a light fog that was slipping through the trees. Happily he started up his car and left that place with its cemetery smell, and wondered if he would go back.

 

Everything was in order, and to his surprise Phillip saw what appeared to be a display of autumnal flowers and plants on the table. “Good morning. Did everyone contribute to this attractive design?”

One of the men answered, “ Yes, we all took part.”

As he was approaching the cupboard he thought he saw something move on the floor, but at the same time rejected the idea.

“Today’s work needs the paints.” He opened the cupboard. “Who’s been here? Are there any other art classes?”

The small group had gone up to him. One elderly lady said, “ We’re the only ones who have art classes.”

Phillip took out the palettes of paint that looked a little empty to show the group.

“Anyway, they’ve been used.” He didn’t want to make too much of a fuss and stopped talking about it with his pupils.

 

Miss Millett  stared at Phillip expecting the worst - that he was going to leave them.

“Good morning, everything going all right, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, but you can tell me something. Has anybody been in the cupboard? I’m asking you this, as the new palettes with paint look as if they’ve been used.”

“Not as far as I know, the only painters here are your pupils. I don’t understand why anyone should want to steal paints.”

Phillip didn’t want to argue and he was also in a hurry, so he said. “Neither do I. It’s  all rather odd. I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Good morning.”

 

Phillip arrived at the class early the following week and went directly to the room. Everything was in its place just as he had left it. A sly movement under the radiator attracted his attention, just for a moment. Still wondering what had happened to the paints that week, Phillip opened the cupboard. Taking the tray of palettes to the window he saw that they were half empty again. Who could it be!

His pupils came in at that moment and saw Phillip with the tray in his hand, so they went over to him.

He said, “Good morning. It looks as if, once again, someone has come into this room and used the paints.”

The pensioners stared at each other. Who on earth would want to use the paints?

One of them touched Phillip on an arm and said, “You won’t leave us, will you?”

“Because of some paints? Of course not. But they are not cheap and these are already half-gone and we’ve hardly used them yet.”

Phillip took out a folder of some designs to give them a lesson on how to mix and apply the colours.

 

When everything was shut up and in its place, Phillip saw the furtive movement under the radiator again. He bent down and saw an enormous cockroach. How revolting!

 

“Miss Millett,  I’ve found an enormous cockroach in the room.”

Miss Millett showed no surprise. “There are a lot here. This is an old house. There’s supposed to be a ghost here, too.”

“Ghosts don’t upset me, but cockroaches do. Hasn’t anything been done to get rid of them?”

“Yes, but there are many and it seems impossible to finish them all off. They leave one place only to appear in another.”

“And another thing. The palettes of paint are half-empty again.”

“Well, I’ll try to find out what’s going on. Good morning.”

“Good  morning.”

 

It was the next week. This is too much, Phillip thought, when he saw cockroaches on the floor near the cupboard and the radiator. He rushed along to Miss Millett’s office.

“Miss Millett, there are lots of cockroaches in the room. Far more than before. I can’t teach a class in a place invaded by these creatures. Either we change the room or someone will have to do something about getting rid of them.”

“Don’t worry. Let’s take a look at them. I didn’t know there were so many.”

The two entered the room and Phillip showed Miss Millett the cockroaches. “As you are here we’ll take a look at the palettes of paint.” He opened the cupboard door and with an air of triumph said, “Look, almost empty. Now tell me what’s been going on here?”

“I don’t understand anything about the paints. But there are certainly too many cockroaches here. That’s evident. This can’t be allowed.”

“Meanwhile, the only way to kill them is like this,” and Phillip stomped a foot on a very fat cockroach. Both stared in horror as a yellow puddle came out of the corpse and spread over the floor. He stared at Miss Millett and they both agreed with their eyes.

Frenetically, Phillip went stomping all the cockroaches in sight, and from each corpse a different colour emerged. When it was all over, the floor was covered in paint of different colours and the remains of the cockroaches.

Miss Millett turned to Phillip saying, “Looks like you have found the paint thief!”

Phillip rushed out of the room towards the bathroom, just in time to vomit as he had never vomited in his life. Then he ran outside to clean his shoes on the wet leaves.