Short story 9. Baked apples

Once upon a time there lived a grumbling, disobliging and unsociable man in the small Ireland village. He was not so old, but his face was always gloomy, his back was bent and he could hardly move his legs with the help of a wooden walking-stick. No one knew the man’s real name – someone told his name was Gerald, another one called the man Grim and a group of people gave him the nickname “Grambler”. So, to avoid any mistakes we will call him just Mr. G, because all of his possible names begin with this letter. Mr. G. was cheerless and boring person – he didn’t like to work in the garden or walk in the forest, but he even hated different holidays and fairs, which were rarely held in the village. The man had no friends and people shunned his house, because Mr. G. couldn’t tell any pleasant word – he was irritated, angry and dissatisfied with the whole world every time.

One December day about the Christmas Mr. G. went to the market, which was far from his house and he should cross the forest to get there. The man had to do this, because his summer stock of flavor and cereals almost came to the end. Mr. G. took his wooden stick, an old basket and several copper coins and came out of the house. Everything was covered with snow and the air was frosty, so the man blamed the weather during all his way to the market. Sometimes Mr. G. slipped on ice and fell down with a great crash and then the silence of nature resounded with his deafening oaths. Finally, stumbling over every root, the man managed to get to the market, where almost all foodstuffs were sold before the holiday. Mr. G. argued with shop-assistants during an hour, but he had only been able to buy one kilo of buckwheat, a small jar of honey and half - kilo of gray flour.

Making his way back home, the man was upset, because other villagers had prepared many dishes before the Christmas Eve and he had only some old flour with a small amount of cereals and honey. Mr. G. was slowly going towards his house, when he suddenly saw a basket of apples. Apples in the end of December seemed to be a kind of miracle, so the man rubbed his eyes, but after that the basket didn’t disappear. Mr. G. came closer to the basket, stooped and took one apple. It was bigger than the usual sort of apples, growing in the gardens of villagers, and had the strange brightly red color, though apples in the village were green or yellow. The man was surprised, but he didn’t have any holiday refreshments, so he took the basket with him and brought it home.

In the evening, when Mr. G. had baked a long loaf of bread and cooked a pot of porridge with nuts and jam, he decided to taste the found apples. So he peeled the apples, filled them with nuts, honey and spicy seasoning and placed the dessert in the oven. While the man was eating his porridge with a piece of bread, the apples were ready and it was the right time to drink a cup of fruit tea with juicy sweet baked apples. The dessert was really delicious and Mr. G. was contented with everything for the first time during all years of living in the village. After the good supper the man read one of his favorite books near the window and went to bed…

It was the first time, when Mr. G. dreamt about wonderful landscapes while sleeping. He saw a big blue lake, shining in the rays of morning sun and surrounded by colorful trees and bushes. There was only thick forest around, and the immense carpet of green grass, and nice birds singing their songs and flying above and the golden clouds in the middle of azure sky. This view was so calming and warm, that Mr. G. didn’t want to leave this dream, but it was early morning and he woke up. The landscape was still tremendous and the sun was shining, but everything was covered with a stout layer of snow and there were only small village houses visible from the windows. Mr. G. sighed and started cooking the breakfast.

After the breakfast the man, who was in high spirits that day, went for a walk in the vicinity of the village. This time he left his walking-stick at home and greeted every neighbor, whom he had met on his way. The villagers couldn’t recognize the Scrambler in this smiling, cheerful man, walking among the trees and breathing fresh air with great pleasure. Soon Mr. G. found himself in unknown place – the colors were richer there and the sun – warmer and bigger. Suddenly the forest came to the end and the man saw the unforgettable landscape from his dream – the lake, flying birds, colorful trees and grass. Moreover, there was a small stone house with pretty garden on the shore of the lake. Mr. G. went towards the house and found out that it was unlocked and deserted. The man sat on the wooden bench and looked around. It was particularly the place from his sleep and it was hard to believe in such wonders. He was sitting there and looking at the lake during several hours, when Mr. G. noticed that evening was approaching. Unwillingly the man stood up and returned home.

The whole evening he was doing the packing, picking out only necessary belongings. Now Mr. G. was satisfied with his life, but other villagers still irritated him, because they were noisy and prevented him from the enjoying the beauties of nature. So, the man decided to move into the forest house and stayed there till the end of his life, devoting his every minute to the painting and depicturing of these fantastic landscapes. Next morning, when all villagers were still sleeping, Mr. G. quietly left his house and went to the forest, carrying only one bag with belongings with him. When he reached his new dwelling, the sun was rising and this place seemed to be friendly and cozy. It took only a few days for Mr. G. to clean the whole house, put the garden in order and get used to his new home.

Every day he sat near the lake, drawing mountains, trees, water, the sun, the sky, birds, animals and his house with small garden. When the spring came, Mr. G. started working in the garden, digging the soil, planting flowers and vegetables and weeding and watering the beds. Meanwhile the man’s talent was improving all the time and his painting came out more and more realistic. Sometimes Mr. G. went to the seasonal fair and sold some of his works of art, which had begun very popular in the nearest villages. But he never told anyone about his dwelling, because he didn’t want other people to disturb him. So the villagers nicknamed him “The wandering painter”.

Many years had passed and the wanderer was still living near the lake and drawing nature, but he was very old by this time, so it was harder and harder for him to hold a pencil or a brush in his hand. His sight was not as sharp as earlier, but he was still devoting all his time to the favorite occupation, to the affair of his whole life. No one could exactly tell what had happened with mysterious Mr. G., who was known as “The wandering painter”, but there is a legend. It is said that this man lived alone near the lake till his death, and one evening, sitting on the shore, as he did every day, Mr. G. turned into the large gray stone of unusual shape. This stone is standing there nowadays and reminds people of the old story, wonderful masterpieces and the beauty of nature. The ramshackle house is still near the lake, too, and people, who stay there for the night tell, that they have seen the spirit of  Mr. G., who wakes up with the first ray of the sun and go for a walk around the lake…