* * * * * * *
One day, when Letty was fourteen, she asked to go to the city with Father.
“Why, Letty? It’s no place for someone like you,” he said.
But Letty insisted and so, one morning very early, she and Father set off.
When they reached the outskirts of the city, Father hid their cart in some bushes and tethered the horse to a nearby tree.
“Why are you doing that, Father?” Letty said.
“You’ll see by and by, Letty,” Father replied.
Out of the cart he pulled an old piece of sacking which he wrapped around Letty’s head and shoulders like a shawl. Then he took out an old, frayed overcoat and hat and put them on.
“Father, why must we dress like beggars?” Letty asked.
“So we don’t get hurt,” he replied, then he hoisted his sack of fish and vegetables on his back and they set off walking down the road.
As they approached the city, the bright morning sky darkened. Thick smoke issued from tall buildings and a foul smelling fog hung just above the ground. They came to a building with a pointed steeple and boarded windows. A man wearing red and white robes stood on the steps. He held up one hand, as if in blessing, but he was shouting at the small crowd of pinched looking people who stood within the gate. Letty thought he sounded like a snarling dog and as she came nearer, she saw that the man’s robes were soiled and frayed.
“Why do those people stay to listen to that man?” Letty asked.
“Perhaps they think he’s got something to give them,” Father replied.
“But Father,” Letty said, “anyone can see his hands are empty.”
After that, the roads became crowded with people all moving toward the gate of the city.
“Father,” Letty said, “I see why you didn’t bring the cart. There are so many people on this road; there wouldn’t have been room to drive it.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Father said. He took Letty’s arm and held tight.
Just then there was a scuffling behind them, a thump and a muffled cry. Father and Letty turned to see a young man on the ground and rough hands pulling off his beautiful silk coat.
Father pulled his beggar’s disguise closer about him, but Letty said, “Father, we should help that man!”
It was too late. Though the young man jumped to his feet shouting and threatening, the thieves ran off, the crowd parting to make way. “My grandfather gave me that coat! It was a birthday present!” he cried, but the crowd pressed on and moved around him.
“Come, Letty,” Father said, pulling the old sack shawl closer around her fair curls. “It won’t do to linger.”
“But Father, that poor man! Can nothing be done?”
“No,” Father said, then he took Letty’s arm and pulled her along.
When they reached the center of the city, Father went directly to the Market Square and took a stall where he laid out his vegetables and fish. He gave Letty a few coins and warned her not to leave the Square.
“I told Mother I’d bring you back safe. Don’t wander far,” he said.
She walked among the stalls for a while, but the townspeople made her uneasy. They were dirty and dishevelled. The adults mostly scowled and the children all looked sad. Letty bought herself a bag of penny candy, a pad of paper and a box of coloured pencils, then she went and sat at her father’s stall and began to draw.
At first she drew the buildings that loomed over the square like grey ragged cliffs. Then she began to draw the people, buying and selling, haggling and thieving. After a while she began to draw other things.
“What’s that?” said a voice beside her. “Looks like a man with wings. I don’t see him nowhere. And why is his face so bright?”
Letty turned to see a little boy at her shoulder, rumpled and dirty; he had dark curly hair beneath his cap and he was too thin. She looked down at her drawing of the crowded square and there, head and shoulders above the people, was the figure the boy spoke of. She looked up and three stalls away the same bright face smiled at her.
“Don’t you see him?” she asked.
“Naw. There ain’t no one here like that.” the boy said. He leaned against Letty and put his head on her shoulder. “I wish there were, though. Someone like that could fix things.”
Letty tore the drawing from her book and gave it to the boy along with a handful of candy. “Here,” she said, “you take this and go look for him. Keep your eyes open. If you look hard enough you’ll find him.”
The boy jammed the candy in his mouth, then walked off into the thick of the crowd, holding the drawing in front of him like a map.
Letty sat quietly for a while, watching her father sell his goods. She was glad to see he gave away almost as much as he sold. About midday he turned to her and said, “Letty, go find us some lunch.”
“Where should I go?”
“I don’t rightly know. Mother always puts bread and cheese in a bag for these trips, but I must have gone and left it at home.”
“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll find something.”
Letty walked from stall to stall. There were other farmers selling vegetables and some selling fish, women selling jewellery and pottery. She saw china and candy, baskets and fancy pastry, silk scarves and bolts of beautiful cloth, but nowhere could she find what she was looking for: bread.
If ever I come back here, Letty thought, it will be with two dozen of Mother’s loaves to sell.
At last, rounding a quiet corner of the Market Square, Letty saw something. The man with the bright face and wings was squatting in the street beside the boy with the black curls. Next to them, a very old woman holding a strangely carved staff stood at a stall piled with bread. The little boy was taking big bites out of a soft loaf. When he saw Letty, he swallowed hard and said, “There she is. She’s the one who drew the picture.”
Letty came closer.
“Hey! I never found that man with the wings,” the boy said. He held out the drawing, now wrinkled and grubby round the edges.
“Yes you have,” Letty said, “He’s right beside you.”
“Who, him?” the boy said, jerking a thumb at the man. “This is Joe. He ain't got wings.”
The man stood up and offered Letty his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss.”
Letty shook his hand and as she did, for a split second, she saw a middle-aged man in a tattered black overcoat. Then her vision snapped back and she saw the wings and the bright face.
“Joe’s alright,” the boy confided to Letty. “He showed me where to find this here bread lady.”
Letty handed the drawing back to the boy, but he waved if off, saying, “Naw, I don’t need that. I just need somthin’ to eat.”
“Would you like some bread, child?” the old woman asked Letty.
“Yes, please. My father asked me to get some lunch and I’ve been looking all over for bread. How much does it cost?”
“Nothing. This bread is free,” the old woman said.
“Free!” Letty exclaimed. “But why . . . why,” she faltered and looked around the Square.
“Why isn’t everyone here at my stall?” the old woman said. “Well, it’s just plain and simple bread, my dear. I suppose it’s not to everyone’s liking.”
“But these people look hungry,” Letty said, “and you must be the only person in the market selling bread.”
“But she ain’t sellin’ it,” the boy said.
The woman pulled three loaves out of a basket and put them in Letty’s hands.
“Oh,” Letty said. “My father and I could never eat all this.”
“Take them, child. You never know who you’ll meet.”
“Thank you,” Letty said, then, without knowing why, she curtseyed to the old woman and to Joe. Joe flexed his wings and bowed in return, but only Letty saw.
“Coo! You ain’t from ‘round here, are you,” the boy said.
Letty was halfway across the market when she felt a tug on the back of her skirt. The bo
y had followed her. He carried two loaves of bread. And he can probably eat them all himself, Letty thought.
“Joe said I should come with you ‘cause the crowd here ain’t always safe.
“Do you have a name?” Letty asked him.
“Sure. I’m Peter.”
“And Joe sent you to look after me?”
“Sure he did.”
Peter took Letty’s free hand and she smiled at her small protector, but she was glad of his company. As they passed through the crowded market they were followed by scornful comments such as “breadeaters!” and “who eats that stuff anymore!” And, Letty saw figures with shadowy deformed faces that were hardly human: faces she would never dare to draw for fear her pen would burn holes in the paper.
They found Father waiting anxiously.
“Was I gone too long?” Letty asked.
“There’s strange folk in the town, Letty,” Father said. “And a man--I think it’s the mayor--is looking for someone as made a drawing,” he said in a lower voice.
“Here, take some bread.” Letty said. “You need to eat. And this is Peter. He’s been looking after me.”
“Hello, Peter,” Father said. “But about this drawing, Letty. Was it you? Did you go drawing on a wall or something?”
“No Father. I drew something on paper,” and she pulled the sketch out of her pocket.
“Well, well,” Father said after a minute. “You certainly got the town right, and the people; but who is this tall man here? Are those wings?”
“Excuse me, man,” said a voice behind them, “let me see that paper.”
Letty turned to see a group of people at their stall. The man who had spoken was round with a red beard. He was, in fact, the mayor of the city and was accounted by many to be jolly and kind. But Letty only saw his face twisted with arrogance and his roundness squeezed into a beautiful silk coat that she knew had been torn off the back of a young man just that morning. The mayor was flanked by his councillors: sullen men and women whose faces were marked by ambition.
Father silently passed the drawing to the mayor who said, “I saw a boy carrying this picture around the marketplace, but when I asked him for it, he ran away.”
Peter stood behind Letty, hiding his face in her skirt.
“Who drew this?” the Mayor demanded.
Towering behind the heads of the councillors, the bright face of Joe appeared. Letty took courage and said, “I did. I drew that.”
The Mayor must have smiled, but all Letty saw was his greedy leer. “Ah. What it is to be young with fanciful thoughts. But you draw very well, girl. Do you paint?”
“Yes, sir,” Letty said.
“ Ah. Very interesting. Perhaps,” he said in a softer voice, “you might paint my portrait.”
“I cannot, sir. I have no paints or brushes here.”
“But those are easily supplied, and if you’re a good girl and you finish quickly, you can go home” said the Mayor. He snapped his fingers and in moments, brushes, paints and an easel appeared with a very large canvas. The councillors began to push the crowd back to make room. “I need a plain portrait for my office. I’m up for re-election in a month’s time, you see.” Letty thought he bared his teeth like an untamed dog.
“Alright,” said Letty, though she trembled,” but it must be here in the Square. I will not leave my father.”
“Will not?” repeated one of the councillors.
“Never mind. It shall be done. Perhaps you have in mind our grand City Hall as the background?” the Mayor said, pointing to a building that loomed overhead. It might have been grand, but Letty saw a crumbling edifice whose blackened walls were slimed with nameless filth.
As the Mayor preened and the councillors fussed over his hair and shouted at the pressing crowed, Father took Letty’s hand and felt her trembling. “Can you do it, Letty? It’s a big canvas.”
“It’s not the size of the canvas that worries me, Father.”
“Of course. You’ve done bigger pictures than this. How could I forget the walls of our own house? Then what frightens you, child?”
“Father, you know I paint what I see. If I paint the Mayor as I see him, he won’t like it.” Letty sighed and her hands shook. “What do I do?”
Father looked at her gravely. “Paint what you see, Letty. No more, no less. Mother would say the same thing.”
“But Father . . .” Letty began.
He squeezed her hand gently and said, “Letty, that tall man you drew with the wings and bright face? After looking at your drawing, I can see him now too. He’s over there.”
Letty looked over her shoulder, and there was Joe standing near the easel.
“Father, when you look at him now do you never see a man in a black overcoat?” she asked.
“Mostly never,” Father said.
“Now girl,” said the Mayor, snapping his fingers. “It is time to begin. Shall I have the royal mayor’s chair brought out so you can paint me in that?”
“No sir,” Letty said. “If you could sit on a high stool, it would set you in the right light against the background you’ve chosen.”
“Yes, yes. The right light. Of course,” said the Mayor, looking pleased.
“Sir,” Letty said as someone fetched a stool, “why ask me to paint your portrait? Surely there are artists in this city who are better painters.”
“True,” said the Mayor. “You are just a child. Once we did have great artists in this town but I’ve been told they’ve all grown old or gone blind; they’re no good to me. If you do this well, you’ll be handsomely rewarded.”
The Mayor arranged himself on the stool and Letty began to paint. At first her strokes were timid, but soon her other vision took over and she painted swiftly, confidently, with deft strokes. To the onlookers it seemed that the brushes had become part of her hand.
Peter crept out from behind Father’s stall and stood beside Letty. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. In another part of her mind she also knew that Joe stood nearby and that other beings like him had come and were visible among the crowd. But her hands did not falter. She painted what she saw: the sickened building, the corrupted politician in his stolen coat.
After an hour, she stood back to allow the Mayor a break. “May I look? Is it nearly finished?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said, in answer to both questions.
Someone brought a tray of drinks and rich pastries for the Mayor. He offered some to Letty, but she refused and, after taking a mouthful of bread, began to work once more.
It was late in the afternoon when Letty finished. The people in the market were packing up their stalls. The crowd had thinned and Father’s bag of fish and vegetables was long empty. He and Peter were sitting on the curb waiting. Joe sat beside them. They were eating bread and sharing it with a small crowd of children who had gathered round. There was still one loaf left. Father had it tucked under his arm and held it out to Letty as she finished cleaning her brushes and her hands. She broke off an end and gratefully took a bite.
“Finished?” he asked.
Letty nodded, eyeing the canvas doubtfully. What would the Mayor say?
“The child has captured you. To the life,” said a surly councillor.
“Oh yes!” said another. “Your beneficence is apparent to all!”
“Let me see! Let me see!” cried the mayor, jumping off the stool. He gazed at the painting for several minutes, then said, “Do I really look like that?”
“Yes,” said Letty gravely.
“Yes! Oh yes!” exclaimed the councillors.
They might have been smiling in praise, but to Letty they looked like snarling dogs.
“Why, this will seal my re-election!” cried the exultant Mayor.
Confused, Letty watched as different people in the crowd approached the canvas while the Mayor stood by proudly. Most smiled and nodded in praise, but a few looked from the picture to the Mayor and back again, then turned away in silent horror. She noticed that the children
kept their backs to the painting, and Peter whispered in her ear, “I didn’t exactly see him that way, but I knew it all along.”
At last the Mayor picked up the painting carefully and carried it across the Square to City Hall, bowing and nodding at people he passed just as if he’d painted the portrait himself. His councillors collected the easel, brushes and paints and, without a single word to Letty, followed the Mayor to his offices.
“Hey! I thought they was gonna pay you for paintin’ that picture,” Peter said.
“Never mind. We can leave now. That’s all I care about,” Letty said. She watched the shadowy figures that were slinking into the Square now that the marketers were leaving.
“Time to go. Best to be out of this place before the sun sets,” Father said. He shouldered his empty sack, took Letty’s arm and, accompanied by Peter, Joe and the children, left the marketplace. As they passed through the streets, the children left them one by one and ran off to their homes with cries of thanks for the bread. When they reached the edge of town, only Peter and Joe were left.
“Where’s your home?” Letty said to Peter.
“Don’t have one no more,” he replied. “Can’t I come with you?”
“Of course you can,” Father said.
“There’s evil folk about this evenin’. I’ll see you safely out the gate,” Joe said to Father.