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The Apple Painting (Narrative)
The Apple Painting (Narrative)
T hereitwas,standingstraightupagainsttheblisteringwall.Aplainyet
ostentatious picture of a monochrome apple. Although it had been
inanimateandstationary,ithadseenallandmorethanonecouldina
lifetime, from senseless contretemps to heartwarming and joyous
family dinners, however we hardly are even a family anymore.
T his seemingly simple portrait’s story begins back in the summer of
1939.Itwasadisconsolateandwearymorning,mybrotherhadloaded
his large duffle bags with clothes and essentials which would
theoreticallylasthimmonths.Herestedthembothattheendsofthe
chippingstairs.Onebyoneweallbegangatheringaroundmybrother
like bees crowding around a hive drawn together by a common
purpose.EvenwhenIwasyoung,Icouldunderstandthesorrowetched
onthefacesofmyrelativesexceptthesamecouldnotbesaidformy
parents, despite that theundeniableandapparentconfusiononmine
forcedmybrothertopushforththesuffocatingcrowdandkneeldown,
his face levelling to mine.
“ TakecareofMaandPaformelizzy.”Hespokewithasoftvoicethat
could melt anyone. I looked up at his lachrymose face.
“ Whydoyoucry?”Innocenceradiatedfrommystraightforwardquery,
compelling him to ease his face.
“ Here, I’ve painted this. For you.” He reveals a painting, one I hadn’t
seen yet. I had been accustomed to watching my brother paint for
hoursonend,capturinganddelineatingeverysmalldetailofnatureso
muchsothatifyouweretodrawonlyalineonacanvas,he’dusehis
emotions and imagination to recreate mother nature herself. Heheld
outthepaintinginfrontofme,signallingmetotakeit.Ididso,takingit
fromhishandsandintominetoexamineit,ofcourseitwasnodoubt
The Apple painting.
Two marine officers dragged him from our house that fateful day.
E verymorningfollowingtheincident,I’dwakeupearlyatthecrackof
dawnonlytoruntoourmailboxinthecoldmorningandsearchforhis
letters.Hewouldrelaytomeonthewar,thestatusofhistroops,how
hewasandthedayhe’dfinallycomehome.Thishadbeenadailypart
ofmyroutine,itwasasiftheexcitementofonlyseeingthatshrivelled
paper encased in a soiled envelopewasthereasonI’dleavefromthe
comfort of my bed. This sustained up and until I began noticing a
common recurrence. His words sounded -lessoptimistic,lesscontent,
less inspired- and even so I couldn’t see him and those decent eyes,
therewasnodoubtfearinhismind,fearoflosingthebattle.Soonto
my horror the letters hadcometoanabrupthalt,hislastmessageto
mewasonlythewords“theapplepainting.”Hededucedthistomeasif
e’dknownhisdestiny,asifitwasallcleartohimhowhisstorywould
h
conclude.
T he war ended in 1945. We had finally gotten the message thathe’d
passed bravelyfightingforourcountry.Uponhearingthis,mymother
broke down much like my brother had, anger spewing from her voice.
“ Our boy is gone because of you Henry!” The scream of my mother
shook the entire house. I ran to my room to hide under mybed,the
deafeningshoutingbelowaccompaniedwiththelossofmybrotherhad
pressured me to mourn for hours.
T hesunhadsetandthemoonrose,withconfidenceIcouldsayI’dlost
track oftime.Thepersistinggrowlinmystomachhadfinallyrisenme
from underneath my bed, as IheadeddownIexpectednothingmore
than the usual, gathering for dinner and saying grace,inspiteofthat
when reaching the dining room, all that was present was an empty
tableandaplateofsoullessfoodawaitingme.Wherejoyouslaughter
andtendernessonceresonated,hadnowbeenreplacedbyonlysilence
and sorrow leaving the house feeling cold and depressed.
sIlookbackatthispaintingoncemore,Ican’thelpbutbehauntedby
A
those daunting memories. Taking the painting off the same blistering
wall, I walked out of thehousetoapproachthehuddledchit-chatting
men in orange vests.
“ You can begin the demolition process, ladies!” I signalled to them
before taking one last look at the old withering house and driving away.
Annotations:
https://miamioh.edu/hcwe/handouts/narrative-essays/index.html