The condensation from William's cough was indistinguishable from the hazy combination of fog and industrial smog that sat obscuring the Monday morning street. Golden halos hung over oil lanterns that dotted the sidewalks, separating the carriages from pedestrians as the hordes began trickling to the streets. Within the hour the roads would be inundated with bustling labourers headed towards the factories. In the hours following the gentlemen and women of lower aristocracy would follow, going about their days. Young Will skipped over puddles marking the muddy road, his arms aching from the heavy stacks of newspapers dangling from his fingertips as he found his way to his allocated corner.
Like clockwork he arrived as the lamplighter extinguished the flame above William's post, and greeted him with a smile. "Right on time as usual young man, and how are we today?" he asked as the boy fought with the rough knotted twine wrapping his bundles.
Pleasantries were exchanged with a coin and paper between acquaintances who had long forgotten each other's names. William adjusted his hat, lifted himself a few inches up the post and began his song. Every morning the same melody, with different words as he sang the headlines to entice the passing people. Alluring jingles beckoning towards the latest gossip, dramas, and secrets of the world, day after day.
As usual, he'd beat the dawn, as well as the other boys and girls, to huddle around his paper distributor. Braving the cold to spend a few extra minutes with the old man he'd known so long. In part, to get his batch before the others, but more so in order to have the news read to him. Though young William had no conception of irony, nor had he heard the word spoken, he did have a sense that there was something odd about encouraging others to purchase something to read when he himself was illiterate.
William had been selling on his corner for as long as he could remember. Led there first by his older siblings after he was walking. All of them helping their parents pocket pennies where they could, collectively surviving the grim streets. As the light rose, maimed beggars found their spots and raised their hands, or what remained. The sight of their limbs, or lack of, reminded William of the good fortune he had not to be working in the factories with the other children.
The lives of others had always been a point of fascination for the boy. The stories the papers held, and the conversations around them were an aspect of Will's job that he adored. He loved hearing of the happenings in the world at large, regardless that they often had little to no consequence to his life. Despite his loquaciousness around his customers, Will was more of an observer than a speaker. Learning of life by listening to adults speak, hearing them process the news and their days.
He'd wonder about each passerby. Where the man carrying the bouquet was headed, why the distraught mother and daughter were visiting the law office, what position the gentleman having his whiskers trimmed in the barbershop might have. He often found himself glancing through the windows he walked by. Into stores, carriages, and homes as they passed. Never obsessively, or with malice, only innocent, curious looks. His imagination would roar over the lives he spied on. But William's mind's eye was limited to the city he'd grown up in- and even then only a small sliver. He knew of the countryside. He knew of lakes, of mountains. He knew of castles, of foreign lands, he knew far away, on the other end of the water, there were others living as they did. But he couldn't fathom what any of that might look like.
He knew the streets in his district. He knew the factories. He knew the cramped apartments where families swelled. He knew the bars where their fathers fought. He had seen high society, but only from a distance, when they'd walk his street, bought his papers. From the windows of the restaurants he watched them dine in. Peeking from the bushes on Summer days at the occasional ball held in the parks. He'd never seen a play. Except for the time he'd joined some boys sneaking in through a theatre’s rooftop. Spying down from the rafters watching the stage below, too far to indulge in the illusion. They saw the actors on both sides of the curtain's threshold. Some pretending to the masses, while others waited for their roles, sweating and drinking, murmuring quiet lines to themselves.
The street and stores had grown with Will over the years. Evolving to a more respectable avenue, now fringing the evolving, exciting downtown core. William had seen the comings and goings of it all. Law firms, flower shops, tailors, general stores, and the like.
Until more recently, after a long stint of sitting empty, a new shop had opened on his corner. It was the most curious, and astonishing yet. Behind its windows hung wonders William had never seen before, paintings. Framed scenes, windows into other worlds, times, and spaces. Seasides, ocean boats, bizarre animals he'd only heard of, islands, feasts, portraits of people of state, portraits of God and her angels. Windows within windows.
It's as if he only known cold colour. Shades of the bleak seaside city’s greys and sleet, brown and mud, puddles and rain, smoke and fog. There was no palette beyond in little Williams' life. When he played, he played in the streets. His kind weren’t welcome in their parks. The only colour he'd seen was when the elites walked the streets in their fine fabrics. Or the few unnoticed drops of reds, yellows and the like displayed in flower shops, but even then they'd never impacted him like this window had. A new sense of the world was blossoming within.
William's days grew longer the more he became distracted by the art. Staring into the wondrous abyss beyond the gallery's glass. Daydreaming rather than hawking his piles of newsprint.
Despite never buying a paper herself, Will began a slow rapport with the owner, Lady Eve. Born to a life of prestige, and privilege, it was rare to find someone of such an elite pedigree venturing on a street such as this. Lady Eve and Will's relationship had begun with "Good Mornings" and within a few short weeks moved to "how are yous". It wasn't until Miss Eve noticed how often she'd caught the young boy daydreaming in her window that she thought to strike up a small friendship.
Lady Eve decided that whilst she had no interest in the news, she rather liked supporting young William and his friendly smile. She began purchasing the paper and having conversations with him. The newspapers would go unread by her, left out to be perused by costumers lingering about her shop, or friends staying for tea. Finally handed off to her father and sisters when she returned home.
At first the boy was coy and shy. She knew of his fascination with her paintings and began to ask him of his thoughts regarding the colours, and shades. Like a dam Will’s own questions began pouring out as his curiosities got the better of his shyness. Their conversation grew to daily chats. They'd celebrate the accomplishment of each painting sold with a tea together as the business's popularity grew. Will was happy for his friends' successes, and excited to see which portal would arrive next.
Lady Eve saw beauty and potential everywhere, and loved watching it flourish. She saw it in artists. Sometimes paying a small patronage from her family's ample treasury to support them and their works. Rewarded in immense satisfaction with the wonders cultivated. On her sadder days she'd worry if others saw potential in her. Worse, she'd wonder if she saw any in herself. That she may be deluding herself with the merits of her intuitions, and shop. She wondered if the self-doubts were why she'd refused to marry. Her family doubted the relevance, and aspirations of her gallery. In many ways their daughter's ambitions were more troublesome to them than it would be for her to resign herself to a lifetime of leisure from the family's fortunes. Often criticizing her choices for needless work rather than relish in a life of luxury.
The mystery was exciting. She didn't know where her life would lead, but if the paintings she gravitated to were any indication, it would be surrounded by beauty. She didn't need to aspire to too much, financially her comforts were covered for many lifetimes. Regardless, Eve wanted more. More of what exactly, she wasn't sure. It certainly wasn’t money. She dreamed of more of that thing found from every page of every book she'd loved, from what the frames contained in her favourite pieces. Through art she saw something more than the pages, the paint, it was between the brushstrokes, between words. Portals, and mirrors. The beauty in crafting across the insurmountable blank canvases. Little reminders of spirit, of creativity, of imagination, of patience, and craft. Humanity, encapsulated by the hand.
And so, her friendship with William continued over the months. He was polite to her customers as they passed in and out of the store. Encouraging curious window shoppers to help drive up business. All the while getting more and more distracted looking through the windows himself.
After months had passed Lady Eve was struck by the sudden, and halting realisation that her young friend could not read. By chance, William was late to his distributor on the same day a terrible tragedy scored the headline. In the shock of the news she asked the boy for more details. Will's puzzled face perplexed her. Understanding melted, and before she knew what she was doing Lady Eve began apologizing for her presumptions.
For the first time in his colourless life the boy's cheeks were painted a soft blushing red. Though it was Lady Eve who wore the embarrassment. She excused herself inside where she swam in self-loathing. Not only for the shame of putting the poor boy on spot, but that she hadn't pieced it together before. Of course he couldn't read. She'd seen him everyday peddling papers from the moment she opened until the hour she closed. There was no time for school.
When she gave herself a moment to breathe away the humiliation, a deeper understanding unearthed itself. Why he was so drawn to the paintings. The impact the acrylic portals would have on the boy. Her heart filled with sorrow, and pity for young William. To live without a lens to other lives and thoughts printed on the pages he sold.
As she watched him swing from the post, singing the paper's tragedy to potential customers, an idea struck. Before she locked up for the evening, she dipped her pen to ink and scratched her address across a scrap of paper.
From her locked door Lady Eve marched to the boy with a challenge. "If you can find this door, and i know you can, i will teach you to read. How to discover worlds beyond the paintings behind my window. Try, if you can, to find it without asking for anyone's help."
It was hard to make sense of what had happened. Will stood stunned as Lady Eve took to her carriage and was carried off to the evening. He held the note in the remaining hues of light trapped in the haze. Aside from being able to decipher between the numbers and letters, the address was completely illegible to him. Without thinking, his feet sent him homeward while his mind buzzed in frustration. The level of poverty increased with every step closer to his family’s dwelling. William looked through the dim windows he passed, all too aware that the majority of the occupants were as illiterate as he was. At the end of his street he paused, and spun on his heel.
William may not have been able to read, but he could deduce. Despite having never ventured to the richer parts of the city he knew where they were, and headed there. Finding the door was easier than he thought it would be. Instinctively there was only one part of the city where the streets don names, conveniently that's where people of higher class lived. From there it was a game of matching, and patience.
It was quieter there. The air sweeter. The calm of the streets, and hush of the neighbourhood took William by surprise. As nervous as he was, he felt as if he could breathe for the first time in his life. And there it was, the letters above the street corner mirrored those drawn across his paper. Will lost the sensation of his feet as he dashed forth in excitement. The numbers climbed upwards until he found door number seventeen. William consulted the note four times before daring to step to the entrance. The paint over the door felt soft under his knuckles, the wood sturdy, booming his knock with its heft.
Seconds agonized unto eternities before the echoes of Lady Eve's heels announced her from behind the door. The latch clicked, and the entrance glided open. Warm golden light poured over William, and silhouetted the woman. She looked over the boy, and within young Will's eyes, Lady Eve saw a window.
Thanks for reading!
Wazoo!
-Mr. Write