The Gallery of Forgotten Dreams

by E. A. Owell

  ‘Oh, but I don’t know. Are you–’ started Mrs Reid.

  ‘Absolutely sure. It is my pleasure.’

  Mrs Cornish saw them into the exhibition room, and was distracted by an acquaintance of hers she had spotted.

  ‘You haven’t told us about Mrs Cornish,’ Eliza’s mum said to her.

  ‘Well, there hasn’t really been a reason. We’ve just met several times at the shop.’

  ‘She seems like a nice lady.’

  ‘She just couldn’t resist my charm,’ said Mr Reid with an air of quizzically exuberant self-importance.

  Mrs Reid nudged him in the ribs, chuckling.

  And so they emerged in the quite small exhibition area. It was a private gallery, so the halls were nothing in size like those in, say, the British Museum. There were two rooms: one with a permanent collection, the other with new exhibits. However, given it was the Reids’ first visit to the place, all of it was new to them. They slowly dispersed about the area and joined other visitors looking at the pictures.

  Eliza had no idea what kind of style or school these paintings represented or when they were created. She didn’t know much about art. But she was always able to appreciate a beautiful image, and that was exactly what she did. To her surprise, Eliza liked a lot of what she saw. There were, of course, a couple of pictures that had no appeal to Eliza whatsoever, but on the whole she was getting a very good impression of the displayed works.

  She took a particular liking of a painting in the new collection room. The painting showed a serene sandy beach, miles long it seemed, and a clear blue sea that almost seamlessly merged with the sky. It reminded Eliza a lot of her winter holidays. She even had a dream about it the other night, where she was running along the beach, barefoot, basking in the sun and dancing in the gentle breeze and laughing with joy…

  ‘I see you like this one,’ a voice behind Eliza said, bringing her back to reality. She turned and saw Mrs Cornish.

  ‘Yes, I really like it. I think it’s beautiful,’ said Eliza, still smiling at the painting. ‘Reminds me of my holiday.’

  ‘That is a beautiful painting, indeed. I quite like it myself. Glad we got it for our display,’ said Mrs Cornish, looking at the painting with a curious twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Cornish. I like it here.’

  ‘Oh, my pleasure, dear Eliza. You are welcome any time. So is your family. They are wonderful. Now I can see who you’re taking after.’

  ‘Thank you. They really are wonderful.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and see how things are going in the other hall. Enjoy, dear.’ And Mrs Cornish left to the permanent collection section.

  Eliza looked at the idyllic painting again. Just like in her dream. She looked at the plaque with the artist’s name. It said, ‘Leazi Dire’. Eliza thought Ms Dire must be a very talented painter. Unfortunately, there was no title for the picture. Eliza felt she would like to see the painting again. It brought her the sense of calm and quiet bliss. She had never felt something like that before by looking at a picture.

  She forced herself to tear the gaze off the painting and move on. There still were pictures to see. After another twenty minutes or so, she found her brother near one of them in the permanent collection room. A minute later their parents came over.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Mr Reid.

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Danny.

  ‘It’s great. There’s a wonderful picture that I’ve found. It’s so beautiful,’ said Eliza.

  ‘I like it here, too,’ said Mrs Reid, ‘some really quirky paintings, aren’t they?’

  ‘Do you want to enjoy the quirkiness some more or do you think we’re ready to go?’ Mr Reid asked his family.

  ‘I’m good to go,’ said Danny, who didn’t find the place that fascinating.

  ‘I think we’re ready to go. What do you say, Eliza?’ asked Mrs Reid.

  Eliza didn’t mind, as she had seen both collections in both rooms. The mission was complete. Although, she would definitely have to see that Leazi Dire picture again some time.

  They thanked Mrs Cornish for the visit, collected their clothes from the cloakroom and left the Cornish Gallery.

  ‘Is anyone hungry?’ Mr Reid asked once they were outside.

  His question was met with three voices in support of a good meal.

  Chapter 3

  January was passing by. Every day, Eliza went to school and afterwards to ‘Gregory’s Books.’ Although, she did not do it on weekends now as she sometimes used to. Mainly because everything was going well and there was no reason to do extra hours.

  Leaving on Friday, she knew there would not be a swarm of new scarlet books with broken promises on Monday. She didn’t have to stay in the Library till late in the evening, trying to cope with an ever-growing pile of the Revisers’ reports. The stacks were very neat and moderate in number. But Eliza’s help was still much appreciated.

  It was quite a busy time for the bookshop. The sales were on the rise and people kept coming. Mr Wood was attending to customers in the shop most of the time, rarely popping in the Library to make sure everything was fine.

  Eliza had more time for ‘plane chat’ with Tom and Rachael. It’s what they called sending the self-guided paper planes with notes to each other. It was fun. Eliza was very fond of these planes. They still seemed like a miracle to her. Generally, it seemed like the Library had become a comfortable part of her life.

  Since weekends were now completely free for Eliza, she had taken up skiing. It was a good alternative to football, which was more problematic to play in winter. And just across the road from Eliza’s block there was a beautiful pine forest, where people liked to go to for picnics in late spring and summer. In winter, it was a popular skiing spot. Not popular to the extent of being overcrowded, but popular enough to not let you feel completely abandoned among snowy trees.

  Eliza would go there with her friends and family. She was fascinated with that forest and those snow-topped trees. It felt as though the air did not move in that place, and all sounds had died down, except for birds going about their daily business.

  It was a very peaceful and magnetic place. There was something almost magical about it. You would expect to see some mythical creatures curiously looking out from behind trees. At least, Eliza did. Not that she had ever seen one, but she was always hopeful. Although she herself could hardly tell if she was serious about it.

  But quite often, even in this place, Eliza would find herself trailing off in her thoughts to the sunny beach and clear blue sea from the painting she saw in the Cornish Gallery a couple of weeks ago. She actually felt tempted to visit the gallery again.

  It was the beginning of February when Eliza had yet another encounter with Mrs Cornish. Naturally, it happened in ‘Gregory’s Books’. It seemed like the place had strangely become a traditional spot for them to accidentally bump into each other on a fairly regular basis. And, naturally, Mrs Cornish was conversing with Mr Wood.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Cornish,’ Eliza said more confidently than usually, since she no longer felt ashamed for not having visited the gallery.

  ‘Good evening, Eliza,’ Mrs Cornish replied with a polite smile.

  As Eliza walked on, she thought there was something strange. There was something odd about Mrs Cornish. She was wearing an extravagantly designed dress, as always, and had her pet dog under her arm, as was her custom, but something else didn’t quite fit. She looked… thoughtful. There wasn’t the usual air of carelessness about her. And her voice. It had the same kindness to it but it lacked its bubbliness.

  Before entering the Library, Eliza looked round at Mrs Cornish again. The old lady was still tall and dignified, if only appeared somewhat less confident in her stature.

  Soon enough Eliza forgot for a while about Mrs Cornish and concentrated on her work. The evening was very quiet. At the end of Eliza’s shift, Mr Wood came in.

  �
��How is it going here?’

  ‘All done,’ Eliza replied, putting a full stop and closing the notebook.

  ‘Good job, Eliza. Thank you.’

  ‘You are most welcome, sir.’

  She started collecting her stuff, getting ready to leave, and once again she found herself overpowered by curiosity.

  ‘Mr Wood, is everything all right with Mrs Cornish?’

  ‘Yes, I would say so. Why?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing. It’s just that she seemed, kind of, subdued or something.’

  ‘She is just a little bit tired, with the new collection and all. It’s not easy to run a gallery on your own.’

  ‘Isn’t Mr Cornish helping her out?’

  Mr Wood looked at Eliza fixedly and then said softly, ‘I’m afraid there is no Mr Cornish. Mrs Cornish is a widow.’

  There was a pause. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ said Eliza.

  ‘It’s all right. There is nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘How long has she been… widowed for?’

  ‘It’s been about ten years now, I believe.’

  Eliza considered this piece information. She didn’t know Mrs Cornish was a widow. Somehow, loss or any sort of misfortune and Mrs Cornish did not go together in Eliza’s mind. That charismatic lady was always so full of energy, so full of life and happiness. Or so it seemed.

  ‘They founded the Cornish Gallery together, Mr and Mrs Cornish. It had always been their dream. They were so happy and proud when the gallery finally opened its doors. I was one of the first visitors,’ said Mr Wood.

  ‘So you knew Mr Cornish?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘I did indeed, yes.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He was a very intelligent, well-educated, generous man. Mrs Cornish wouldn’t go for anyone less dignified. And he was a dreamer, and very fond of art. They both were. And that fact united and inspired them.

  ‘Their biggest dream was to open their own gallery, and so they did. When Mr Cornish passed away, Mrs Cornish was left alone to run the dream that had come true. It is now dear to her also as a memory of her husband. To be honest with you, I think it is now the only reason why she cares so much about the gallery.’

  Eliza was silent. Then she quietly asked, ‘How did he pass away?’

  ‘Age. Heart failure. Small consolation though it is, but at least his death was natural and rather quick. There are people who have it much worse.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, she is. Not entirely, of course. Not the way she used to be. They say, time heals, but does it really? Quite often, I think, people confuse healing with numbness. Time numbs. That doesn’t mean it heals.’ Mr Wood fell silent, looking at the candle on the desk. Little fire was reflected in his spectacles.

  Presently, he came round.

  ‘Well, I suppose I should let you go. Work is done and it’s getting late, so I think you should be on your way. I don’t want your parents to think I’m holding you hostage here.’ His crooked smirk and laughing eyes were back.

  ‘They won’t,’ Eliza smiled.

  She walked home thinking about what Mr Wood had told her. It made her sad. Not upset or depressed, but sad. She couldn’t quite tell whether she felt pity for Mrs Cornish, but somehow what she had learned had slightly changed her attitude towards the old lady. There was this new dimension to her now. New story. New light she could be seen in.

  That night Eliza had a dream. She dreamed that she was running along the wild sandy beach under the piercingly blue sky that was mirrored in the sea washing ashore. The sun bathed Eliza in warmth and a light breeze played with her hair. Suddenly, she saw a flower that grew at the foot of a large rock to her left. She came closer. The stem of the plant was growing straight upwards until it split into two thinner stems, which were supposed to have flowers on their ends. The flower on one of the stems was wonderfully beautiful and delicate. The other stem was cut short, with its flower missing.

  Chapter 4

  Eliza decided to go to the Cornish Gallery again on the weekend to have another look at the nameless painting by Ms Dire that she liked so much. She could not do it on Saturday, for she, together with her whole family, went to visit her grandparents.

  Eliza enjoyed seeing her grandma and granddad because they were really funny and used, it seemed, every opportunity to take the mickey out of themselves for being old and boring, thus proving exactly the opposite. Besides, Eliza’s grandparents were great storytellers and the time spent with them flew by.

  They got back home quite late that day, so Eliza postponed her visit to the gallery till the following day.

  On Sunday, however, she was not in a hurry to rush to the gallery. The day started off with a dazzling sunlight poking into Eliza’s room and playing on her face. When she had shaken off the sleep and looked out of the window, she realised it would be a complete folly to miss such a perfect day for ice skating.

  So after a Sunday morning bustle typical for the Reids, they finally set out to the pine forest across from their house where there was a frozen pond not too far in.

  The air was crisp and crystal clear. Breath turned into clouds of white vapour the moment it left nose and mouth. As the Reids entered the pine forest, immediately Eliza felt as if she had been transported into a different world. Everything around her glistened and sparkled with snow, as though diamond dust were scattered all over the place. The pines stood tall and proud and evergreen. The sky above their heads was infinitely deep and perfectly blue.

  They reached the pond, where several people were already skating. Without much delay, they joined in.

  Eliza was getting pretty good at it, although she still wasn’t up to Danny’s level. Mrs Reid was fairly decent but no one could rival Mr Reid, who, surprisingly, seemed to be as much in his element on ice as he was on the ground. Danny was his closest competitor, but not quite there yet.

  Mr Reid glided back and forth, turning, twisting and rushing past like wind. He did help the rest of his family every now and then, not without cracking a joke on them for it, of course. But every fallen Reid was helped up by him, which he miraculously seemed to do almost on the go.

  About an hour later, they were on their way back home, puffing, red-faced, and cheery. Needless to say, the way back took longer because of the snowball fight that had broken out. This time, however, it was Eliza and Danny who instigated the battle. All the same, it was jolly good fun, and they could even claim victory over their parents. That called for a celebratory cake, they judged.

  At home, this very cake was gone in a matter of minutes, downed with wonderfully hot tea. Eliza took some time to rest after such a satisfying meal, as she felt she was unable to move a limb for another half an hour at least.

  An hour later, she eventually thought that it was time to go to the gallery. She was a little bit reluctant to leave the comfort of the armchair and the company of her family, but she remembered the painting and made up her mind.

  Daylight had already begun to fade when Eliza left the house. As she walked to the gallery, the streetlights sprang to life, casting orange light on the darkening pavements. There were a lot of people in the street, going in all directions, and going quickly, too, for the early evening was getting chilly. Some time later, Eliza saw the gallery sign and hurried inside.

  The moment she opened the doors a wave of warmth engulfed her, making her shiver. At the cloakroom, as she was undoing her coat, the elderly attendant looked at her inquisitively. When Eliza handed over the coat, she finally asked, ‘Are you Eliza?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘Then you may go in for free. Mrs Cornish has instructed us,’ the attendant said, still looking at Eliza with interest.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Eliza and walked into the exhibition area, eager to escape the attendant’s look, which, she felt, was threatening to turn into an attempt at conversation.

  There were few people in the gallery at th
is time. The visitors leisurely roamed the space of the room from painting to painting, taking their time at each one. Mrs Cornish was nowhere to be seen. Eliza looked round the room where the new collection was displayed, spotted the picture she was looking for and made her way towards it.

  Here it was, the nameless painting by Leazi Dire. The sandy beach and the blue sea. And here Eliza was again, mesmerised by the landscape, almost feeling the hot sand under her bare feet and the cool breeze on her cheeks. She stood there, immobile, hardly seeing the painting, but rather what was beyond it. It was as if she were in her dream again. She was only vaguely aware of other people coming to the picture, looking at it and then moving on. She was in the gallery and on the beach at the same time. Suddenly, Eliza was brought back to reality.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the gallery will be closing in fifteen minutes,’ a voice announced through the speakers.

  Since it was Sunday, they must be closing early, Eliza thought. She admired the painting some more and then, before leaving, decided to do what she hadn’t done the first time she was here – she went to the permanent collection room, found the picture she and Danny had looked at together on their previous visit and moved on to the picture next to it, the only one she had not had the time to see.

  There was someone else standing in front of the painting, looking at it attentively, a middle-aged man with a great bushy moustache in a crumpled hat and a vast coat that covered his large figure.

  Eliza stood nearby, looking at the painting. In all honesty, she thought it was one of the ugliest pictures she had ever seen. It was bleak, shapeless and did not make any sense. It looked as if it had been drawn by a five-year-old who had no colours to paint with. It was greyish-brownish with black dots and little squares and lines. Eliza would not be able to tell what that was in a million years. She looked at the title of the painting. It said, ‘Beyond time’.

  Utterly confused by and completely uninterested in the picture, Eliza headed to the cloakroom.

  ‘Closing in five minutes,’ said the voice from the speakers.