Secret Treasures

Anthony remembered watching his grandfather painting. There was the smell of oil paints and thinners and the sounds of the brush swishing and grandfather humming. Grandfather used a wooden box to store his paints. Anthony loved the squishy tubes and bright colours.

When his grandfather died, the box and an old painting were given to Anthony with a note that said, “You will know what to do with these.”

“What old junk!” Anthony’s brother said scornfully.

Anthony ran upstairs and banged the door to his room. He gripped the box and painting tightly while hot tears ran down his cheeks.

His mom came in and hugged him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Your brother is going through a difficult stage.”

“Mom, I need a hammer,” Anthony said.

“What for?” his mom asked suspiciously.

“To hang the picture,” Anthony said.

Then they both looked at each other and smiled.

He was banging a hook into his wall when part of the plaster fell away. He found that one of the bricks underneath was loose and carefully he edged it out.

“Perfect,” he said and slid the wooden box into the space left by the brick.

He banged another nail into the wall and hung the painting over the hole. This way, mom would not get upset, and he had a secret hiding place.

The next morning, Anthony’s brother yelled, “Wake up lazy!”

There wasn’t time for breakfast and they had to run all the way to school.

Anthony daydreamed till home time. Then on the way home, he heard a voice.

“Did you call me?” he asked his older brother.

“No,” his brother said pulling a face.

Then Anthony saw a feather by his shoe. It was bright blue and gold with an emerald tip. He put it in his pocket and took it home to put in his treasure box.

That night, Anthony lay on his bed staring at the stars his grandfather had painted on his ceiling. He dreamed that the feather belonged to a magical bird that sang in a foreign language and belonged to an Asian prince.

The next morning, his brother woke him up yelling, “Hey, nutcase! Time for school! Hurry up!”

His brother walked ahead with his friends and Anthony lagged behind. Then on the grass, Anthony saw a pebble. Smooth, polished and peachy pink, it felt slippery and cool in his hand. It made him think of a palace, with tall minarets, reaching into the clouds.

“Wake up!” his brother called, “We’re here!”

Anthony spent recess looking for interesting things for his treasure box, but found nothing.

Then on his way home, he saw a piece of thread hanging from the leaf of a tree. It looked like the purple silken embroidery from a prince’s robe. Anthony put it in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” his brother said suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Anthony said and ran the rest of the way home.

He shut the door to his room and wished he had a key! Then he got on his bed, took down the painting and pulled out his treasure box. He looked at the feather, stone and piece of thread.

“All calling me,” he said, “Why?”

Then he hid them away carefully again.

The next day, Anthony’s brother woke him up yelling, “Hurry up lazy!” and they scrambled to school again.

On the way home in the middle of a busy, crowded street, Anthony found a shell. It was pearly white and when he held it to his ear, he heard soft whispers.

“What?” Anthony said and tried to listen harder and that was when his brother pulled him out of the road.

“What are you doing, you mad moron?” his brother yelled, “You were nearly run over by a bus!”

Anthony ran all the way home and shut the door to his room. He listened to the shell.

“Find me,” it whispered.

That night, he had the strangest dream. An Asian prince was bowing and greeting him and his grandfather.

The next day, Anthony woke up early, even though it was a Saturday. He went for a walk and saw pieces of coloured glass. He picked one up and then found more – like a trail. They were all different shapes, sizes and colours.

One piece lay on the step of an old shop. He picked it up and went inside. He couldn’t see anyone, but the shop was full of very old things. He heard noises at the back and followed the sounds.

The first thing he noticed was the familiar smell of paint and thinners. Then he saw an old man bent before a painting, rubbing gently.

“Hello,” Anthony said.

“Hello,” the old man said, adjusting his glasses, “I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“What are you doing?” Anthony said, coming closer.

“Trying to restore this painting,” the old man said, “Sometimes old paintings get very worn and dark with age.”

“My grandfather was an artist,” Anthony said, “He did lots of pictures…” his voice trailed away, “Oh!”

“What is it?” the old man asked.

“I’ll be back,” Anthony said and ran all the way home.

When he ran back into his room, he saw his brother with a group of friends. They had found his treasure box and pulled all his things out.

“What trash!” his brother said, “No sweets or comics? Fine brother you are!”

Then Anthony screamed, shouted, kicked and bit. His mother had to pull him off his brother, still yelling and shouting. Anthony could hear his mother talking quietly and angrily with his brother in the passage.

He took the old painting off the wall and ran back to the old shop. The man was still working at the back.

“Excuse me,” Anthony said, “What about this painting? Could you restore it?”

The old man looked at him strangely for a while and then put Anthony’s painting on an easel. He dabbed at it to test it with a piece of cloth and then his hand trembled.

“How strange,” he said to Anthony, “I think I know who it is.”

“Who is it?” Anthony said.

“The young Raja. They called him ‘The Little Prince’.”

Anthony asked, “Would he wear a turban and have slanting brown eyes? Would he live in a pink palace with singing birds and wear a purple robe?”

“Have you seen the picture before?” the old man said, looking at Anthony a little strangely.

“Yes,” Anthony said excitedly, “In my dream.”

“Well,” was all the old man could say, “Well.”

After a lot of hard work, the painting was restored to its original brilliance. There was the young Raja, peacocks and in the background, a pink palace.

“How beautiful,” Anthony’s mother sighed. “What will you do with it?”

“The gallery wants to buy it,” Anthony said, “And I think it would be nice for everyone to be able to see it.”

“You’re right,” his mother said and even his brother nodded.

There was something else Anthony had decided. He wanted to go to college to study art. The money from the painting would be put aside for him – and his brother.

His mother gave him a big hug and said, “It’s just what your grandfather would have wanted.”