S Through Younger Eyes

Through Younger Eyes.
"What's this then?" Old Tom curled his upper lip with distaste as he
peered down onto his plate at the congealing brown mess that his
grandson had called 'stew.'
"'Tisn't fit for th'pigs!" he cried, pushing it away in disgust.
Couldn't the lad do anything right, he wondered? He had come here to
live with him almost a year since, and still he didn't seem to have
mastered the simplest of tasks. Jonathan looked at his grandfather and
shrugged.
"Well, that's all there is," he said irritably. "If we lived near some
decent shops, I'd be able to buy some decent food. And if you'd get a
car we'd be able to go into town more often to buy it." He sighed,
because he had said it all before, and as usual it fell upon deaf ears.
He shook his head in exasperation at the old man whom he loved dearly,
but whose stinginess drove him to despair. His mouth watered as he
remembered the appetising meals that his mother used to cook for him -
pizza, burgers, battered cod - and chips! It had been a whole year
since he had tasted a chip. It had been a year since he had done a lot
of things that he used to take for granted. Simple things like watching
TV. It had been a year since he had lived in a proper house that was
clean - and which possessed a few of what his grandfather scathingly
called 'luxuries.' As far as Jonathan was concerned, a bath with water
that came from a tap and an inside loo were not luxuries - they were
necessities. And a few simple luxuries, such as a telephone, and a TV
wouldn't go amiss.
But Old Tom disagreed. He had lived in the remote ramshackle old
cottage for seventy years, and it had always been good enough for him.
And it had been good enough for his dear wife until she had passed away
twenty years before. And it had been good enough for Jonathan's father
until he had married that hussy from the town. At least, he thought,
something good had come from that unsuitable liaison - Jonathan. He
loved Jonathan very much, for he was a good-natured and warm-hearted
boy. But he couldn't begin to imagine why his sixteen-year-old grandson
was always complaining about the cottage. Oh, yes - it needed a few
repairs, but it was beautiful in its simplicity, and the things that
Jonathan wanted to put in it would only detract from its old-fashioned
charm. Old Tom didn't care about the flaking paint, the damp walls, the
lumpy sofa, the temperamental generator and the primitive sanitation.
He didn't care that the cottage remained unclean throughout most of the
year - or that the ancient furniture was falling to bits. He didn't
care because he could look out of any window and feast his old eyes on
the beauty of the wild northern landscape.
To the east of the cottage lay craggy mountains, to the west a forest,
and from north to south a bubbling brook that descended the undulating
valley in a series of waterfalls. Old Tom had no need of a TV, because
all the things he wanted to see were right on his doorstep. How he
wished that his grandson could see them too. He looked at Jonathan
searchingly.
"Tell me lad - what dost tha see when tha looks out there?" he asked.
Jonathan thought for a moment before replying,
"I see craggy rocks and boulders. And purple flowers. Oh yes, and some
grass." Jonathan was proud of his description, for it was rare that he
noticed anything much unless it was displayed in a shop window, or
advertised on the TV. But Old Tom shook his head sadly.
"Then tha doesn't see much, lad," he said. Jonathan bristled
indignantly.
"Well - what do you see?" he demanded. Old Tom smiled slowly.
"I see a dozen shades of purple as the sun casts its golden light on
the crags and the heather. I see the pink clover and mallow, the yellow
cowslips and buttercups, the silver yarrow and dropwort. I see the
bearded seed-heads of the traveller's joy as it lights up the distant
hedgerows. I see all the shades of green - emerald, olive, lime, sea,
pea, bottle, khaki and many more! I see the birds and the insects, and
the silver brook foaming and frothing down the mountain." He looked
scornfully at his grandson. "And you, with your younger eyes, see
nothing at all." He turned and walked out of the cottage, his head
bowed with disappointment. Jonathan heard him whistle his dog, and
watched as they disappeared into the wood. Miserably he sank down onto
the lumpy couch. If only his parents hadn't died&;#8230;..
He hated it here. He hated almost everything about his life and could
hardly wait until he was old enough to move away - back to the town
where he belonged. But he couldn't do much until he was eighteen. What
he really wanted to do was to persuade the old man that he would be
better off living in a more civilised surrounding. Even a small village
would be better than this frightening isolation, he reckoned. He would
soon realise the advantages of living in a society. Only once had his
grandfather asked him his opinion of the cottage, following a row about
the poor state of repair to which the old man seemed oblivious.
"Well, lad - what dost tha see when tha looks around it?" he had
asked.
"A dirty, shabby mess," Jonathan had replied, shortly. And Tom had
looked at him sadly.
"Well, lad. I'll tell tha what I see. I see a beautiful woman who
stitched every curtain and cushion with her own hands. I see a young
child laughing and playing with his bricks by the fireside. I see every
stick of furniture that was chosen with love and pride. I see warmth
and love in every nook and cranny. But you see none of these things
because you won't look." Jonathan tried in vain to see the cottage
through his grandfather's eyes.
When his grandfather returned from his walk he was carrying a dead
rabbit and a bunch of wild herbs. Jonathan watched as he removed the
skin, and his stomach lurched. He wouldn't eat it. He would starve
first.
But he did eat it and it was, he had to admit more delicious than the
pizzas and frozen hamburgers that he had craved earlier. When they had
eaten, Tom sat back in his old chair and scrutinised his grandson's
face. But Jonathan wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting that
he had enjoyed his dinner, and he buried his nose in a magazine.
When it grew dark, Old Tom stood up and yawned.
"Time for bed, lad," he said. "There's the hens to be fed first light.
Tha can do that for me, lad, can tha?" Jonathan nodded, and his
grandfather turned to go upstairs.
"You've forgotten your Bible," said Jonathan, picking it up from the
table and holding it out. But Old Tom shook his head.
"My old eyes aren't so good, lad. I'll leave off reading
tonight."

The next morning Jonathan rose and padded downstairs, where Tom would,
as usual be brewing tea. But he wasn't there, and the curtains were
still closed. Jonathan raced upstairs in alarm and hurried into his
grandfather's room without knocking. Old Tom was sitting up in bed, a
blank expression on his face.
"What's the matter, Granddad?" asked Jonathan. Tom's face showed no
emotion as he said, flatly,
"It's gone. Me sight has finally gone." It took Jonathan a moment to
realise the implications of his grandfather's words. Then he sank down
on the bed and took his hand.
"I'll be your eyes, Granddad," he said. But Tom shook his head.
"Tha couldn't, lad. Because tha doesn't see. Tha can't look into
things like I could. Tha sees only what's on the outside. Nay, lad -
I'll stay here in me bed and I'll not rise from it until one of us can
see." Tears coursed down his cheeks. "But I'll likely stay forever in
me bed, lad - for both things are impossible."
But Jonathan couldn't bear to see the old man's pain.
"Teach me, Granddad. Teach me to see like you used to - and then you
can get up and see the world again through my eyes."
"Go and look outside, then," he ordered. "And tell me what tha sees."
Jonathan went to the window and threw back the curtains. Dawn was
breaking over the mountains and the sky was stained with colour. He
chose his words carefully, for he knew how important this moment was
for both of them. What he said would determine whether or not his
grandfather regained the will to go on living. He tried to remember
some of the expressions that he had read in his poetry classes at
school. He tried to remember the way in which Old Tom had described
things to him in the past.
"I can see orange and gold creeping through the sky, like the yolk of
an egg on a plate. And it's changing the colour of the mountains from
grey to silver and from brown to gold. The heather seems to be waking
up as the sun passes over it! It's beautiful, Granddad! The brook is
like a torrent of soapsuds washing the rocks, and there's a mist all
around one of the waterfalls - and there's a rainbow in it. I can see a
few trees out of the corner of the window, and their leaves are shaking
gently in the breeze. The grass is shimmering under the sun, and I can
see splashes of red and white, though I don't know the names of the
flowers." He turned to his grandfather and saw that the old man was
looking at him and smiling.
"I have deceived thee," he said. "For I haven't lost me sight at all.
But I'm not sorry, lad - for now you with your younger eyes can see
better than I."