The Ogre's Paintbrush

A modern fairytale, using old techniques.

THE OGRE’S PAINTBRUSH

 

The relentless sun was beating down on the desert township where Karl and his family had always lived. The sky was a harsh, hard blue in its beauty. The colours were all differing tones of pale beiges to almost dark browns in the landscape. Life on the farm was not much more than living in a dust bowl. Inside the house was nearly as dusty as the outside. The rain would come and turn everything into a mud patch. Karl’s grandfather died on a terribly hot night, when breathing was the hardest thing the human body had to do. On such nights, there was no breeze and the air conditioning was at its coolest. It was impossible to sleep without it, in spite of governmental efforts to advise the general public not to exaggerate with it. The old man had died because his hour had come, the machinery had worn down, and he needed the eternal rest that death brings.

The locals all knew one another, and it was amazing how many recognized faces appeared generation after generation at weddings, christenings, and funerals. It was a continuous kaleidoscope of humanity. The only things that seemed to change were the styles of the clothes worn. If any stranger were to take a look at the photograph albums of the families, the only differences that would have stood out, would have been the women’s hair do’s and the length of their skirts. The rest was not the same, but not far off it. Life in a small town was not considered to be that of luxury, only of - hard work.

The funeral went off in the usual way when the main participant is the right age and has led the typical life of hard work and dedication to family. The will, when read, did not produce any untoward surprises. The land was to be shared amongst his children and the house for his daughter, who had tolerated him, and had looked after him in the last years of his life.

That met with everyone’s approval. Karl, the youngest of the grandchildren, inherited the old man’s paintbrushes and other tools of his trade. Karl had been considered the laziest and slowest of the members of the family since he had been born. The grandfather had created a good decorating business, and had become quite well-known for being the best painter and decorator for miles around. Nobody did a better job, and now Karl had inherited his old brushes, and little notebooks on mixing advice to get the best colours. The other young members were amused when they knew what Karl’s inheritance was.

 

A few days later Karl went into the shed where his grandfather had always kept his paintbrushes. He was a tall lanky youth, who never said much. Some people thought he was simple, but he wasn’t one for idle talk, and never spoke unless he had to, but when he did - he made sense.

 

The large box of brushes, whose contents looked clean and ready for use, was in the shed where grandfather had spent most of his life when at home. The rest of his life was used in painting and decorating other people’s homes. Karl knew every article in the box, and looked over it all with a tinge of sadness, that his beloved grandfather wasn’t there with him.

There was one old brush that Karl had often asked his grandfather about. The boy didn’t understand why on earth the old man, who was quite well-off, would want to hang on to such a worn-out thing. The rest of the brushes, on closer inspection, were in better shape, and after searching among them so as to see if they were worth being called an inheritance, Karl took the notebooks out, then put the box on a shelf, and went out, locking the door behind him.

Karl took the notebooks up to his bedroom, and found a letter from his grandfather, who tried to explain from beyond the grave some things about himself and the brushes.

 

Dear Karl,

Ever since you were born, I knew you would be the next painter and decorator in the family. My grandfather left the brushes to me as my inheritance, and now I’m leaving them to you. Your father doesn’t need the brushes, his eyes are set on other things. In a far off country where it snows very heavily for months, my grandfather lived as a small boy. He started off his working life as an errand boy. Everyone knew him, and gave him little jobs to do. One day, on one of his jobs he went to a house where the owner was a painter and decorator. The man gave him some brushes and paint to do a special job that had to be done as soon as possible. The boy took the paints and brushes to the house he was to decorate, and his heart felt faint on seeing how big it was. His first thought was to dump everything and run away. But, where to? The snow was thick and deep, and he had no money. The owner saw him standing outside the house and said, “The job won’t take long. It never does. Please come in.”

My grandfather knew nothing about the brush to use, and asked, “Which brush would be the best in this case?”

The owner said, “The one with the fairly broad bristles.”

My grandfather had no idea how to mix colours, but the owner said not to worry. He began painting, and went on painting all through the day, right up to the evening. He never felt tired, and continued painting until there were no more walls to paint. My grandfather had no notion of the time he had taken to paint the whole of the upstairs and downstairs of the house. As he stood in the middle of the hall, and wondering if everything was all right, the owner went up to him and said, “That is a magic brush you have there, and you must look after it. Fortunately, it looks rather old and dirty, so I suppose you won’t get it stolen. The magic brush, and the ones that are with it in the bag, were stolen from an ogre hundreds of years ago. The man who has the brushes is never out of work.”

My grandfather didn’t react against the story of the magic brush, but just stood in the hall, wondering if he was dreaming. Who had ever heard of a magic paintbrush? The gentleman of the house, who had told him the story and had given him the job of painting his house, smiled at my grandfather, and said, “As long as you look after the brush, you will have no problems.” He began spinning my grandfather around and then let go. The man had gone. Vanished. And had left my grandfather with the brushes and instructions on how to mix paint.

I’m leaving to you what my grandfather left to me. You should make a handsome living out of painting and decorating. Well, now you are the one responsible for making sure nothing serious happens to the brushes.

From your loving grandfather, Karl Joseph.

 

Karl read the letter through several times, and then burnt it. He thought his grandfather would have expected it of him. Karl went to the small office where he had seen his grandfather writing everything down in ledgers. After a few hours, he had a greater understanding of what the local people wanted in the decoration in their homes. He decided to tart up his mother’s bathroom.

First of all, he went to the sanitary ware shop and chose the porcelain there. He then went to a ceramic tile centre, and made his choice, based on what his grandfather had written down. The orders were written down, and he went home to work out his plan.

After a week, Karl’s mother saw the new bathroom goods arrive, and felt happy that her son had been chosen to inherit grandfather’s business. The old bath, lavatory, bidet, and washbasin, were all ripped out. The floor dug up and renewed, the walls were tiled, and the other fittings were fixed into place. Last of all, Karl painted the bathroom door. The windows were made of plastic and didn’t need paint. The magic paintbrush didn’t have much work to do that day. When Karl’s mother saw her new bathroom, she let out a shriek of joy, “Just like grandfather would have done it. Thank you, lovely boy.”

 

Karl then knew he would have to be guided by his late grandfather. The next jobs came through more of his relatives who wanted to use him as a cheap decorator. But Karl held fast and asked for a realistic price, which stunned some of the more daring ones into an uneasy silence. Just as his grandfather before him, Karl began to build up a lucrative business. Living in the age he did, with internet, he was able to advertise himself to a wider section of the population. Karl’s fame grew as a good painter and decorator, and at times he felt he might get help, until he remembered that the magic paintbrush was how he made his living.

 

One day, he made up his mind to travel, and he packed up his tools and set out to discover new lands. The first trip he made was by train to a coastal resort he had seen photos of in a magazine. Karl saw some painters working on a high rise building and then, on the next building he saw, he offered his services.

“I’ve only just arrived here and I need work. I’m an experienced painter and decorator and I’m sure my work will be up to your standard.”

The man who took him on, thought that Karl was a village boy and green behind the ears, and said, “All right, then. You have a lot of apartments to paint in a short time. The list of colours is on this sheet of paper. You have one week to do the work. The apartments aren’t very big, so you should have a reasonable amount of time to do the work.”

Karl decided to start from the top, and saw the boss of the site walk off and get into an enormous car. He went up by lift, and had the list of colours in one hand and the brushes in the other. Meanwhile the boss, who was called Antoine, went home to look at a football match on the television. Karl got stuck into the painting and with the magic paintbrush soon had the matter under control. He never knew why, but the magic brush gave him extra energy, and he was capable of working flat out for far longer than any other painter. Antoine had said a week to finish the building. In three days the flats were all painted, and well done too. Karl rang Antoine and said, “Boss, the building is finished and is looking great. You’d better come round and see it and say what you think.”

Antoine, who thought he would have a quiet life for a week with Karl painting the apartments, said, “Are you sure you’ve done every apartment? You’ve only taken three days, and not the full week. I’ll be round in a while to check up on your work. OK?”

“Sure, Boss. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Karl had cleaned his brushes and put them away. He didn’t want Antoine seeing what he worked with. Antoine got to the building in a very short time, and went in with Karl to examine the paint work. They went up to the top floor and worked their way down to the entrance, which Karl had also painted. He stared at Antoine’s face, and said, “Well, what’s your verdict on my paint work?”

Antoine, who had had reservations about Karl’s painting abilities, said, “This is wonderful. I’ll be able to tell the owners of the apartments they can move in. Thanks a lot Karl. How would you like to do some more work for me?”

“Well, if you like, but I’m a man with a mission, and that is to see as much of the world as I can while I’m still single. How long would this new job take?”

“Not long, seeing as how you seem dedicated to work. It’s to paint my beach house, which has been left to the insects and the sand. Everything is very dirty and faded. I’ve drawn up some possible colours for the walls. It will need painting inside and out, and when you see it, you might be afraid of the work it involves. It’s up to you whether you take it on or not. As you’ve done so well with the apartments making my life so much easier, I’ll pay you double of what I said originally.”

Karl was happy about the money, as it would come in handy for the next part of his mission.

 

At the weekend, Antoine and Karl went to the beach house. The location was beautiful, but the house was in a bad state of needy decoration. Karl said he would sleep in the house while decorating it.

 

As the sun was rising over the sea, Karl got up and after a frugal breakfast, he began mixing paint, and when it was all ready he took out the magic paintbrush and painted until lunchtime. By then, the whole of the top floor of the house with its four bedrooms and two bathrooms was all finished. He had lunch, and then painted the staircase and banisters, as well as the walls. Antoine had provided a long ladder so that Karl could reach the highest parts of the ceiling.

On arriving on the ground floor, Karl saw the light was fading and twilight was announcing its presence. He opened the front door to let some air into the house and free it from the smell of paint. The downstairs rooms didn’t represent any problems as far as he could see, and putting his sleeping bag and tool bag on the floor, after a quick wash in the kitchen, he slid into the sleeping bag and immediately fell asleep.

The next day was very much like the previous one, and Karl got down to work as early as possible. He worked and worked till the late afternoon. He spent the night in his sleeping bag once more and slept the deep sleep of the exhausted.

Work on the exterior started the next day. First of all, he brushed down the surface to see if any damage had been done to the house since its abandonment. Karl then painted the top part of the house in the colour chosen by Antoine. The windows and the shutters were painted as a contrast. The magic paintbrush never stopped working, back and forth all day long. By lunch time the top had been done and the house shone in its pristine beauty. The people who walked by were amazed by the change with just a lick of paint. Karl kept working and working until it began to get dark. He had only the front door to do, and then he would be able to go to sleep for the night. He painted it black, in a satin paint, which gave the door a smooth shiny finish.

He stood outside on the pavement and gazed at his work in the pale light of the lamp posts. He was over-tired and only wanted to continue on his journey of discovery. One thing he had learnt was not to be so keen to work, but to take things as they come. He crawled into his sleeping bag once more and slept.

 

The next morning, he rang Antoine, and told him the job was finished and would he like to see it. The two men walked round the exterior of the house, with Antoine mouth open at the wonderful sight of his beach house, which out-shone all the others. When he saw the whole interior painted and clean, he didn’t have words to thank Karl enough.

Karl wasn’t up to working so hard for the time being, and told Antoine, who paid him handsomely. “Antoine, I’m very tired and I need to have a rest to recuperate my energy before working again.”

“In all honesty, I have never met anyone who can work as fast as you - and as well. You’ve spoilt me, and I feel sorry for the next painters and decorators I employ. You have shown me hard work can be achieved without too much effort. Thanks a lot, Karl. Where are you off to, then?”

“I’m not really sure, but certainly not the beach, it’s too hot for me.”

Antoine watched Karl walk out of his life, and from then on, he kept Karl as a measure in his life.

 

The beach had done Karl in, due to the heat and humidity, and as a result he made for the interior and the countryside. The journey there was made in a very old and slow bus. Karl slept most of the way, and woke up as the bus was entering the last village on the route. He grabbed his bag and got down from the bus, and made for the centre of the place. He couldn’t have landed in a sleepier spot, and wondered if many people actually lived there. The driver seeing Karl’s predicament, said, “If you need somewhere to stay, there is a guest house with a restaurant and a couple of bars just along the road. There are other hotels, but this one isn’t at all bad. It has an excellent reputation. It’s run by Madame Starlight, and it’s called, Sky’s The Limit Guest House.”

Karl followed the driver’s instructions and walked in the direction indicated. The sign outside the Guest House was a bright blue sky, full of stars, moons, and planets, and the sense that the picture was in motion all the time. He opened the door, which led to the reception room with a large desk behind which sat the strangest lady Karl had ever seen. He walked up to her, and asked, “Are you Madame Starlight?”

The lady looked him up and down and then narrowed her eyes, which were almost black, before answering, “Yes, I am, and I know who you are. There is a room already prepared for you. My husband will take you up to it.”

“Come now, follow me,” a voice said behind Karl. It was the bus driver who bent down and picked up Karl’s bag.

Karl was stupefied by all that was taking place, and felt as if nothing was real. Anselm, both husband and bus driver, showed Karl into his room, and left the few things belonging to him on the floor.

“How do you know who I am?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you. Antoine is my brother, and when he saw your paint work he rang us to give the good news.”

“What good news is that?”

“Many years ago a mortal stole the magic paintbrush from our ancestor. All right, he was an ogre, but we’re no longer ogres. But he was, and he frightened all those who lived in the surrounding villages. One of your ancestors stole the magic paintbrush and made off with it. We’ve been looking for it ever since. So, now we have you in our power we’d like you to return it to us.”

Karl thought to himself that he had never heard so much twaddle in his life. The paintbrush had nothing special about it to have warranted hundreds of years chasing after it, so he tried to bluff his way out. “Maybe the story is true, there is nothing to prove it or disprove it. Quite frankly, I’m tired and only want to sleep. If you want it so badly, then take it, and leave me in peace. There’s nothing special about it anyway.”

Karl opened the bag and handed Anselm all his paintbrushes. “Here take the lot, I’m fed up with decorating anyway. I think I’ll go back home and work with my father in his decorating shop.”

Anselm picked up the bag of brushes and left Karl alone in the room. The young man was soon asleep in the bed. A few hours later, Karl woke up to a terrible din and went downstairs. He felt very hungry and was still tired. Madame Starlight was sitting at the reception desk, and Karl asked what the possibilities of having a good dinner were. She said it would be fine. At that moment there was another sound of a terrible din. She told Karl to stay where he was, and she would bring him some food and drink.

The noise died down, and then Madame Starlight appeared carrying a bowl of hot food and a glass of beer which she placed in front of Karl. He was also given a huge chunk of bread to clean his plate with. When he had finished, he went back upstairs to sleep again - which he did.

During the night there were more scenes of screaming and shouting, doors opening and closing, with a great deal of banging. Still, Karl slept on, it was just as the night was ending the noises stopped. There was complete silence till the dawn had broken and the household was moving around again.

Karl got out of bed feeling like a new man and refreshed, and then he saw his bag of brushes was on the floor by the bed. He opened it and realized there was nothing missing. He got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Madame Starlight was not at her best, she looked as if she hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night. Anselm entered the dining-room and waited until Karl had finished his breakfast before approaching him. “Good morning, young man.”

Karl said nothing, waiting for the older man to explain why he had returned the brushes. “Thank you for giving me back my brushes.”

“The brushes insisted on staying with you. They kicked up a real fuss and said their rightful owner was you.”

“You told me that an ancestor of yours, who was an ogre, had lost his brushes to a thief. What am I supposed to believe?” he asked.

“The brushes are yours. They won’t do anything for us.”

“I could have told you, that you should never take something that isn’t yours, because in the end it will give you away.”

 

Karl said farewell to Madame Starlight, and accompanied by Anselm went to the bus. “I’m not sure where to go. Have you any ideas?”

Anselm drove for many kilometres until the road disappeared into cloud. Karl was asleep again and stayed that way, till Anselm said, “Come on, Karl. You must wake up, the train to take you home is here.”

Karl woke up, and saw he was in a railway station, and Anselm was standing beside the bus. “Come on! There’s no time to waste.” Anselm pushed Karl past the ticket collector and onto the platform where a train was patiently waiting. Karl climbed up the steps and turned round to say ‘Goodbye’ to Anselm, but he only saw the rear of the bus enter the clouds.

 

The journey back home was uneventful, and soon Karl was back with his mother and father. He didn’t say much. He never had done. So everyone thought he must have had a boring time.

Karl told his father he never wanted to paint ever again, and he would work in the Do It Yourself shop with him. Everyone was happy with Karl’s decision.

 

One night Karl woke up to hear a little voice say, “Karl, please burn us, and put the ashes under the giant oak in your garden, where we can rest in peace.”

Karl knew it was the magic paintbrush talking, and taking the bag of brushes down to the garden, lit a small fire, and burnt the lot. When the ashes were cool enough to handle, he buried them a short distance from the oak. Karl then went back to bed, and forgot all about the incident.

 

Many months later, his mother went into the kitchen one morning, and said, “There’s a strange little tree growing near the oak. I wonder what it can be.”

 

Karl went outside and stared down at the strange little tree, that if you looked closely, was very much like a paintbrush. Karl spoke to the plant, saying, “I kept my promise. Now you can live as you always wanted, and you won’t have to work any more.”