The Younger Son. A Tale.
Clara never quite understood how she and Victor managed to produce such a clever lad. Both of them had left school after the ninth year, thanks mostly to teachers whod taken pity on them. Everyone has their own gift, as the saying goes: Clara could coax a seed into a blooming flower within a week, while Victors hands were practically goldplated.
They had four children the eldest, Margaret, then a second daughter, Nora, and finally two boys born on the same day Sam and Paul. Paul was the bright orange of the bunch, a real firecracker who, before he was three, spoke better than Nora could. When he started school, the teachers were practically speechless he read, wrote and multiplied with such ease that they promptly placed him in the second form.
It might have seemed unfair to the other kids, but Paul was Claras special project. He was excused from chores, and whatever he asked for books, a microscope, a new set of paints she bought it for him. Even when the tough early nineties hit a time when the country was in tatters and Claras whole world seemed to crumble, losing both her husband and her eldest helper, Mary, in a single year she never stopped looking after her son. She kept sending him to the city for studies.
What on earth are you thinking about, Clara? the neighbours would ask, having seen Sam hauling water from the public tap, Nora weeding the garden, and Paul lounging on a bench reading a book. Do you really expect him to bring you a glass of water in his old age? Hell be off on his own, and thatll be the end of it.
Ill be the judge of that! Clara would retort. I do what I want.
The children werent shy about voicing their complaints either.
Why am I the one chopping firewood while hes solving equations? Sam would whine.
Well, sit down and solve a few if you like, Clara would grin.
Sam would pick up a textbook, stare at it for five minutes, then slam it shut and declare, Its nonsense, Id rather be out chopping wood!
Nora, however, bore the brunt of the resentment. She openly rebelled against Pauls privileged status, constantly plotting little tricks tossing his notebook into the fire, slipping a rotten egg into his shoe.
You always give him the best bits, shed shout. And hell leave you high and dry, shed echo the neighbours gossip.
When Paul went away to study, the house grew quieter, and Clara found herself clinging a bit more to her youngest son.
At first he sent long, detailed letters about his academic life a world that Clara could barely follow. Gradually the letters became fewer, his visits rarer the neighbours prediction proved right. It pained Clara, though she never let the sorrow show. In the end, the boy grew up and became a proper gentleman.
Nora married a man from the neighbouring village. Victor didnt think much of the soninlaw a daydreamer who kept conjuring up fresh schemes to get rich, only to burn through his money each time. His latest idea was to open a bakery, a venture that, thanks to a denied loan, would never see the light of day.
Sam stayed at home, not rushing into marriage despite a steady supply of suitable prospects.
Mother, Id love a bit more freedom! Ive been dreaming of buying a car. Not a clappedout old banger, but a proper foreign model. Can you picture me in one? hed say.
Clara would sigh, What sort of car, Sam? Youre dreaming like a poet, Arsen. Dreams wont put bread on the table.
She meant it in a teasing way, of course. Sam took a job with his father, spruced up the old farmhouse until it looked pictureperfect, worked as a tractor driver and was good at finding shortcuts. Clara never complained; she had a decent son, after all.
As for Paul, Clara had no idea where he was. It had been a year since any word, the last being that hed gone off for work somewhere, who knew where.
One bright morning a sleek new car pulled up in front of the cottage. Clara, thinking someone was lost and looking for directions, opened the gate and stepped onto the road. The vehicle sounded its horn so loudly that a flicker of hope sparked in her mothers heart.
Standing beside the car was Paul. Though she hadnt seen him in two years, he was unmistakable tall, broadshouldered, with golden curls that reminded her of her late husband, Victor. Handsome, indeed. The neighbours peeked out of their windows, eager to see that Paul hadnt forgotten his mother.
Clara rushed to him and pulled him into a tight hug. My dear boy, youre not a phantom after all, she whispered, tears of relief shining.
Sam met his brother with a hint of envy.
Nice car youve got, he remarked.
It isnt even mine, Paul laughed.
Then whose is it? Sam asked, curiosity easing his jealousy.
Yours, Paul tossed him the keys. Take it, Ive already sorted the paperwork; well swing by the solicitor later.
Sam stared at his mother, bewildered. She merely smiled.
Thanks, brother, Sam managed, cheeks reddening. But its a bit pricey, isnt it?
Its not more expensive than a good education, Paul replied. Wheres Nora?
Noras married, Clara quickly explained. She lives in the next village. Her husband is a hardworking fellow, and theyre expecting a raise soon.
Married, you say? Then we should pay them a visit. Drive us, Sam, in that new motor.
Nora greeted them, a bit flustered, her husband Arsen already bragging about how successful hed become, how theyd soon open that bakery and live like kings.
Youre a chatterbox, Nora snapped at him. You didnt even get a loan for a bakery. Dont listen to him, Paul; hes a dreamer.
Paul smiled. Dont worry, well sort the bakery out. Just tell me how much you need and Ill transfer the money.
A stunned Arsen stared at Paul, doubtful. Hed already heard from his wife that her brother was a lazy layabout.
Meanwhile Paul slipped a small red box from his pocket and handed it to his sister.
This is for you, Nora.
She opened it carefully to find the most exquisite gold earrings set with emeralds that matched her eyes. She gasped, slipped them on, spun before the mirror and declared, Thanks, Paul. Ive been begging Arsen for earrings for ages, and all he ever gave me was a meat grinder!
Clara sat back, quiet and content. Perhaps her son would soon bring her a gift earrings, a bracelet, maybe even a washing machine.
But the only present came when Nora mentioned that her mother would be discharged from the hospital after giving birth. Paul said, Just a short stay, Nora. Ill take Mum with me, if shes willing, of course.
Clara stared at him, bewildered. Take me with you? Where? How?
I dont know what about the house? Paul asked.
The house? Sam will be living there, and well have a new lady in charge. Im missing you, Mum, terribly. Come with me? If you dont like it, you can always return.
Clara didnt know what to think. Her whole life, Victors memory, the empty rooms of her cottage yet across the road was her beloved son and a whole new, unfamiliar world. She wondered what Victor would have said.
She imagined his ghost at the doorstep hat askew, calloused hands clasped over his chest.
Whats there to think about, Clara? You raised him for a better life. Its time you saw it too, otherwise youll never know if it was all for nothing or not.
She smiled and answered, Why not take the trip?
