do? He threw it back in the river again. What could you do with a ninny
like that?
Keir lived to please his
parents, Hector and Elizabeth. Getting things right was the best way he knew of
earning their approval. Whenever he went fishing, he prided himself on catching
at least five or six good-sized fish. Today, he had caught eight, a record.
Unfortunately it was not in his nature to be satisfied for long. As he heaved
the heavy basket onto his shoulder, he was whistling happily, but on the long
trudge back, his spirits began to fail, and by the time the two boys got home,
Keir was miserable. Why had he not caught more fish? he asked himself. He could
have done, should have done. Glumly, he received his father’s congratulations.
‘Eight fish! And big ones too! Well done, Keir! Well done, indeed! Mum will be
delighted. Run along to the kitchen and show her your catch.’ Hector then made
a big show of rummaging around in Arthur’s basket, pretending to look surprised
that it was empty. ‘I expect they jumped back in the river, eh, Arthur?’
Arthur could come home with an
empty fishing basket and still make his father happy. To Keir it made no sense.
Dad was always going on about how everything had to be logical. How logical was
it to be satisfied with failure? Was he not always telling his sons to use the
gifts God gave them, and how they must do the very best they could? Yet here he
was ruffling Arthur’s hair as if he had done something to be proud of. At times
like this, Keir hated his brother.
Fortunately, Arthur was not
competitive, and excelled at nothing of any importance, though he did have a
natural aptitude for ball games. At the local primary school he was opening bat
for the first team, and much admired as a spin bowler; at soccer and tennis he
also showed considerable promise. In general, though, there was nothing
outstanding about him, except perhaps that he seemed to have a special
relationship with animals; cats and dogs, like fish, followed him around; birds
would fly down from trees and perch on his shoulder as he walked; on a horse,
though he had never had a lesson, he was completely at ease. Some people said
that horses spoke to him, though no one had actually heard them do it.
At school Arthur was
well-liked, though no one took him seriously, least of all his teachers who had
given him up as an academic prospect. Arthur found more to interest him in a
shaft of sunlight than in boring lessons. What, for example, were those
billions of specks of floating dust that appeared and disappeared as the
sunlight came and went? To Arthur, it was obvious they were visitors from
another solar system. Why else would they be beaming down through the classroom
window? And what were they doing in a shaft of sunlight, scaled down to
microscopic size? The only question was, were they friends or foes? It amazed
him that the teachers ignored these sparkling motes floating in the air; or
hadn’t they noticed? He tried to warn his classmates, but knowing Arthur, they
would smile and look away. They were too busy doing arithmetic and French and
all that stuff. He couldn’t help feeling they had all got it wrong, for what
was more important; memorising the angles of an isosceles triangle, or making
contact with a million extra-terrestrials?
Keir suffered no such
distractions; he worked relentlessly, he paid attention, if he got it wrong, he
did it again and again until he got it right. As a result he was invariably top
of the class. No teacher ever said of him what they so monotonously said of
Arthur – ‘could do better’. Never once did Keir bring home a bad report, yet
his demons were never far away; however glowing his parents’ praise, it could
never be enough, and however stern their criticism of Arthur, it could never be
as harsh as he deserved. Had he been challenged, Keir would most vehemently
have denied being jealous of Arthur. What reason could he possibly have to be
jealous of him, when he was
like that?
Keir lived to please his
parents, Hector and Elizabeth. Getting things right was the best way he knew of
earning their approval. Whenever he went fishing, he prided himself on catching
at least five or six good-sized fish. Today, he had caught eight, a record.
Unfortunately it was not in his nature to be satisfied for long. As he heaved
the heavy basket onto his shoulder, he was whistling happily, but on the long
trudge back, his spirits began to fail, and by the time the two boys got home,
Keir was miserable. Why had he not caught more fish? he asked himself. He could
have done, should have done. Glumly, he received his father’s congratulations.
‘Eight fish! And big ones too! Well done, Keir! Well done, indeed! Mum will be
delighted. Run along to the kitchen and show her your catch.’ Hector then made
a big show of rummaging around in Arthur’s basket, pretending to look surprised
that it was empty. ‘I expect they jumped back in the river, eh, Arthur?’
Arthur could come home with an
empty fishing basket and still make his father happy. To Keir it made no sense.
Dad was always going on about how everything had to be logical. How logical was
it to be satisfied with failure? Was he not always telling his sons to use the
gifts God gave them, and how they must do the very best they could? Yet here he
was ruffling Arthur’s hair as if he had done something to be proud of. At times
like this, Keir hated his brother.
Fortunately, Arthur was not
competitive, and excelled at nothing of any importance, though he did have a
natural aptitude for ball games. At the local primary school he was opening bat
for the first team, and much admired as a spin bowler; at soccer and tennis he
also showed considerable promise. In general, though, there was nothing
outstanding about him, except perhaps that he seemed to have a special
relationship with animals; cats and dogs, like fish, followed him around; birds
would fly down from trees and perch on his shoulder as he walked; on a horse,
though he had never had a lesson, he was completely at ease. Some people said
that horses spoke to him, though no one had actually heard them do it.
At school Arthur was
well-liked, though no one took him seriously, least of all his teachers who had
given him up as an academic prospect. Arthur found more to interest him in a
shaft of sunlight than in boring lessons. What, for example, were those
billions of specks of floating dust that appeared and disappeared as the
sunlight came and went? To Arthur, it was obvious they were visitors from
another solar system. Why else would they be beaming down through the classroom
window? And what were they doing in a shaft of sunlight, scaled down to
microscopic size? The only question was, were they friends or foes? It amazed
him that the teachers ignored these sparkling motes floating in the air; or
hadn’t they noticed? He tried to warn his classmates, but knowing Arthur, they
would smile and look away. They were too busy doing arithmetic and French and
all that stuff. He couldn’t help feeling they had all got it wrong, for what
was more important; memorising the angles of an isosceles triangle, or making
contact with a million extra-terrestrials?
Keir suffered no such
distractions; he worked relentlessly, he paid attention, if he got it wrong, he
did it again and again until he got it right. As a result he was invariably top
of the class. No teacher ever said of him what they so monotonously said of
Arthur – ‘could do better’. Never once did Keir bring home a bad report, yet
his demons were never far away; however glowing his parents’ praise, it could
never be enough, and however stern their criticism of Arthur, it could never be
as harsh as he deserved. Had he been challenged, Keir would most vehemently
have denied being jealous of Arthur. What reason could he possibly have to be
jealous of him, when he was
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