Dear Diary,
I never thought the day would come when a stranger would walk through the front door of my old family cottage and cause such a stir. The moment David Peterson, my father’s brother, slammed the door open I heard him shout, Youre finally hereno one was expecting you! You can turn around and leave right now!
I stared at him, stunned. Dad, whats going on? Ive been away for twenty years and now I walk in to this?
If it were up to me, Id have met you with a belt! David gripped his own waistcoat, then softened, Never mind. Well sort this out now.
Take it easy, Dad, I stepped back. Im not a child; I can defend myself.
David sneered, Thats the spiritattack the weak, run from the strong, deceive the kind, and serve the cruel! He let go of his waistcoat and tossed it aside.
Youre really angry, arent you? What are you accusing me of? I shrugged. If I did anything wrong, its been twenty years; time has healed it.
Easy for you to say, when the blame was yours! he snapped. You want forgiveness, but I have none to give.
What could I possibly have done to deserve this? In school I studied hard, yet my parents labelled me a deserter and forbade me from coming home. They never answered any of my letters, even though I wrote a lot.
David laughed mockingly, Oh, you dont know? He said it with a grin that could cut glass.
Before I could argue further, a sharp voice cut through the argument. Enough of this! Margaret Clarke, my mother, cried, her face flushed. Enough, boy! Send him packing, Davidyoure disgraceful to our family!
I froze, as still as a statue, while Mom added, If God gave me strength, Id have dragged you out by the throat! I see Gods own mischief in that scar under your eye.
David chuckled, Well done, someone! Id shake his hand.
Father, whats happening? I shouted. Are you both mad? Ive been away for two decades! Why this reception?
David replied, Who told you what to think? Well drive you out now, and Ill thank him later.
I swear I dont even know who him is, I snapped. I was on the coach home when my neighbour Peter saw me and came over to say hello. The moment the bus stopped, some young bloke leapt at me, shoved his face in my eyes and ran off. By the time I recovered, he was gone.
David smirked, What a mysterious hero! Ill have to ask Peter who that was.
Dad, is this all you care about? I retorted. Just because Ive been away so long, does that mean I can disappear?
Then why are you here, traitor? Margaret snapped. Why are you needed?
Because a third voice shouted from the kitchen, Because youre a traitor!
The sudden shouting made me angry. Whos the brave one now? I growled.
A lanky teenager stepped into the light, his elbows puffed. This lad gave me a right slap! he declared, pointing at the boy.
Good lad, lad! David beamed. You didnt miss your chance!
What grandson? I recoiled.
Your son! Margaret blocked me with her arm. The one we abandoned!
I have no son! I blurted, tears welling. I never had one, and if I did, Id know!
Davids voice rose, Remember when you fled the village twenty years ago? He spoke with a raw edge.
I never called my departure a flight; it was a planned leave. I left early for reasons Ill never forget. The journey to the naval academy in Portsmouth was a long onealmost the whole of England. Id won a scholarship, but it barely covered a modest life, and asking my parents for help across the country was awkward. They could send me money, sure, but how could they send me food?
There was a second reason. Just before I left, a nasty bout of gossip erupted in our village. If Id stayed a week or two longer, I might never have gotten a ship. The girls were relentless, and I chose to escape them instead.
When asked why, I would have said, I want my life tied to the sea. I wont stay home while my wife waits, longing for children I never intend to have.
The sea entered my life by accident. After school I was conscripted, served a few years on a destroyer, and realised the land wasnt for me. When I returned, a posting to a maritime engineering college awaited me, promising a career as a ships mechanic. Before I started, I took a few months off to wander, to make sure I wasnt ever chained again.
Young men after their service live like thatdrinking, brawling, chasing any thrill. It doesnt matter whether theyre in a pub, in a ring, or even with a lover. When I finally saw those lads, I understood the trap: they return proud, ready to overturn the world, only to end up shackled by a wife, children, and a farm. The proud eagle becomes a plucked chicken ready for the kitchen.
I didnt want that fate. No matter how wild the nights got, I kept my belt tight, stitched my own strap, and tightened the bolt on my life.
I faced obstacles, but Id rather suffer there than languish forever. My reputation grew among village maidensyoung, hopeful, with a clear plan and no scandal on my record. Yet I was besieged: invitations, sweet promises, and even delegations to my parents, all hoping to forge an alliance.
I saw the futility. I couldnt hold the line, nor could I let my parents be swayed. So I left the village again, a month and a half early.
As they say, Better safe than sorry.
I arrived in Portsmouth, secured a berth at the dock, rented a room in the sailors hostel, submitted my papers, obtained my enrolment letter, and wrote home to say Id arrived, found work, and was fine. The reply came in a furious letter, calling me a traitor, a coward, and every other vile word they could think of. It even claimed I had no parents left, that my home no longer existed, and that a man like me belonged beneath the sea.
I was bewildered, writing back for explanations that never came. No telegrams, no replies, just silence. I kept writing, month after month, while I earned my diploma.
When the certificate finally arrived, so did a thin sheet of paper, half a page, with a single line: May you drown, traitor! Coward! It was signed not by my mother or father, but by David Peterson and Margaret Clarke.
I never understood why, but it was clear they no longer wanted me home.
I signed a contract with a shipping line and set sail. Every six months I would dock on the mainland, send another letter, and head back to sea. I stopped waiting for replies altogether.
At forty, I finally decided it was time to uncover what had happened twenty years ago, rather than chase another voyage.
The confrontation was anything but gentle.
Why did you run? I mocked. Did you think I wouldnt notice you plotting to marry me off? Did you think I was blind to the villages plans to pair me up?
Yes! Margaret shouted, her voice thick with hatred. We wanted a good match for you, but you married Elsie and ran away! You found a stray!
She claimed shed visited me after I left, asking about a child, and that wed thrown our grandson to fate.
What about Elsie? I demanded. She wrote you a letter about her pregnancy, and you told her to get an abortion and disappear from my life!
David scoffed, Interesting, isnt it? After we banished you from the house.
We took her in! Shes an orphan, no one else. She carries our grandchild in her heart. Look, we raised Stan!
Call Elsie here, I said. Lets sort this out.
Stan answered, No one to sort with. My mother died ten years ago; my grandparents raised me.
Right, I said, shaking my head. And my father faced me eyetoeye!
Stan shouted, You ruined my mothers pregnancy! Thank heavens my grandparents were decent people!
It seems youre all righteous, and Im the only traitor, I muttered.
David added, And a coward! You fled responsibility and sent a poor girl to an abortion!
We believed Elsies story, Margaret insisted. She claimed shed given birth to our son!
I asked, Did you see the letter?
We trusted the girl, she replied.
Fine, then lets do a DNA test, I suggested. If Im the father, you can crucify me at the gate.
The test was negative. I handed the results to my parents.
Everything clear? I asked. Elsie knew I wasnt the father, but she still came to you.
Your mistake was not believing a lie, but accepting that your own son was a coward and traitor.
For twenty years you refused forgiveness, and now I no longer need yours. I could spare you pity, but I wont. So farewell. You said goodbye to me twenty years ago already.
I left, and Stan stayed, milking his elders, insisting he was their beloved grandson, that the test was wrong, that his mother was a saint.
Thus ends my account.
Lesson learned: No matter how far you sail, the tide of family and truth will eventually wash you ashore, and its better to confront the past than to let it drift away.
