A SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY PRESENT
He reached his seventieth year after raising three children. Alone. His wife had passed away thirty years earlier, and he never remarried. He couldnt, or wouldnt, or perhaps it simply wasnt meant to be. Maybe he didnt have the time, or the heart, or the luckwhatever the reason, was there really any sense in pondering it now?
Life was too busy for such thoughts. Both his sons had been troublemakers and fighters as boys. He moved them from school to school until, finally, a wonderful physics teacher discovered the boys clear talent for the subject. That was it. The brawls and problems stopped immediately.
His daughter had her own troubles. She struggled to get along with her peers and the school psychologist once suggested he take her to see a psychiatrist. But then, a new English teacher arrived at the school and started a writing club for budding authors. That changed everything.
She began writing from morning till night. Soon, her stories were printed in the school newspaper, and later, in all the local literary magazines. In short, the boys were admitted to a top maths and sciences faculty at a renowned university with scholarships, while his daughter went on to study literature.
And so, he found himself alone. It was then that he noticed it, truly felt it for the first time.
Silence. So thick you could howl at the sky.
He turned to fishing, gardening, and raising pigs. Thankfully, he had the spacea large house and a generous piece of land alongside the river. He soon found he was earning quite well. It turned out that being an engineer at the factory hadnt paid nearly so much. Now, he realised, he could help his children out againbuying them modest cars, slipping them a few extra pounds for pocket money, helping with the cost of decent clothing. In fact, he now had even less free time than before.
All his hours were spent tending the land and managing his small business. He didnt mind; he enjoyed it. Another ten years flew by and, before he knew it, his seventieth birthday was approaching.
He planned to mark the occasion alone. His sons had long started their own families, butworking on some top-secret project for the Ministry of Defencecouldnt get away for the weekend. His daughter was always off at writer and journalist symposiums, so he didnt expect her either.
No need to bother them, he thought.
Ill get by perfectly well. Nothing much to celebrate, really. Just me, by myself. I’ll walk around the farm, and in the evening sit down with a bottle of whisky, remember my dear wife and tell her how well the children turned out.
And the day arrived. He was up at dawn, as always, to tend to the pigs and get their special feed ready. As he stepped outside into the star-dappled light of early morning, he suddenly caught sight of something odd in the middle of the lawn.
A mysterious, long object wrapped in tarpaulin.
What on earth is that? he muttered, puzzled.
Suddenlyout of the darknessspotlights flared, lighting up the field, the curious object, and the crowd of people stepping out from behind the house. There they were: his boys, their wives and children, a few other family members. And there was his daughter, arm in arm with a tall man in thick glasses.
All of them held balloons and party-blowers; some frantically pressed the nozzles of shrieking cans of confetti. They were all shouting, waving, trying to hug him at once.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
He had already forgotten the strange objectthat couldve been the boys practical joke for all he knewbut the family didnt let him retreat into the house. The wives charged ahead, getting the table ready.
Wait, Dad, just a second, his daughter called out. Let me blindfold you.
Go on, then, he smiled, allowing it.
She tied a thick scarf across his eyes and spun him gently in a circle before leading him forward.
Whats all this about? he asked, bemused.
A present for you, one of the sons replied.
Hope its not too extravagant, he fretted. I dont need a thing.
Dont worry, Dad, the other grinned. Its just a little something. A token of gratitude, really.
They led him forward. His daughter whisked off the blindfold, and the air exploded with music and a roll of a snare drum. He was standing before the strange object, still wrapped.
The children each took a corner and stripped away the tarpaulin.
Beneath the dazzling lights stood a gleaming, golden Jaguar E-Type.
He nearly fainted from the shockalmost tumbled to the ground on the spot. Everyone caught him and propped him on a garden stool. He repeated the same word over and over.
Oh God, oh God, oh God
Dad, calm down! His daughter splashed water on his face, laughing. You always wanted this car.
But it mustve cost a fortune, he gasped.
Nothings too dear for you, one of his sons answered.
Here, lets make it official. His daughter beckoned. Jump in, sit behind the wheel. Well take some photos.
He opened the drivers door and peered insidebut there, on the seat, was a cardboard box.
Whats this? he asked.
Have a look, his daughter smiled.
He drew out the box and opened it. Two bright eyes stared up at him from within. He pulled out a tiny ball of ginger fluff and hugged it to his chest.
A real Siamese, he breathed. Just like the one your mum and I had, remember? Bumbles. You all adored him when you were small.
Of course we remember, Dad, the children replied.
He didnt even get in the car. He climbed back up to his roomon the second floorto show the kitten to the photo of his wife. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
See, Martha? Do you see? he whispered. I managed. They havent forgotten. Do you see?
But the children didnt let him stay upstairs long. The table downstairs was groaning with food. The toasts began. His daughter whispered in his ear that she was four months alongand she and her fiancé had come to stay. Shed be living here now, since her work on the new book could happen anywhere, and as for her fiancéwell, hed fetch his parents from New England and in a fortnight, they’d have a wedding at the city church.
You dont mind, do you, Dad? she asked softly.
Its like a wonderful dream, he replied, kissing her forehead.
The day went by in laughter, feasting, and old stories. Everyone was joyful.
That evening, he walked out to his wifes grave and sat there for a long time, talking to her.
Life was taking on a new meaning. And with a car like thathed need to get some period clothes, take it out for a spin to the city nearby.
On the bed, the little Siamese kitten slept soundly.
Tommy, he murmured, and again, Tommy.
Tommy purred, stretching his tiny body. The man lay back and, gently stroking the soft, warm belly, drifted into sleep.
He would rise early to feed the pigs, work the garden, and head out for a spot of fishingsome things never change.
Downstairs, his daughter and her fiancé were asleep.
In the morning, the boys left with their families, and peace descended over the house. Tommy followed his master everywheretumbling into the pig trough, getting caught in the boat nets, trying to nibble the fishing bait. The man laughed, talking to his little scamp.
Its as if my youth has come back to me, he said, scratching Tommy behind the ears.
Tommy mewed and clung to his finger, sinking his tiny teeth into the skin.
You little rascal! he shouted, laughing.
This is a story about nothing, really. Just a reminder
If you can visit your parents, dont wait for tomorrow.
Go today.
