Pavel and Auntie WC:296

Pavel and Auntie
WC 296

The letter from Pavel’s father arrived five days ago. He is coming to claim his son; unfortunately, it is his legal right.

The boy could hardly suppress his joy. "Auntie, Auntie, I am so happy!”

“I know. I know.”

“Do I look like him, Auntie?”

"I see the resemblance," I lied.

The boy looks so much like his dear sweet mother, it brings tears to my eyes.

"Oh, Auntie, I can't wait five days! Can I fly to him?"

"We cannot afford that."

“My father is wealthy, no?"

He is a wealthy man who keeps it all to himself.

“Pavel, he will be here soon enough.”

After his wife died in childbirth, he fled; he never saw the baby (Pavel) and never made funeral arrangements for his wife, my precious sister. I laid her to rest. For the last eleven years, I have raised the boy with no help from the man.

"Be patient, dear. "

"That's hard to do, Auntie."


And now that day has arrived.

I recognize him as he walks our way, carry-on in tow: the cruel, black eyes, the unruly jet hair--the evil oozing from his pores.

He raises his hand slightly in recognition. He looks down at his son, then shakes his head, turns abruptly, and walks off.

His head on a swivel, Pavel looks around the terminal. "Is he here, Auntie? Is he here?”

"His flight has been delayed. Let's go back home and wait for his call.”

I know he will never call. A disabled son in a wheelchair would never fit into his grand plan.

“Let’s go home, dear boy.”

“And wait for his call, right?”

“Right.”

I unlock the wheelchair brakes and guide Pavel out of the terminal and into the glory of the morning.