Naked Hero - The Journey Away

the boy pondering the latest lesson he’d been given, digesting as he ate. Life was good at present, as good as it gets – that was the child’s conclusion. But those kelpies could still be a problem, he thought - out there in the sea, waiting - waiting for them to go home in a few days time.
    Perhaps it would be best to stay and not take the chance! Lewis reckoned that that would be a very good plan. Then there would be no school for him to go to back to, with its bullies in the playground to be faced and beaten up by – East End Weegies who didn’t like his funny accent, as if they had any right to talk! Nor would there be work to claim his dad during the day, and make him stay out late so Lewis missed a goodnight kiss, which hurt the lad more than any juvenile fist. And then that man, Mr. Murdoch, wouldn’t need to come and see him: come all the way from England, to assess his talent. That last one in particular was a terrifying notion – much scarier than those kelpies and the bullying thugs in the playground. Lewis was afraid that he would fail, and in doing so let his dad down. Then the dream that they shared would come to an end. And dreams can be so important to an eight year old boy when the reality around him is a terrifying scene.
    Oh if only those kelpies would sink all the boats then he wouldn’t be put to the test.
    Back at the cottage, having been threatened by rain, they settled down at the kitchen table with Lewis’s favourite book - the one that he’d got for Christmas and went everywhere with him. It held all his heroes: those valiant warriors who had fought in white in a famous arena decked in purple and green. He knew all the stories, Lewis could recite them by heart, but he was more than content to hear them again. He could happily sit there all day with his dad, waiting on the moment when time would rush ahead – ahead to a fantasy so graphically painted by the only person who truly believed it.
    Lewis could feel the familiar tingle as the suspense was built. He understood the ritual: heroes first, that was the rule. Pay homage to the past before the dream could commence, for the achievement was too great to make it come easy. But they would get there in the end, of that Lewis was certain. It had to happen. How could it not on this best of days? Time was running out - the holiday would soon end and those kelpies were unlikely to come to the rescue. They would go back to Glasgow and then that man was coming - coming to see Lewis and to tell them the truth, and then they could no longer pretend.
    Pretend?
    Suddenly all chance was gone when a sparrow flew into the house - small and plump, a fluttering mass of terror as it bounced from wall to wall, unable to find the wide open door that had proved all too easy to enter through. Their reaction was immediate, both man and boy, covering themselves under arms, cowering, terrified of this small panicked creature that meant them no harm. Still shielding himself, Lewis emulated the demon and took to the air, as his father hoisted him from his chair and carried him outside.
    They stood there at a safe distance, looking at the door, hoping for an exit and a dignified reprieve. For minutes that seemed like hours, they stood silently waiting in vain. Then Lewis asked the question that had been on both their minds.
    “What are we going to do?”
    “The door’s open. It’ll find its way out.”
    “What if it doesn’t? Will we just wait here till Mum gets back, and Aunt Maureen?”
    “They could be hours yet. There was mention of a hairdresser’s.”
    “My book’s still in there.”
    “It’s hardly going to tear it apart. It’s just a wee bird.”
    A name had been given to the tormentor and the man felt the trembling at his side. He felt a hand tensing, clutching the fabric around his leg. And then he looked down, held his son’s eyes and saw the fear that sat there.
    ‘Where had that come from?’ he wondered. He had never seen it before. The same ornithophobia that he had carried with him for thirty years, and had somehow managed to pass on.
    How? Nature or nurture, perhaps a bit of both - he didn’t care a jot, it still came out the same... And what was he supposed to do now? Stand there and underline it all? Teach his son how to be afraid?
    No.
    He had taught him a lot, and was proud of the results, but that was one lesson that would never be made.
    “Come on. As I said, it’s only a wee bird. Took us both by surprise, did it