His ears jiggled. He could hear sounds coming from the house. It was the sound of a piano, but he knew not of it. “What was that?” he wondered. He was taken to the study room and asked to sit and wait by the butler. A man, aged about 50, wearing a pair of spectacles, walked in while puffing at his tobacco pipe. He took a seat behind the large antique rosewood study table that was neat and tidy. He took off his glasses and looked at the boy. Satisfied, he leaned back and took another puff from his pipe. “So, young man, what may I assist you of?” he asked, politely yet in a firm tone. The boy trembled slightly and thought for a while. Then he dug deep into his pockets and produced a yellowish photo that had its corners nibbled off. He handed it over to Mr. Colby. Mr. Colby took the photo and put his reading glasses on. He inspected it closely then looked at the boy, and took another look at the photo again.
“Say, young chap, what are you trying to prove by bringing me this picture that is old and stained?”
“My mom asked me to find you and show it to you.”
“What name do you go by?”
“My mom used to call me John Colby.”
“Used to?”
“Yes. She died last spring.”
“And your dad?”
“Two years ago.”
“His name?”
“Wayne...”
Mr. Colby froze at his seat. This was none other than his own nephew, son of his brother that had left the family to work so that he could get his education. It had been 17 years since he walked off, and he never contacted the family, only sending a large sum of money every month by post, with no sender’s address. That photo brought back memories. Taken when he was only 10 years old. Crystal droplets began to form at the corner of his eye as he stared blankly at the old photo. His mind began to playback the days when he and Wayne played at the field together. They were the best of buddies, and the closest of brothers. He got up and stood at the window that overlooked the vast fields of his home. He wept. It was uncontainable. He never got to repay his brother for that sacrifice he made. That was love. Love was never about receiving, but of selfless giving. It was a sacrifice that led him to achieve what he had achieved. He wiped his tears off and turned back to the kid. He could see Wayne’s face reflected on John’s face. They had the same blue eyes, and cheeks that were narrow and long. He summoned for his butler.
“You are to treat him as my own son. Do what you have to do.”
John was taken to eat. A meal he had never experienced in his life, coming from a poor family. Before this, all he ate was stale bread and beggar’s stew, and more than once he had to starve as his family did not have enough money to buy food. He gobbled down the meal. After that, he was taken to have a bathe and haircut. Clothes were bought for him and he was dressed up. He had never experience baths; neither had he ever dressed up in cotton-made-clothes that were extremely comfortable. It was as if it was paradise. Once he was done, he was brought before the family. Mr. Colby, his butler and his two maids. His wife laid in bed as she was sick and in no condition to move around. No one could recognise him after the makeover, not that anyone did in the first place.
“John, you look just like your father.” Mr. Colby remarked.