The Prodigal’s Brother
by Lesie Lewis

I’d like to tell you the story of Simeon.

Simeon was the son of a rich farmer, the oldest son, heir to two-thirds of his father’s land. He worked hard from sunrise to sunset and even beyond. He learned everything about the business of farming – what to plant when, where to buy the seed, how to sell the crops, who gave the best prices, who paid their bills – everything a prosperous farmer needed to know. He worked beside his father, his father’s shadow, his father’s unpaid servant.

Once Simeon had had a younger brother, Isaac, but that scoundrel was an irresponsible fool. The little twerp was always a nuisance, looking for a handout so he could go to town and have a good time, coming home at all hours noisy and drunk. He’d do anything to get out of work. As far as Simeon was concerned the kid was beneath notice. When he thought of his brother, Simeon pitied him. What a pointless life he lived.

But for some reason Isaac was their father’s pride and joy. Anything he wanted, he got. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was a spoiled brat.

One day a few years ago the idiot took things too far. He got it into his head to leave home and seek his fortune out there in the world. So he went to their father and did the unthinkable – he asked for his inheritance before his father was even dead! That was like saying to the poor man, “I wish you were dead, father. In fact, you _are _dead in my heart.”

Their father grieved, but he could deny his younger son nothing. So he sold some of the land and called in some of the outstanding bills and gave the fool his inheritance – a third of the value of the property. And the kid took off – disappeared down the road.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” thought Simeon, and got busy trying to repair the damage the child had done by taking off with so much of their capital.

Simeon didn’t give his brother another thought, but their father grieved. His grief seemed to go nowhere, to stay raw and fresh as the years passed. It seemed unhealthy to Simeon that their father spent the days staring down the road, seeming to will his younger son back into sight. He stopped doing his share of the work – the whole load fell on Simeon. He barely ate or drank even, just stared down the road.

At first Simeon resented the extra work, but soon he began to enjoy carrying the whole responsibility for their farm. And he ran it well. In no time, it seemed, he was able to buy back the land they’d sold to send that ne’er-do-well away – that, and more. Within three years they were even better off than they had been when Isaac left.

And then one day the unthinkable happened. His father, thin and haggard now, was staring down the road as usual. And suddenly he gave out an unearthly yelp and began running. Imagine – a man of his age and social standing – running! His robes flapping around his knees, revealing his scrawny legs! Where was his sense of dignity? What would the neighbours think of him?

Simeon watched in horror as his aged father pelted down the road, and slung his arms around a pitiful bedraggled creature hobbling towards him.

“Isaac! My son! My dearest son! You have returned!” he sobbed. “I always knew you would come back.”

The two embraced, the filthy traveller and the distinguished patriarch, and they returned to the farm with their arms around each other. Next thing he knew, Simeon saw one of the servants heading out to the barn with the slaughtering knife. And then he heard the sound of a calf being killed.

He rushed into the barn. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of the servant.

“Your brother has come back, and your father is giving a feast because he’s safe and sound.”

Simeon was deeply hurt. When had his father ever done something like that for him?

He headed off for the furthest field to check the fences.

His father saw him going. “Come in, dear son, and celebrate. Your brother has come back to us.”

“No, I won’t celebrate the return of that rogue. I’ve worked like a slave for you all these years, and you’ve never even given me a scrawny goat to share with my friends. I refuse to have anything to do with my brother or with you any more.”

And Simeon went into his room and packed his bags.

The next morning he was in the nearest city. He went to see a grain merchant he’d dealt with – the one that had been the toughest to bargain with, the best businessman. And Simeon went to work for him.

The years passed. Simeon became very wealthy. He married the boss’s daughter and took over the grain business when his father-in-law retired. He was known as the toughest merchant around – he really knew his stuff, he was as honest as the day was long, but there wasn’t an ounce of pity in him. Don’t go to Simeon the grain merchant and expect to get off easy if times were tough.

Sometimes Simeon sat in his office and counted his money and felt satisfied with all he’d achieved. He was sure his no-good brother hadn’t been able to do as well with the family farm.

But then he would start dreaming about the days back home, wondering what they were doing, wondering whether they ever thought about him. He imagined telling them about how well he’d done, how he’d done it on his own, how he had no need of them. He pictured them hanging their heads in shame, feeling sorry for how badly they’d treated him.

But he got to turning that idea over in his head and his heart got hold of it and he realized they’d never treated him badly. He was the one who’d hurt them! And it was as though a crack opened in his heart and all the loneliness and longing flooded out. He knew that even though he had it all in the eyes of the world, really he had nothing.

So Simeon swallowed his pride and went home.

As he headed down the last road and came in sight of the house his heart pounded with fear. Would they accept him? Would they let him come back?

And then, to his amazement, he saw an ancient man hobbling as fast as he could down the road – his robes flapping, showing his scrawny legs, his arms spread wide, tears streaming down his leathery, lined face.

He fell at his father’s feet. “I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”

And his father lifted him up gently and enfolded him in tender arms. And he took him home, calling out, “Isaac, have the servants kill the calf! Your brother who was lost is found! He is alive! He has come back to us!”

And Isaac ran out and embraced his brother too, and they cried and laughed and invited everyone they knew to such a party as the district had never seen, before or since.

(Comments to Leslie at LeslieL8@yahoo.ca.)