Charlie was planning and rehearsing his speech. ‘I know there will be an awkward reunion,’ he said to himself as he trudged, footsore and weary, and very seriously hungry. ‘And I’ll have one chance to apologise, and then I shall have to take the punishment that I deserve. The villagers will certainly support dad and reject me, probably cutting me off from society. Perhaps I shall have to go and seek employment in another town.
‘But first, I must apologise to dad. I’ll say it again: Please make me one of your hired men; I am no longer worthy to be called your son…’
While Charlie was still a long way off, Gerald saw him. He gave a great cry of joy, and immediately tucked his tunic into his belt, ran down the steps and out of the farmyard, pacing down the road and through the gate at the end of the drive.
Servants and hired men ran after him, astonished at this behaviour, sure that their respected employer was going to call upon them to eject the wayward boy, and help him back to the farmhouse after all this exertion.
Gerald reached the end of the drive and turned right. He continued to run, shouting, his arms spread wide.
Charlie saw his dad running from a distance, and decided the best way to try to show his humility was by bowing with his face in the dust. He fell to his knees, and tipped forwards so that his forehead was in the dust. He heard Gerald and some servants running towards him, but couldn’t tell what his father, panting, was trying to say.
Not only was Gerald gasping for breath on account of his galloping; Charlie was crying and trying to say his speech.
‘I am not worthy. I have been such a fool. All I can ask is that you accept me back to the farm as a hired hand. I will work hard for you without complaining. Please don’t send me away; oh, please don’t send me away…’
Servants arrived, equally breathless, standing in exhausted amazement at the spectacle of his wealthy, honoured-citizen father setting aside all dignity in his exuberant delight. It was… unbecoming, ignoble and utterly unexpected.
By this time, Gerald had caught his breath, and he pulled Charlie to his feet so that he could hug him. He threw his arms around him and hugged him and kissed him and hugged him again.
‘My son, my son, you came home! I love you! Oh, Charlie!’
‘Father, I am no longer worthy to be called your…’
‘Son, I love you! Servants! Fetch shoes for his feet! And a coat for his shoulders! And here, Charlie, here, have my ring. It’s the family ring, and now you’re back in the family. Come on servants, help him back to the home. And run on, you, and kill that fatted calf. We shall have a celebration. Let’s have roast meat, drink, merry-making; and invite all the villagers. I don’t want any of that rejection ceremony nonsense they might think is appropriate – it isn’t! He’s welcome home! Tell them my son was… lost and is now found! No, even better, tell them he was dead, and is now alive! I’m speaking figuratively, of course. Run, now. Hurry! Quickly!’
‘But I thought…’ Charlie started.
‘I doubt it. At least, I don’t believe you have for a long while!’ his father joked, slapping him on the back and helping him as they turned onto the track leading home.
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