Merinder's House

On a wall in a remote corridor of a large building, where men of science walk daily to and from their work, is a painting which has become so much part of the landscape that the great men barely notice it any more. In the painting is a giant pillared auditorium, surrounded by great people, famous names, people of standing, deserved or otherwise, and amongst them, there is a momentary hush. A man stands on a stage, waiting for something to happen, and all the eyes of the great men in the audience do not yet know where to look.

A quiet, unassuming man at the back of the hall stands up from his seat and excuses himself to those alongside him, asking them politely if they would mind letting him past. His movements gradually arouse the attentions of the men of standing, who become more and more prominent the closer they are to the stage. The quiet man walks from the back of the hall towards these great men at the front, a little self-consciously, but aware that, for a brief moment in time, they are not why he is there.

As he approaches the stage, he sees, out of the corner of his eye, a man waiting for him on the stage itself. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he recalls how many times he was ridiculed, how many times no-one took him seriously and on occasions, laughed. He remembers, though he would rather not, how many times he had to find from the very depths of his being the last drops of energy to explain why his ideas were so important, and how he needed to be taken seriously. He has never felt brave. He has only known the consequences for mankind if he gave up on his ideas, and he has stumbled many times on the way to the foot of this stage.

As he climbs the steps, he notices the man on the stage looking straight at him, and he is old and infirm, and inclining his head forwards slightly in encouragement. Spontaneously, which is rare at such a formal gathering, the great men in the audience begin to applaud, and one by one, row by row, they stand up from their seats until each and every one of them is loud in their recognition. The quiet man walks across the stage towards the old man waiting there, and when they meet, for the first time, something has changed in the world. They embrace each other warmly, and then stand back for a moment.

Neither of them hears the applause, which they had once – earlier in their lives – so longed for, because they each have something to say to each other. Amongst the clamour, which is deafening by now, they stand before one another and say, one in French and the other in English,

“Thank you.”

Discover the magic of Scottish fiction through The Books and the Sea, a collection of short stories, Scottish literature with a maritime flavour, written by Jane Coutts.