By the time he turned sixty, Clive was filled with regret over the mistakes of his youth. Lately, memories of past wrongs kept creeping into his mindperhaps an unwelcome side effect of ageing. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, they lingered.
From childhood, Clive had a fiery temper. His sense of justice burned fiercely, and he couldnt stand unfairnessalways rushing into fights to settle scores. As he grew older, he became the unofficial judge among the village boys, settling disputes when others couldnt decide.
«Clive, tell uswhos in the wrong?» theyd ask. «If Tom and Jack sneaked into Old Man Alberts orchard, nicked his apples, and Jack got caught while Tom ran offthen Jack snitched on Tom, and Tom thrashed him for it. Then Jacks dad gave Tom a hidingwhos to blame?»
Clive handled situations like these, earning the boys respect. Time passed, and in Year 9, another injustice struck. Clive was athleticcaptain of the football and volleyball teams, and the schools best cross-country skier. When the county skiing championships came up, the school held trials. Naturally, Clive won by a landslide.
«Course youll get picked,» said his mate, Ben. «Mr. Thompsonll send you, no question.»
But the PE teacher had other plans. He gave the spot to Edward, the son of his old friend, smirking as he announced it. The class erupted in protest, but the teacher shut them down. Clive, fists clenched, confronted him.
«Whys this fair?»
«Because Edwards in Year 11his last chance. Youll go next year. Now move along.» He gave Clive a dismissive shove.
On the walk home, Clive cornered Edward. He didnt think he hit him hard, but Edward missed the championships. Clive was barred too, and the incident haunted himespecially since Edwards mother taught history at the school. From then on, both teachers made his life miserable. He dropped out after Year 10, refusing to return.
«Leave off, Mum,» he muttered when she nagged him. «I wont last in Year 11Ill end up lashing out.» She knew his temper and let it go.
In a village with few jobs, he ended up on the farm, shadowing old vet Michael. Clive had a knack for it, and Michael saw potential.
«Shame you quit school,» Michael often said. «Youd have made a fine vet.»
«I like helping animals,» Clive admitted.
Yet fate played a cruel jokeEdward qualified as a vet and took Michaels place when he retired. Clive watched silently as Edward fumbled, lacking hands-on experience.
«Diploma means he knows best,» Clive told himself.
Then the farm manager ordered Edward to vaccinate the livestocksomething Clive could do blindfolded. Edward, overwhelmed, begged Michael for help.
«Ask Clive,» Michael said, laid up with a broken leg.
Reluctantly, Edward approached him.
«Need a hand vaccinating the cattle and pigs. Cant manage alone.»
But Clive still nursed that old school grudge.
«Youre the expertyour pay, your job.» He walked away.
The next day, the manager tore into Edward in front of everyone. Humiliated, Edward returned, this time with an apologyand a whiff of whiskey for courage.
«Clive, Im sorry about school. I remember it too.»
Pity softened Clives heart. «Cant hold a grudge forever.» He helped, finishing the job swiftly. The manager praised them, but Edwards thanks was a bottle of whiskey. Clive stared at it, then smashed it against a rock.
«A thank you wouldve sufficed.»
As years passed, Clives temper flared again when wages went unpaid. He started raising calves for meat, scraping by.
One day, old Mrs. Wilkins asked for a lift to the hospital. He refused payment, but she left cash on the seat.
«Petrol money, love,» she insisted. Word spread, and soon the whole village relied on him. He never turned anyone down, charging only what they could affordor nothing at all.
Then Nigel, a neighbour, grew jealous and undercut him with fixed fees. Complaints reached Clive.
«Why rip off our own?» Clive confronted him.
«Charge what I like. Jealous Im stealing your customers?» Nigel sneered.
Clives fist flew. Nigel tried rallying the village against him, but no one sided with him.
Another time, Clive partnered with Sam digging septic tanks. Business boomed, so they hired help. When Clive fell ill, Sam finished the joband kept the money.
«Sam swore hed pay you,» insisted the client.
Clive tracked down the labourersSam had short-changed them.
«Wheres our pay?» Clive demanded.
Sam shuffled. «Er spent it all with the wife. Got none left.»
Clive lost control again, ending their partnership.
But as he aged, guilt gnawed at him. He even attended church, where the vicar spoke of sins.
«Defending justice, I made mistakes,» he admitted to himself. «Should never have raised my handno matter how wronged I felt.»
Sam later drank himself to deathnot Clives fault, but the regret stuck. Now, nearing sixty, sleepless nights haunted him.
«Maybe this is why I cant rest,» he thought. «If someone hit my sons, Id rage. Yet I did the same, thinking it was fair. Wish I could undo itbut its too late.»
The lesson was clear: justice without mercy often becomes its own injustice.
