Crippled For Eternity

"Louis? Louis, are you in there, son? Louis!"

The hard rapping that ensued on the basement door caused Louis Averill, a slender youth of fourteen, to suddenly drop the computer parts that he had spent his entire afternoon piecing together. The fragile metal parts shattered on the floor in an instant, freezing the boy in a stupor of mild terror and overwhelming frustration.

"Why aren't you answering me, Louis? Unlock the door this instant!"

Dejected, Louis trudged to the thick door that separated his personal cathedral of experimentation from the majority of his family's 12,000 square foot residence. Instead of using a conventional door handle, he swiped his left index finger over a sensor bolted to the wall. Within seconds the door slid open to reveal Louis' stone-faced father. "Did I just hear something shatter?" he inquired.

“Um, yeah, that was something from one of my computer, uh, machines,” his son stammered. “I – I’ll clean it up for you if you real–”

“No, no you won’t. Not until dinner is over, that is. Remember, Louis, no one in the household of Dr. Benjamin C. Averill will ever report absent to a family meal – and that includes you.”

In fact, family meals at the Averill home had almost exclusively included only Louis and his parents since his twin brother and sister both left for Harvard three years prior. As Louis trudged after his father on the way to their elaborate dining area, he eyed his mother bickering with one of the chefs, gesturing and glaring in a manner that suggested dissatisfaction with the quality of the meal which sat before them. Dr. Averill ambled over to his seat at the head of the table, and Louis halfheartedly took the seat next to him, careful to position his body as to minimize the opportunity for eye contact between them.

“Margaret, would you take a seat please?” grunted Louis’ father. “I don’t have time to listen to your chitchat with our cooks, and my veal is growing colder by the minute.”

“Well, I don’t believe I’m going to bother touching this garbage,” countered Mrs. Averill, who pointed a finger in the direction of her dinner table but refused to look at it directly. “My standards for cuisine are far higher than this.”

Dr. Averill responded with an unmistakable frown and, by contrast, a much more forgiving tone. “I happen to think this meal is quite satisfactory. There isn’t a finer chef in New Hampshire than Miss Amelia, and veal has always been one of her specialties.” Amelia, who had been standing aloof near the kitchen door, was a beautiful young woman of about twenty-five; she quietly smiled and blushed, but in an instant, however, a vituperative glare from Mrs. Averill turned her face to a pale white.

“Well,” Mrs. Averill huffed, “I certainly don’t want your feelings for Amelia to corrupt your distinguished taste. I still have no idea how you talked me into hiring her, Benjamin, and now I think I’m finally coming to my senses. I’m firing her and searching for a more suitable cook tomorrow.”

Louis recoiled in shock as his father rose in a storm of fury. “You do not have the authority to make that decision, Margaret!” he bellowed. “Even our son here knows that Amelia’s cooking is unequaled in quality and originality.” Dr. Averill followed by placing a hand on Louis’ right shoulder and saying, “Am I correct, Louis?”

Arrantly flustered, Louis managed only a few words as he nervously spun his fork between his fingers. “I – uh, well I guess I, uh, never really did like a lot of our meals except, uh, maybe one or two.”

While a wry smile curled onto the lips of his mother, Louis was subsequently berated by his father for his “lack of respect”, “senselessness”, and “belligerence”. The animosity grew to such an extent that Dr. Averill pushed his son, now standing upright as well, in the direction of one of the tall glass windows that lined the dining room’s walls. Louis burst through the glass, tumbled onto the ground, and out of sheer instinct began to sprint away from the scene of the accident. The cuts from the glass stung as they were pelted with rain, for New England was in the midst of a record gale; after ten or so minutes, the youth collapsed on the side of the road about a mile from the Averill estate. Alas, it was only the second time all summer that the frail boy had left the confines of his expansive home. Alone and afraid in an unfamiliar world, Louis simply sat where he was and fell asleep.

Louis awoke to the sound of a compact car coming to a screeching halt a few feet from his head. From within the vehicle emerged a blonde-haired lady of middle age, who within seconds was bent on one knee inspected his damaged frame. After overcoming the shock of the situation, the woman said, “Hey, are you okay? Do you think you can stand up? That leg of yours seems to be mangled all right, and if you need help, I’ll try to help you into my car.”

The boy only nodded and groaned, struggling to roll over and lift himself to all fours. Upon trying to stand, his knee buckled and succumbed to the weight of his body. “Here, let me help,” said the woman, whose outstretched hand came as welcome relief to the crippled youth. Once seated in the passenger seat of the sedan, Louis began to fully comprehend the magnitude of his injuries. Bleeding cuts and open gashes abounded on his hips and torso, and searing pain rippled through his decimated right leg.

“Should I take you to the hospital? Where are your parents? Do you know their phone numbers?” The questions that spewed from the lady confused Louis further, and by nature he instructed her to drive to the “Averill estate off Birchwood Road.” Against her own intuition, the woman looked knowingly into the boy’s eyes and replied, “Okay, but only if you promise to let me bandage you up a little.” Louis complied, and after a few minutes’ work with an emergency first aid kit, he was on his way back home.

Though Dr. Averill curtly apologized to Louis a few days after the incident, he neglected to fully bear the blame for his son’s injury. He could never shake the thought, however, of the unnatural gait that Louis permanently developed during the days that followed the incident. The boy himself soon returned to his typical routine of work in his basement laboratory, and even created a robotic machine that stabilized his leg and alleviated the pain it often created. Though eternally a cripple, Louis Averill would grow to be a scientist as successful as his own father, albeit with a kinder heart and a purer conscience.

Postscript: The story of young Louis Averill is the tale of the god Hephaestus’ injury in modernized setting. Dr. Averill is Zeus, Mrs. Averill is Hera, Amelia is one of Zeus’ many mistresses, and the kind woman who rescued Louis is the sea goddess Thetis.