Duffaile

This name is pronounced Duff-AY-lee or, according to his classmates, Duff-ALE-ee

Duff hated going to school. It meant succumbing to the taunts of his classmates. He could never get used to the hatred, especially when he knew for a fact that he was the only one picked on at school and at home. In his family, Duff was least favorite by his father, and for a reason he never understood. His older brother William was the favorite…and as a toddler, as toddlers don't fully understand things, played along and teased his brother as if it was a game. In school, Duff was teased by his short and chubby body. Was it his fault that Allan never took him out for sport with his brother, and as default his mother was always around to make him lunch? Fitness and strength was important for a growing Scottish boy, that he knew. To be himself would be to put shame on his family. But if he couldn't be himself, what could he be? Who was he to be, if not a respected Scottish man? What other life was there for him?

Even at such a young age, Duff's biggest problem was finding himself. One morning he sat on his living room rug, next to William, before their father. His enormous bear-like body overtook the chair he sat in as he read the weekly news.

"Pa, who ehm I?" Duff mumbled, assuming his father would have the answer to his question.

After a moment of reading and turning a page, Allan replied in his gruff voice, "Yer Duffaile Hondscioh Killigan…meh son." There was a slight hesitation in the last part of his sentence.

"Why is tha' meh name?"

Allan ignored the question. What was the importance of a name to a child? He wouldn't have understood, anyway.

"Paaaah," William tried. "Whut does meh name mean?"

Allan finally looked down from his newspaper at his oldest son. He grabbed Will's hair and shook it playfully.

"Yer name means Protector, meh boy. An' don' whine! Makes ye sound like yer sister."

"Okay, Pa. Whut's yer name mean?" Will asked.

Allan smiled and chuckled. "Handsome."

Duffaile shyly came up to them and asked his father in a low tone, almost a whisper, "Whut does meh name mean, Pa?"

Immediately Allan's eyes sunk and his mouth flattened. "It means dark, black." He said.

"Ha! The color of evil, eh knew it!" Will laughed. He punched his brother's arm…hard.

Duffaile walked away from the two of them. He went into the kitchen, afraid of losing control of his emotions in front of them, especially his father. He didn't want to cry in front of his father. He didn't want to get hit again.

Dark? Black? Evil? So William was right all along…Duff was born evil. He was born a bad child, that was why Allan didn't like him. What determined it, though? How did they figure it out? Did Cathella predict it? Was it the color of his hair, his eyes, his skin? Did he do something extraordinary and demonic at his birth?

Duff's mother, Belle, was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled heavenly.

"Haggie?" Duffaile asked. He sat down at the small wooden table.

"No, son." She cooed. "Scones….how does that little nose of yours mix up the smell of scones and the smell of haggis?" she smiled like an angel. With floured hands she poked his nose. He giggled and put his hands to his nose, shielding it. He tried to wipe off the flour.

"Is't gone, Ma?"

"Let me see." Belle poked his nose again and laughed. He did too, shaking more flour off.

"May eh try, Ma?" Duff peered over the counter at the powdery dough. There were little red chunks embedded inside. "Those cherries?"

"They certainly are." Belle smiled. "Of course ye can try….here." She put her hands over his and placed them on the dough. She pushed his hands up, spreading the dough, then together they folded it and pushed it again. They continued to knead when Duff spoke up.

"Ma, whut's meh name mean?"

She giggled. "Baker. Meh Pa, yer grandfather, Cathella's husband wus eh baker. Eh learned all his recipies fro' him. His name wus Duffaile too. Eh named ye after him, an' Allan named Will after his father."

"Whut did grandpa Will do?"

"He wus eh soldier. He fought in te Battle o' te Braes."

"Whut's yer name mean?"

"Beauty…" she smiled softly. "Cathella named me tha' cus tha's whut eh looked like te first time she saw meh."

Duff was silent for a few minutes before he spoke again. He was a bit confused, thought maybe he was missing something. When they separated the scones and put them in the oven, five year old Duff asked, "Then why did Pa say meh name meant black, te color o' evil?"

Belle looked astonished. "Te color o' evil? My, where did ye get tha'? Yer Pa o' William? Black is nae te color o' evil…it's te color o' formality, elegance, te color o' te Earth, self-control an' stability…"

"Well…why did ye say it meant Baker if it meant black?"

Belle sat down. She looked as if it hurt to stand for too long. "Names can 'ave several meanings. Fer some, it's eh mystery whut eh name means. Ye have te figure out its origin, an' many people may 'ave different feelings about different names. Ye should be proud o' yers. Its eh strong family name. Whutever anyone may interpret, te only thing tha' matters is whut ye think o' it. Eh name is eh special thing, Duffaile. Most people hear eh famous name an' either praise or scold it. Ye don't want yer name te be scolded. Ye want te world te hear yer name an' think, "Whut eh great lad tha' Duffaile Killigan is."

Duff looked at his mother. "Eh guess so." He said. What she said encouraged him, but he still felt hurt by what Will said.

Within twenty minutes the scones were done, and the Killigan family shared breakfast. Then it was time for Duff, Will, and Carol to go to school. Belle gave them their lunches and the children took their books, and they left their castle home. They crossed the island and Allan drove them to the mainland with their boat, a short twenty minute ride. The school was close to the shore, so they were safe to go off on their own. Allan kissed Will's forehead and said goodbye to him. He only gave two simple nods to Duff and Carol.

The three children walked to school; Will wandered off as he always did, and it was a good chance he would choose to spend the day throwing rocks at windows then attend his classes.

A few minutes went by and Duff and Carol saw a few of their classmates walking. They smiled and waved at Carol—everybody loves Carol—but then they looked at Duff and their smiles faded. They looked at him like he was an odd sculpture they didn't understand. Suddenly, one of them bursted out in a mocking tone:

"DufFAILe is eh failure! DufFAILe is eh failure!"

Some of the other kids snickered. Another shouted out, "Aye! He fails at everything! Didn't yer Pa ever teach ye te be strong? Tis babe 'ere cries like eh wee lassie!"

Duff was, at that moment, tearing up. He was so conditioned to being hurt by everyone around him. Carol tried whispering in his ear, "You don't fail, Duff. You get an A on all yer tests. They're nae makin' no sense."

The kids wouldn't stop. They began to pick up any objects they could find—pebbles, pieces of concrete—and throw them at their classmate. The stones bounced off his chubby little body until one finally hit him in the forehead. The tears came rushing, and he took cover behind a building, Carol right behind him. His head hurt really bad, and when he put his hand over it, his hand felt warm and wet. Something trickled down the side of his eye like sweat.

Carol rubbed his back as they heard the snickering fade away. "It's okay, brer. It's okay. Ye got so many tha' love ye. Ther stupid, ther jealous of yer good grades. Yer so smart, brer. So smart."

Duff tried so hard to keep the tears from flowing out of his eyes. After a while he realized that wiping his eyes only allowed more to come. His nose and throat clogged up and he didn't want to even speak. He just wanted to cry. No matter how many times he cried, he felt like he could never release the emotion that was built up inside of him. He was the smartest in all his classes, especially math. Learning was his way of distracting himself from his classmates. They claimed he failed at everything a boy should be, they called him the black sheep of Scotland. He wasn't fit like all the young lads and didn't know how to hunt or fish or play sport. Often on the field at home he would play with sticks and vegetables from the garden and hit them all around, but it was nothing impressive. Duff could read, he could cook, but that was women's activities. He was a boy, that he was quite sure of. Belle said he was named after a baker. Was Grandpa Duff teased as well for doing women's work? Was it so terrible? Was Grandpa Duff the only man in Scotland known to cook? Is that his legacy? Duff thought about what his Pa said, about his name meaning darkness. For whatever reason Pa and Will saw evil in Duff, but Ma and Carol didn't. What was that difference between boys and men and their rugged judgment, and the girls and women and their loving acceptance? What did Duffaile think of his name? He thought about what his Ma said.

"Meh name marks meh, marks our fam. Te world will judge meh an' everyone will think ehm eh failure when they don' even know meh!" he shouted.

"Te world is big, Duff…eh highly doubt all o' te world will see ye an' know of te name yer classmates call ye…"

"Aye…well…te school is big enough."

Carol hugged her brother. "One day ye will make eh better name fer yerself. Ye will show te world how great of eh man ye are. Ye will be smart, good, kind, strong, famous…everyone will be shocked te see their 'Duf-FAIL-ee' so redeemed."

Her words comforted him. Her words always comforted him. She continued:

"Ye will follow yer dreams an' be great. Eh KNOW it."

Duff smiled. He believed her. He believed her then, and he believed her many years later, when he became a rising sports star. His name appeared in the newspaper after all the big games he won, and he thought of the expressions of his old classmates when they saw it. This was his legacy. This was how the world would remember Duff Killigan (shortened for publicity), a champion golfer.

Duff even believed his sister's words many years later, when he saw his name in the newspaper once again. He sat in his cell and read the article dedicated to him, the report of how he tried to endanger the world by covering it in mutant grass, and how he was defeated by a fifteen year-old cheerleader. He was still spitting seeds out of his mouth.

"Eh name is eh special thing, Duffaile." He said to himself, repeating the memory of his late mother. He sure brought his family justice this time. His father was right, his father was always right. His name meant evil and he was born that way. He may not have realized it when he was a lad, he didn't understand why the kids hated him. He was always their prey. He was the one the hunters had instinct to hunt. His true nature would have came out eventually, and for one of the first times, Duff felt like he knew himself. He was where he was meant to be. Who cared about the family name, either? The Killigans were known to be traitors, anyway. Why break the tradition? He would carry his family in his own tradition.

The one thing he still couldn't figure out was why his mother and his grandmother and his sister gave him such unconditional love. Perhaps, he figured, women didn't have such an instinct to detect his true nature. They were naïve to take pity on poor little Duff. It was obvious that he was such a bad man, how could they be so blind? How could anyone love him?