Raymond 8th Nov 2021

Yesterday, I tried to call Raymond to wish him a happy 83rd birthday. He didn't answer the phone; maybe he was out partying with his children and grandchildren, but I congratulated him on his Facebook page, a convenient apparatus for sending good wishes to everybody. 

While writing Bernard's story, I recalled my desire to write Raymond's story. I knew him better than I knew Bernard. In any case, we were close in age, with only a two-year difference. In our youth, we often found ourselves together, mostly with his friends, when I joined in their games or sometimes with mine.

He wanted to show me kindness because, for some strange reason, I was not as accepted as he was amongst the crowd of boys we played with. For example, he was always chosen when they chose soccer teams, and I was left out. He would then say, "Please, you know, you guys must put Leon on the team also." Thanks to him, I was selected. He was always looking after me.

However, his act of compassion annoyed me. I don't know why, and family and friends accused me of being ungrateful to my kind sibling. Raymond was always busy making models, like airplanes and little jigsaw puzzles, and taking pictures. He became a star among our relatives for his handmade creations. One and all commended his skill and affection and said I should be grateful for a protector.

On the one hand, I was proud of him, but on the other, I was jealous that I could not do these things. From time to time, I would also try to make some object that would earn me the admiration of my family and friends. They applauded my effort, but it was clear that their words originated in a wish to be charitable. None of my endeavors ever attained as much acclaim as he did.

I took pictures and worked with him in the darkroom to process his photographs, feeling I was part of his success. 

Raymond succeeded in everything. He was always near the top of the class in every branch of knowledge, and the teachers liked him, whether it was history, Latin, or any other subject. 

He was good at physical competitions but not all sports. He was so good at swimming that my father felt he was a gifted swimmer and sent him to special lessons to help him expand his talent. Indeed, he gained quite a reputation as a fast and powerful swimmer. 

He also had a naughty streak. He loved to make his friends laugh. One of the memorable events was on his Bar Mitzvah; as was the custom, he stood with my mother and father at the door of the banquet hall in Krugersdorp to welcome the guests.

One of the well-wishers was Uncle Louis, the husband of my mother's sister, Aunty Sarah. Louis was an earnest but kind man who had done much for Raymond. 

When he was a child, he suffered from diphtheria. Uncle Louis took him to recuperate to the sea by plane at a time when very few people flew. So Uncle Louis had a special place in his heart for my older brother. 

At his Bar Mitzvah celebration, the young celebrant played a trick on our Uncle. He put some jelly in his hand, and Uncle Louis, not knowing this, gladly took his hand to shake it and congratulate him.

Uncle Louis found his hand besmirched with the red mess and was shocked at this behaviour, especially from his favourite nephew. Raymond thought it was amusing, and everybody else laughed at Uncle Louis, who wasn't amused.  

We were envious of each other. When one obtained a gift, the other wanted one also. He hated to see me get a present, and I would eat my heart out when he acquired a gift, and I didn't. 

Once, my father presented me with a reading lamp, which I was very proud of, and I showed it to the family. It was second-hand, something that he had bought at a sale. Raymond was furious, "why hadn't he been given a light for his bed?" My mother said, "Mannie, you have to buy Raymond one as well".  The instrument they purchased for him was ten times fancier, the kind of lamp the architects used, it swiveled in every direction. My parents thought my older brother was destined to be an architect.; 

They bought him a drawing board to plan his models, etc. So, I still did not have any advantage over Raymond. My dream of having something that Raymond didn't have faded.

He always got more than what I received. Later, the firstborn son went to university to study engineering. He failed in the first year, but then he went back and studied quantity surveying, which he qualified for and worked in this profession. 

I also went to university, but after failing to succeed, I never went back. I became a Hebrew teacher. Competition between us weakened as we grew older. 

I relented, deciding not to struggle and to accept my position behind Raymond. To this day, this feeling of being second to my brother pains me. Once, I consoled my aching sense of inferiority by surreptitiously ensconcing a pretty, little penknife with an ivory handle my father had brought him from Israel, which I envied very much.

 I took this apparatus and buried it in the garden. To this day, I am satisfied that I had put one over the big fellow. But, of course, it was nonsense.

 I hadn't pulled anything on Raymond. He was better than me in every way, 

I don't believe that it's my fault that I was inferior. I was always propelled downwards, and Raymond was continually impelled forward, encouraged, and loved by my parents. I did not receive the same amount of encouragement and love, so I ended up in second place, but I was never sad and depressed at not getting as much as he. He was an ideal for me to try and emulate. I would have liked to be as clever as he was, but I accept reality and remain proud of my brother.

The surprising conclusion I reached after writing about my brother was not that I begrudged him his success; the opposite was true: he was envious of me. I can't imagine why he should resent someone who, compared to him, was unintelligent and untalented. Envy for me lay deep in his heart.