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    My cousin Alfred is something of an embarrassment to me. He, if I may so refer to him, is a shapeless mass of flesh whose only recognisable feature is a large and well-developed mouth, complete with a perfect set of teeth. The doctors were understandably appalled when they cut him from his mother’s womb, but she decided to keep him, even when they told her he was probably nonviable.

  My aunt has doted on Alfred since then. She has had to do so on her own, for her husband left as soon as he saw the creature he had helped to conceive. Alfred seems in perfect health, but has hardly grown since he was born, and that was seven years ago. He cannot move, or even speak, though he can produce a keening sound, like that uttered by gerbils when they have been left for too long without water.

  My aunt takes this as a signal to feed him. His diet is restricted to semi-liquids because solids make him gag. My aunt also has to change his bedding when he soils it and has done so since she brought him home.

  I do not know how my aunt endures the pressures of caring for Alfred. Most people would want to avoid such a creature, but my aunt speaks lovingly of him and spends her evenings by his cradle, rocking him and singing lullabies. Perhaps she hopes he will one day speak, though given his deficiencies it should be clear he never will. I sometimes imagine she longs for his death and with it a release from her burden.

  I have not asked her if she does. When others raise the subject she becomes extremely defensive. Many scientists believe he should be examined more closely and have asked her to surrender him. She refuses to comply so he remains a more personal problem. I sometimes think she is doing the wrong thing in sustaining him.

    If I ever voiced these thoughts my aunt would be horrified, just as she was horrified when I suggested she join a travelling circus and put Alfred on display. Nowadays the right thing to do is post photos on social media. My aunt does this regularly and earns a small but steady income. So far the only complaints have come from mothers of other exceptional children who feel they have been upstaged.

    My aunt naturally prefers to hear from the new friends she has made: sympathetic people who say she is strong and brave. This may sound very superficial but her feelings for Alfred run deeper than this. She is firmly convinced of his humanity and believes he has a soul. I admire the depth of her empathy, though it strikes me as being a little obsessive, and may actually be a form of defence against a truth she would rather not face. Alfred bothers me as well, for although he can do me no physical harm, the knowledge that I am related to him is not a pleasant weight to bear.

Description

    My cousin Alfred is something of an embarrassment to me. He, if I may so refer to him, is a shapeless mass of flesh whose only recognisable feature is a large and well-developed mouth, complete with a perfect set of teeth. The doctors were understandably appalled when they cut him from his mother’s womb, but she decided to keep him, even when they told her he was probably nonviable.

  My aunt has doted on Alfred since then. She has had to do so on her own, for her husband left as soon as he saw the creature he had helped to conceive. Alfred seems in perfect health, but has hardly grown since he was born, and that was seven years ago. He cannot move, or even speak, though he can produce a keening sound, like that uttered by gerbils when they have been left for too long without water.

  My aunt takes this as a signal to feed him. His diet is restricted to semi-liquids because solids make him gag. My aunt also has to change his bedding when he soils it and has done so since she brought him home.

  I do not know how my aunt endures the pressures of caring for Alfred. Most people would want to avoid such a creature, but my aunt speaks lovingly of him and spends her evenings by his cradle, rocking him and singing lullabies. Perhaps she hopes he will one day speak, though given his deficiencies it should be clear he never will. I sometimes imagine she longs for his death and with it a release from her burden.

  I have not asked her if she does. When others raise the subject she becomes extremely defensive. Many scientists believe he should be examined more closely and have asked her to surrender him. She refuses to comply so he remains a more personal problem. I sometimes think she is doing the wrong thing in sustaining him.

    If I ever voiced these thoughts my aunt would be horrified, just as she was horrified when I suggested she join a travelling circus and put Alfred on display. Nowadays the right thing to do is post photos on social media. My aunt does this regularly and earns a small but steady income. So far the only complaints have come from mothers of other exceptional children who feel they have been upstaged.

    My aunt naturally prefers to hear from the new friends she has made: sympathetic people who say she is strong and brave. This may sound very superficial but her feelings for Alfred run deeper than this. She is firmly convinced of his humanity and believes he has a soul. I admire the depth of her empathy, though it strikes me as being a little obsessive, and may actually be a form of defence against a truth she would rather not face. Alfred bothers me as well, for although he can do me no physical harm, the knowledge that I am related to him is not a pleasant weight to bear.