Malcolm Brown was an interesting soul. He was almost instantly the most unpretentious, honorable mortal I had met in all my travels. Everything he did was purposeful and done with quiet dignity. His father had been a slave who had acquired a modest property for his family. Malcolm built on this legacy and worked hard to ensure that his children were exposed to a better life as second-generation free men in the third world. He understood his station in life and sacrificed so that those he loved would be less burdened. He was a deeply spiritual man who believed in reaping the fruits of your labor. It was not a judgmental stance, he simply believed in karma and while I had first hand knowledge that things were not quite so clear-cut I accepted that in essence this was an undeniable truth.
He had two precocious daughters, ten and eight years old, and his wife was striking woman of African, Carib and Caucasian lineage. She was a slender woman who worked fourteen-hour days in a neighboring canfield to help her husband maintain their home and provide for their children. Not before long, over the course of long conversations working in the fields converting our crop from cocoa to rice and cane I promoted Malcolm to head custodian of the Condé Estate. With this responsibility came a generous raise in his remuneration which allowed him to give his wife the gift of an early retirement. Of course this only made her feel indebted to me and she insisted on coming in three times a week to do general cleaning and cooking for me. Soon my house was filled with conversation, laughter and something that had not touched me in an untainted form for quite some time, love.
I was guilty. Guilty of deceiving these people and guilty of giving these young girls a monster for a surrogate uncle. But try as I might I was incapable of turning them away, of not enjoying how they made me feel, of not caring about them. I even attempted to go without what sustains me. Sadly, my nature is far stronger than what they were nurturing within me. Instead, as some small measure of reason, I studied people more intently and choose those who I judged to be dangerous and sinister as my victims. I do understand that I may be the least appropriate person to judge anyone, but I consoled myself with the thought that the world was a bit better without these unfortunate souls. The irony is inescapable.
Something else was unavoidable. This perceptive man and his family were captivated by my presence and were beginning to grow concerned about my isolated existence. They credited me with bringing a certain degree of stability into their lives which, they insisted, extended far beyond just the financial. It was unbearable to hear Mrs. Brown remark that I was a God sent and her husband add that not all Europeans are pre-occupied with the pursuit of ill gotten gains.
It took longer than I expected but just past a year into our arrangement on a quite Friday evening, Malcolm Brown broached the subject that I had been dreading. He stood at the door to my study, as I updated the bookkeeping. He wore a damp brown cotton shirt and khaki slacks, and removed his wide brimmed hat so he could wipe sweat from his brow with a muscular forearm. He waited for me to notice him.
“Come in Malcolm.” I said without raising my head.
“Thank you.” He said walking quietly to one of the vacant chairs that faced my desk.
“Please sit my friend.” I said raising my head and smiling at him warmly. “And I have something for you.” I said handing him a sealed envelope that rested on my desk.
“Again, I thank you Nicholas.” Him calling me Nicholas had taken nearly a year. He smiled weakly.
“Is there something else?” I asked turning to him squarely now, looking into his bright eyes that were set deep into his sun darkened lined face. I could hear his heart beat quicken.
“Yes.” He paused.
“Is it your wife, the girls?” My concern growing.
“No, no, no. They are well. But Beatrice and I have been talking and we are both worried.”
“About?”
“About you Nicholas. Forgive me, but you are a good man who should not be alone. We feel like you are punishing yourself for something. Maybe in your past?”
I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze and looked away as I heard his heartbeat slow.
“Not in my past. Something in my present.”
He swallowed, slowly, deliberately before continuing.
“I feel that there is a chance for redemption as long as there is life.” He said bravely.
“I want to believe that.” I said solemnly. “So I will attempt to tell you my truth.”
No comments:
Post a Comment