Rich Man's Coffin (52 page)

"Come again, ma'am?"

"That's what I said.
 
Gillian picked up the can, and she seemed puzzled.
 
She said that in all her long talks with you about your adventures that you had never mentioned one time about being in Poland.
 
We figured it must be one of your jokes, eh Black Jack?"
 
There was a pause.
 
"Black Jack?" No answer.
 
There was a flutter of commotion in the dark as the elderly pair scrambled from the couch and hurriedly lit all the lamps in the room.

Sitting there in the middle of the room, beside the desk upon which sat his crudely crafted machine, was Arpur, head to one side and hands clutching at his gut.
 
On the desk beside the apparatus were a saucer and a fork that held the last bite of chocolate cake.
 
The projector worked through a lens from a watch that had been purchased at the expense of six pounds, three shillings, six pence, a day in court, and Black Jack’s remaining pride. It sat atop the desk that had been thrown in with the bargain and brought back to Kennington as a show of no hard feelings and much persuasion by Miss Baillie upon her hot-tempered fiancé.

Awaking in the hospital, Arpur looked out over the cold, gray plains being pelted with winter rain.
 
The day seemed as night; and even the nurses' cheery smiles could not lift his spirits as he lay upon the white sheets stamped in red letters:
 
'Picton Infirmary'.
 
He listened intently from his bed as the doctor in the hallway told the Major and his wife that all that could be done was to “make him comfortable.”
 
They came and stood by his side, expressing their sympathy and apologies for what had happened.
 
They iterated their wish that they could do something for him.
 
They left with best regards and gratitude for his long service to the family.

Shortly thereafter, she came.
 
The daughter he rarely saw stood with her, the mother's hands upon her shoulders.
 
They gazed forlornly at him.

"I'm sorry, Mister Arpur.
 
I didn't mean to make you sick."
 
The little girl said, her brown eyes twinkling and her broad nose twitching.

"Shhh."
 
Her mother shook her shoulders gently. "I'm sorry.
 
I should have known you never sailed to Poland."
 
Said Mrs. Western.
 

A laugh made it halfway out of him before he grimaced.
 
"I guess this is one way to cleanse the soul."
 
He said, grabbing his side. “Thank you for coming."
 
He said, grasping her hand.

She sobbed and laughed simultaneously. "It is my pleasure, you old fool."
 
She said.
 
They exchanged a pained glance for a moment.
 
“We have to go now.”
 
As they were leaving, the little girl broke from the door and ran back to Arpur's bed.

"Mama says she still loves you sometimes, Papa." She ran back to her mother who shot an embarrassed look at Arpur.
 
She grabbed the little girl's hand and they disappeared from the doorway.

Arpur thought he slept for a time.
 
He awoke to find Reverend Ironside standing beside his bed.

"How are you, you old dog?"
 
Asked the Reverend.
 
"I’ve been sent in to give your last blessings."

         
Arpur watched as the man whom he thought had died years ago began to make the gestures of the Cross and to chant in Latin.
 
Arpur turned and looked out the window.
 
It was still raining hard as the sky grew dark under a hidden sunset.
 
The priest finished his ceremony.

"They say there's a flood coming, Black Jack.
 
What do you make of that?"
 
Asked the clergyman.

"I'm not ready for this."
 
Arpur said suddenly. He bolted upright in his bed.
 
"I’ve got things to do."
 
He sprang from his hospital bed in his gown and bare feet, and he headed for the door.
 
As he left the room, he glimpsed a parrot landing on the preacher's shoulder.

"No, Dick, no!" squawked the bird.

Arpur ran down the long, dark hallway toward the main doors of the infirmary.
 
Over his shoulder, he heard a large door open. Many big dogs began to howl frantically, their claws tapping on the tiles as they got closer behind him.
 
Bursting through the doors, he ran out into the rain and headed for Para in the remaining daylight.
 
The dogs pursued him as the water began to rise around him.

Splashing through deep puddles, he raced for home along the muddy road to Kennington.
 
He wanted to reach his cabin and retrieve his coffin before it was too late.
 
He wanted a proper burial like his old nemesis.
 
He wanted to be buried in the casket he had made.

Reaching his shack, Arpur stood knee-deep in the rising water.
 
The dogs had abandoned their pursuit.
 
He brought his burial box down from the ceiling beams and climbed in, leaving the lid behind.
 
Coffin or canoe, the point was moot now as he floated calmly on the mounting waters.
 
They will find me
, he thought,
when the flood is gone
.
 
They can bury me on the spot they find me on, for all I care.
 
At least I’ll be remembered. But I’d rather live to tell everyone back home.

The coffin drifted around the valley basin as the roof to his hut disappeared under water.
 
The flood was worse than he had expected.
 
Suddenly, the rain stopped.
 
The clouds parted. The sun shined focused rays down around him.
 
The water became as smooth as glass.
 
He sat and looked around the beautiful still silence.
 
Then he noticed that a strange unknown force seemed to be pushing his vessel gently toward the west.
 
He was surprised by a splash. A small black boy popped his head out of the water a few feet from the coffin.

"Daddy, Daddy.
 
Look!
 
Grandmamma taught me how to swim.
 
I can swim forever now."
 
The boy said.
 
He swam on ahead of the casket and disappeared.

Where the boy had first appeared, Arpur's mother sprang from the surface.
 
Treading water, she said, "Oh, Arthur.
 
He was such a joy to all of us.
 
You would have been so proud, son!
 
Don't worry, though.
 
I took good care of him.
 
His mama took ill in the head after he was born, though.
 
The Master had to put her down.
 
We gonna all be together now.
 
You'll see.
 
C'mon, it's just up ahead."
 
The black woman swam away, disappearing into the glare of the sun-stained waters.

Arpur lay back, a sense of peace coming over him, as various other figures from his past swam by.
 
The box floated into the wavering streams of glimmering light, toward the blazing ball in the sky.
 
A rainbow appeared in the distance.
 
As he approached the setting sun, the bright yellow shine blinded him, causing him to see green. His canoe fused with the luminescent, emerald crystal in the sky as it sintered and solidified.
 
Turning from a fiery orb to a ring of greenstone, the jade pendant gave up its ethereal light and faded into the dark flesh of his black chest where he lay on the white covers of the hospital bed.

The nurses gathered around, and with a “1-2-3,” and a “heave-ho,” they lifted him free from his bed and shrouded him with the sheets.

Epilogue

         
Arthur Harper Alesworth died on July third, 1894, just two days before his eighty-second birthday.
 
His funeral was well attended.
 
His obituary in the local paper said that he was a trustworthy old man; and although he made no show of religion, dearly loved his Bible.
 
The paper went on to say that those in the valley who knew him well had nothing but kind words for him and said that he would be missed there.

Black Jack White was buried at Picton cemetery in the dead of winter. He lies peacefully in a grave that remains unmarked.