A Good Man
A Good Man
Author: Dearland76
Rating: All
Summary: Farley Higgins lived the life of a good and decent man. On this night, he will face the consequences of the one time he was anything but good.
He had been a good man. That is what they were going to write in his sure to be lengthy obituary. It was not that Farley Higgins did not believe in his own goodness because, truly, he did. He had spent much of his ninety years living a decent, respectable life. Many community leaders pointed to him when they needed an example for young people to emulate.
Farley was born to an upper-middleclass family in a tropical country that had once been a part of the British Empire. His father had been the owner of a three dry-goods stores and his mother, a high school teacher. They had expected excellence from their only offspring, and he had delivered on that expectation. He scored excellent marks in his classes and was a star on his school’s cricket team.
A gust of wind lashed at his bedroom windows, flinging them back with a loud clang. Nerves on edge, Farley shivered despite the balmy weather and wrapped his smoking jacket closer about his frail body. He was alone tonight. His daughter, her children and grandchildren lived on the other side of the city. His wife was long deceased and he had sent the help home earlier. He had a special meeting tonight. He needed to be alone for it.
Farley got up from his chair and shuffled his way to the small bar that stood against the light blue wall. He poured himself a glass of rum and added two cubes of ice. Sighing at the aches that riddled his body, Farley returned to his chair. Once he was seated, he took a sip of his drink and then glanced at his watch. He had forty minutes before his guest arrived.
He leaned over and picked up the photo album that he had dropped onto the polished hardwood floor hours ago. Aged and leather bound, the album contained a pictorial history of his family. The first image was a faded pencilled sketch of a topless slave girl. Her name was Beatrix and the artist was unknown. He continued flipping through the pages of sketches, some rough others detailed. Eventually, they gave way to photographs depicting stiffly posed gentile, Creole people in equally stiff outfits.
In each image, leading all the way to his parents, Farley fancied that he saw something of himself among the faces-pale or dark, tall or short; he was a product of each. His mother, Edna, had instilled this sense of worth in him. She had also pressed into him, the idea that he must succeed in life. He must match his cousins and if possible outdo them.
Another rush of wind rolled into the room, lifting the curtains and revealing the full, heavy moon that hung in the inky-black sky. It reminded him of that faithful night long ago when he had been anything but a good man. Farley took a quick gulp of his rum. He savoured the rich dark tones of the drink and thought of that night. The night he caved and reached out to something that lurked in his family’s history.
He flipped the pages of the album once more until he reached the coloured sketch of Beatrix’s granddaughter, Rose. Born in 1812, she would have still been a young woman when slavery in the colony ended. But that was not what drew Farley to her beautiful face with its sultry half smile on this night. Instead, he was reliving the tale he had heard as a child.
Rose, it would seem, had developed a love affair with the master’s son. Unlike Beatrix who had been forced to endure her master’s “affections”, Rose more than welcomed young Willem’s attentions. And then Willem did what was expected of him and married a respectable woman of his class. A very pregnant Rose miscarried and used that event to weave a curse. She used an awful ritual taught to her by the old woman who tended to the children of the sugar plantation. Blinded by rage, pain and misery, Rose used the body of her half-formed child to create the many strands of her curse upon Willem. However, in her angry haste, she had made a mistake, which gave Willem a loophole.
“I’ve been a good man,” Farley whispered to himself. He took another drink of his rum and listened to the rustle of palm leaves outside his window.
Yes, he had done many a kind deed. He regularly donated to charity and until two years ago, he often volunteered at a soup kitchen. Farley had spent the last seventy-two years making up for the most horrible month of his life.
****
He had turned eighteen earlier that year and was preparing to head off to England to begin his university studies, when life collapsed around him. On a July night, he had returned home from a party only to hear his father’s gun and his mother’s scream.
He flew into the house and found his father dead on the floor, blood already seeping from the gaping wound. Judging by the location of the gun, it was clear his father had committed suicide---a most cowardly act in young Farley’s opinion.
The next day, he and his mother would find out that they were penniless because Jeremy Higgins had gambled everything away. The news shocked Edna Higgins into a severe stroke. The following week, Mavis, the pretty girl from school that he courted, told him she would no longer consider his affections.
Alone and homeless, Farley had felt at his wits end. A cousin had taken pity on him and temporarily offered him a room in his home. One night while looking through the leather bound album, he remembered a tale told to him by his mother during a lazy, rainy day when he was just eight years old.
Figuring that there was nothing left to loose, he journeyed to the abandoned sugar plantation that Rose had once called home. It took some searching; however, he found the graveyard and Willem’s cracked tomb, which stood a few inches above ground. With shaking breath, he recited the words ingrained into his mind since childhood.
“Willem De Groot, as a child of Rose I invoke thee.”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small knife he carried. Bracing himself, he sliced into his hand and let the blood drip on to the cracks running the length of the tomb.
“Willem De Groot, as a child of Rose I invoke thee to do my bidding.”
Silence and then the wind picked up, whipping at his body in a frenzy. When it died down and the night was again silent, an apparition appeared before him and solidified. As Farley stared at the pale man with curly black hair, sea green eyes and a crisped, antiquated outfit, he knew this was a mistake. There was something a little too malicious in the curl of the thin lips and something very forward about the tilt of the head.
In a voice that sounded rusty and dry, Willem asked, “Why did you wake me?”
Ignoring his worry, he forged ahead. “You’re bound to do the bidding of Rose’s children?”
“Yes, I am...for a price.”
Had Farley been thinking sensibly at that moment, he would have stopped right there and fled the grounds of the De Groot Plantation. However, he was young and desperate. And so, he agreed to pay the price demanded from him. To seal the deal, Willem had directed him to a place where he would find a long forgotten pirate booty.
****
Now, Farley awaited the arrival of the dead Dutchman, coming to collect the final piece of his price. He looked at his watch. He had three more minutes.
He glanced about his bedroom, making sure, all was tidy and that the letters for his daughter, two grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren were nestled against his pillows. He swallowed the last of his rum and placed the glass atop the table next to his chair.
One minute.
Farley closed his eyes, silently counting down to the moment. When he reached zero, his eyes drifted open and there beside his dresser was the Dutchman. Even though, it should not have surprised him, Farley was jolted by the fact that the ghost appeared exactly as it did seventy-two years ago. The hair, the face, the outfit, it was all the same.
They stared at each other for a moment and then Farley said in voice that was just above a whisper. “You came.”
In that same tone that reminded him of rusted metal, De Groot replied, “A bargain is a bargain, son of Rose.”
“Yes, yes, two souls for my wish.”
“I am here for the final soul, Farley Higgins.”
Harkening back once more to that night, Farley remembered the moment he had been a very bad man.
The Dutchman had requested two souls and without even thinking of the consequence, he had let his resentment guide his words. “Mavis,” he had shouted. He had all but demanded her soul be snatched away from her body before the night ended. However, when he was to offer the second soul, reason and guilt had accosted him. With no backing out from the deal, he had offered his own soul as the final payment.
“Seventy-two years or if death intervened on any day prior, you shall have my soul.”
“It is time.”
The lights flickered off and on. Willem vanished and reappeared next to his chair. Green eyes glittering, he reached out a hand and pressed it above Farley’s heart.
Farley closed his eyes and felt his blood chill as soon as the ghost touched him. His heart rate slowed and his bones shook. Yet, he found himself to be at peace. He had raised a wonderful daughter, been faithful to his wife and given to society. It was more than some men could ever claim. As his heart gave one final sluggish beat, his last thought before he soul was taken: I have been a good man.