The Meeting
By BobE Block
“What God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
The carriage rolled quietly along the country road carefully, the coachman assuring the horses remained calm and secure. He wanted no fuss out of them this evening. The gentleman sitting in the back closed his tired eyes and inhaled the scent of the night air, always alive with dirt and oft times fresh mown grass, but tonight there was a hit of cherry blossoms and lilac. It was intoxicating and he could hardly help himself but to imbibe all of the aromatics filling his senses. He preferred traveling by carriage in the night, only two lanterns on either side of the coachmen lighting the air. Tonight they seemed to glow a lovely shade of rich yellow, a halo of sorts surrounding each one and then the sides of the coachman and that, too, was embracing his mood, adding to the pleasure: The sights, the smells and… the sounds. He closed his eyes once more and listened to the sounds of birds settling in for the evening and the frogs coming to life in the pond near the road. Their croaking made him smile and feel relief that he was undertaking this sojourn on his own and without any accompaniment.
When the carriage began to slow the man in the back opened his eyes and looked to the right side of the road, noticing the small cabin sitting there, so quaint, so quiet, so peaceful. He was sad the journey was all too short, but satisfied to arrive at the destination without the nuisance of being molested by the wayward passerby.
The coachmen stopped the carriage and immediately hopped down beside the carriage door and opened it promptly, then stepped backward a bit, watching as the lanky gentleman stood and he himself got out of the vehicle.
The lanky gentleman placed his hand upon the coachman’s shoulder and whispered, “It is a wonderful evening, is it not, Charles?”
Charles looked around at what looked to him to be yet another evening and nodded once if for no other reason than to appease the rider. “Yes, sir, a fine evening.” And as the gentleman started toward the cabin, Charles asked, “Are you certain you wish to do this, sir?”
He turned and with his wan smile, nodded once and said, “Yes, Charles, this is something I have wished to do for a while now. Please wait here. I will not be long.” He patted the coachman’s shoulder and went to the cabin, knocking once and entering, shutting the wooden door behind him.
Removing his tall hat, he bowed slightly to the man standing across the way. “Good evening, Jack.”
Jack remained staid and bowed slightly, “Good evening, sir.”
The gentleman shook his head kindly and offered, “For the time, Jack, let us refer to myself as Brahm. Have you ever read the wonderful tale by Washington Irving called The Legend of Sleepy Hollow?” Setting his hat upon the wooden table, jerked up his pant legs ever so slightly and sat in the chair close to him.
“No, sir, I am not aware of that story, which in my profession is rather amusing, don’t you think?” He pointed to the hearth. “Would you care for some tea, sir?”
“Yes, very sweet and a touch of milk if you have it.”
The man fussed over the cups and brought one to the seated gent and then he too sat, not too far away.
“In the story there is a robust lad by the name of Brahm and I would like to consider myself this evening, albeit falsely, a robust lad for one more time, all right, Jack? Would you mind referring to me as such?”
“No… Brahm.” He sipped his tea. “What has you calling this meeting –“ He was about to say sir, but paused his word and then added, “Brahm?”
The gentleman took a long, welcoming sip of the hot liquid and then put the cup, well cradled by his hands, into his lap and thought for a second that he saw his reflection staring up at him from the fluid, but no, for the cabin was too dark. Yes, a lamp was lit and the splendid fire blazed in its place, but still the room was dark, in many senses of the word. “I will not sugar coat anything for you tonight, Jack, as time is of the essence, but there is a disease which ravages my body and from which I find myself no longer being able to escape its discourse.”
“I am sorry –“ Stopping himself again from uttering the word sir.
Brahm put up his hand in quiet repose and offered to the younger gentleman, “You need not apologize for that which the Lord has given to me. This is my cross alone to bear and I shall bear it.” He paused his words and studied the flames flickering about the fireplace, their golden orange hues lighting the bricks and wood below with warming relief from the chill night air. “And yet it is this very discourse that lead me to wish to meet with you, Jack.” From his vest he removed an object wrapped in a handkerchief, one belonging to his wife and should she know of its missing the devil will be upon his shoulders, but it was again silver pieces to pay the price. Handing it over to the man, he stared oddly at the younger man’s dark hair and mustache. Somehow in this light it seemed even darker and perhaps a bit foreboding, almost quintessential for the attributes of the conversation.
“A gift?” Jack asked, taking it curiously.
“I only wish that it were, Jack. No…” He pulled back his slender hand and brushed down the rough edges of his beard and whispered, “I am going to ask something of you that should never be asked of a friend.”
Jack carefully pulled aside the corners of the hanky and noticed a well-used musket. His eyes widened as he looked back to the man sitting across from him. “A musket?”
The man nodded and proffered, “Jack, I wish for you to take this weapon and kill me with it.”
The utter shock filling the young man’s face had Brahm immediately rising to his feet and taking the few steps across the room to meet the man. Brahm dropped to a knee and put his hand around Jack’s neck softly, assuring to get his whole attention.
“Sir…” Muttered the stunned individual as he stared between the weapon and the man he admired.
“You must listen…” Feeling ill kneeling in such a fashion, Brahm rose to his feet and returned to his chair, sighing heavily that he could no longer do the things he wished, his abhorrent pain was the lord and master now. “Have you ever heard the stories of George Washington and his teeth?” He tried, in vain, to add levity to the heaviness of the room, but the pall was winning, so he continued, “George always wanted to be a man that was strong, brave and intelligent and he lead the country as such a man, but when it came time to having his painting done he would never be without his teeth, for he hated how his chin, sans the teeth, made him look dotty and old.”
Jack tried to smile, but the tears broke silently from the corners of his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
Brahm set his dark eyes to Jack and whispered, “I do not wish to leave this country seeming old and dotty.” He luxuriated in the last of the tea in his cup and then began fondling it restlessly. “I will leave this country strong and assuredly, not allowing anyone who has endured the last four years the pain and agony of seeing me wither away like a ghost awaiting a hotel to haunt.”
Jack, once more, attempt to comprehend what was being said here, but he knew all too well and he did not care for the assumptions he made.
“I know I ask a lot of you, Jack.” And from another pocket he pulled an envelope that he handed to the younger man.
“What is this?” Jack opened it to see many hundreds of dollars. “Sir, I will not-“
But Brahm would not take it back. “I can no longer tolerate the pain that besieges me, Jack. I can no longer concentrate on tasks at hand. My body is comprised of pain and discomfort, which I am losing to.” He patted Jack’s hand. “Whether you take the money or not, I ask that you do this for me.”
“Tonight? Right now?” He stood, feeling enraged and indignant. This was a question of lunacy, conspiracy, treason and why in heaven’s name would he agree to kill his friend? He turned to look down at Brahm and whispered, “You wish that I should kill you?”
Brahm patted his hand and said, “Not tonight, but tomorrow. It is the 14th and I will be at a play as mother insists I relax.” He laughed dourly and looked at the young man he was asking the world of and whispered deftly, “You may deny this request, but I plead that you keep the asking to yourself.”
“But… sir…” The money spilled out of the envelope and across the rug upon the floor, as tears streamed down his cheeks. “You have meant the world to this country, how could I-“
Brahm stood and moved to the man, taking him into his arms as he whispered, “The world now must move on, as the world moved on once Moses perished. I know that you will be scorned, ridiculed and possibly caught and once caught…” Brahm looked him in the eye. “Killed. If these are your reasons then deny my request without hesitation and I shall forget this evening happened, but you must make your decision post haste. I beg of you.”
Jack moved away, not wishing to be so close to the man he admired, the man who was so brave and intelligent… he used the back of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes and he looked back, knowing full well that this is what was to be. He knew this man would never tell him a falsehood, he knew this man was only thinking of the people, as he always did.
“But… sir, is there no other way?”
Brahm walked gracefully toward the table, where he collected his tall hat, placed it elegantly upon his head and expressed this sentiment. “I am dying, Jack. That is the beginning and the end of it and I do not wish to die at the hands of this accursed ailment, so I find myself pleading with a friend to save this country, to keep this country strong. To keep my strong image intact. Will you accommodate me, old friend?”
“Sir…” He dropped his head.
“Jack…” He was now close to the man once more. “Please?”
He was right. Brahm was always right. He had been right about every single thing he knew, he said, he felt… he was right, as he was about this horrific question.
“Yes, sir, but sir…” He grabbed the man’s arm fiercely. “Will you forgive me?”
Brahm leaned in and kissed him upon the cheek, whispering, “I am the Judas, Jack, for in asking this selfish request I have asked you to kill yourself as well. Can thou forgive me?”
Brahm hugged him warmly and watched as the crying man saluted him bravely with a trembling hand. “Where, sir?”
“Tomorrow night at Ford Theatre.” Brahm paused, extended his hand toward the depleted man and said, “Though mankind will never know of it, Jack, to myself you will always be the hero that saved the United States of America. God bless you.” He patted his stovepipe hat into place and left the cabin.