Christian Charity

[With apologies to Charles Dickens.]1

Charles Wilson was definitely real and definitely alive, of that there can be no doubt. Fingerprints from the night in question have been matched against his Selective Service records, and a DNA sample taken when he finally died many years later matched DNA under Harold's fingernails from that remarkable night.2

So all of the ridiculous theories that Charles was a ghost, a figment of the imagination, or some sort of ectoplasm, were laughable. This despite the reports that he did seem on that one occasion to be able to appear and disappear like a Houdini, twist reality beyond recognition, and make objects and events appear and disappear mysteriously. After all, it must be pointed out, Houdini was also definitely real and definitely alive.3

The first remarkable appearance by Charles Wilson was shortly after eight in the evening at Harold Throckmorton's 43rd floor penthouse. Throckmorton had dined, as was his custom, at Antoinettes. He had taken his private elevator, for which only he and the security guard had passcards, to the 43rd floor; he had unlocked his door, which was securely bolted; and settled down in his easy chair after rebolting the door. You can imagine his shock at being suddenly addressed by a disembodied voice.4

"Harold, you old goat, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up."5

Harold jumped, and turned toward the apparent source of the intruder's voice. He saw a dim shadow down an unlit hall, but the shape of the body and the timbre of the voice were both familiar.6

"Charles, is that you? What the devil are you doing here, and how in the world did you get in?"7

"How I got in will remain a mystery, one of many you will encounter this night. What I am doing here is settling a score that I should have settled seven years ago when we dissolved our partnership."8

Charles stepped forward into the light, and Harold could see that he was little changed from the man he remembered. He was scrawny in stature, but soft in demeanor; far too soft for Harold's way of thinking. That softness was what had led the two of them to go their separate ways. The man's everlasting whining over the welfare of their employees and tenants had finally become more than Harold could bear, and he had forced Charles out with some rather underhanded maneuvers. It was no wonder Charles might feel he had a score to settle.9

"Tell me, Harold, what kind of a childhood did you have?"10

"What?" This was not what Harold had expected.11

"Were you happy? Were you miserable? Did your parents give you the things you needed? Did they beat you? What kind of a childhood did you have?"12

"That is none of your business, no more than you have any business breaking into my home."13

"Ah, but I am in your home, and tonight I am making it my business to probe into your life. You can tell me now of your own volition, or tell me later under duress such as you cannot even imagine."14

"Get out, NOW! I'm calling security."15

"Don't bother. Your phone's dead. And I strongly advise you to keep your eyes on me."16

Harold saw Charles reach into his pocket, and felt a moment of panic. What if he had a gun?17

"No, you don't want to know what's in my pocket. You need to watch my eyes."18

Against his better judgment, even against his will, Harold found his eyes wrenched from Charles' pocket to his face. The face was coming closer, ever closer, and the eyes were boring into his. They were hypnotic, somehow. From the edge of his vision, Harold saw a flash of silver at Charles' waist, but even then he could not tear his eyes from the crazed pair now only inches from his face. Suddenly he jumped as he felt something hard poke against his stomach.19

"Ah," Charles said in a voice Harold had never heard, a voice from which any trace of softness had been erased, "now you've felt the blade. Your hands are desperately trying to reach out, to tear the knife from my hand, but they can't, can they? It's as if there is a strap holding your arms, keeping them pulled against the back of your chair. You're pulling against those straps, aren't you? But you can't budge them. Your elbows are locked at your hips, and can't be moved."20

Indeed, Harold found himself completely immobilized. Only his mouth was flapping up and down, as he tried to scream, but his throat refused to make a sound. Still their eyes were locked together, and his eyes, too, were frozen in place.21

"I could cut you into tiny pieces, now, if I wanted to, and you couldn't do a thing about it. But I'm not going to do that. No, I'm just going to start nicking you a few places, places where you have lots of nerves, and no large blood vessels. I want you to hurt, but not bleed, at least not too much. First a wee slice on your cheek, like this. How does that feel?"22

"AIEEE!"23

"Ah, we have a voice again. Perhaps it's ready to speak, now."24

"Yes, yes, anything."25

"Tell me about your childhood."26

"It was horrible! He made me do things all the time."27

"Who made you?"28

"The man who said he was my father, but wasn't. I know he wasn't."29

"How did you know that?"30

"He was a bad man. He didn't like us. I tried to tell my Mommy, but she didn't believe me. He tricked her, and made her think he was my father. She even let him sleep in her room. He was a bad, bad, man."31

Harold couldn't believe he was saying these things. It was as if he was standing outside the scene watching himself as a young child. And yet it was his own mouth moving and his own voice speaking.32

"Well," Charles said in a consoling tone, "why don't we see if we can find the bad man, and do something about him.33

With that Harold saw his young self transported to a part of the city he had not visited for years; a place he had sworn never to visit again.34

"Show me the bad man," Charles demanded.35

"There, there he is," and indeed he saw the man who claimed to be his father trudging down the street in worn working clothes.36

They followed him to a feed store, where he went around to the back and into a door. He came out a moment later and walked over to a large truck, open in the back. He reached in, pulled out a large bag of grain, and threw it over his back. Staggering a bit, he carried the grain over to, and through, the door. It wasn't long before he returned without the bag, stretching his arms over his head, only to go back immediately to the truck and pull out another bag. He repeated this task, over and over, as Charles and Harold watched.37

"I think we've seen enough," Charles finally said. "Do you think he is being bad?"38

"No, not here," Harold argued, "but you should see him at home."39

"Good point," Charles agreed, and suddenly they were in a cramped apartment. Little Harold was sitting on the floor, building a tower with blocks.40

"Harold," his mother said, "pick up your blocks, now. Your father will be here soon."41

"No! This is my house, not his. I won't do it!"42

"Now stop that, Harold. You know if you have your toys all over the floor, he'll be upset. You don't want him to paddle you, do you?"43

"He has no right to paddle me! He's not my father!"44

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so wrong. He is your father, and he loves you, just as I love you. He and I loved each other so much that we made you so we could share our love. You must stop your silly fantasy. It hurts your mommy to hear you say that, and it hurts your daddy, but most of all, it hurts you. Please, pick up your things. Do it for me."45

"All right, Mommy."46

Harold had just gotten the last of his blocks carried into his bedroom when the bad man lurched through the apartment door.47

"Oh, dearest, you look so tired. Are you OK?"48

"It's my back, honey; it's killing me. I just need to lie down on the couch for a bit."49

"Of course, darling. I'll bring you a beer."50

"You're an angel. ... Aaarrrggghh," he added as he stretched out.51

"Mommy," Harold pulled at her skirt in the kitchen, "don't give him any beer. It makes him meaner and meaner."52

"Quiet, Harold, he'll hear you," his mother whispered.53

"HAROLD," the man bellowed from the living room.54

Harold stomped into the room and planted his feet apart, with his hands on his hips. "What," he demanded.55

"Were you sassing your mother?"56

"No, I was sassing you."57

"Well, I don't like that, but I especially don't like that tone I just heard you use with your mother. She works very hard, and you need to respect her." Under his breath he added, "Me, too, you ingrate."58

Harold heard a tapping noise at the window, and looked over that way. Charles was looking in from the outside, which seemed impossible, since they were on the third floor, and there was no place for him to stand, just the vertical wall all the way down to the street.59

Charles beckoned, and Harold started toward him. The next thing he knew the two of them, both men now, were standing on the dirt rut that served as an excuse for a sidewalk at the edge of the street.60

"Is that the best you can show me," Charles asked.61

"Well," Harold mumbled, "maybe it wasn't quite as bad as I remembered it."62

Charles looked at his watch. "Come on, it's getting late, and we've got a ways to walk."63

He took off at a brisk pace, and Harold was soon puffing, trying to keep up with him. Perhaps, he thought, he should be getting a bit more exercise. Still Charles kept striding ahead, until Harold thought he was about to collapse.64

He was falling behind now, and Charles turned to look at him. "Come on, come on," he said in irritation, "we're almost there."65

Charles was sure he was already as 'there' as he was going to get, and then everything went black. The next thing he knew, he was standing on a surface that seemed to be tilted, and looking in a window. On the other side of that window was a man whose face he knew all too well. It was a man he had been yelling at all day.66

Harold Throckmorton owned two square blocks of tenements, and they had caused no end of grief to him. The latest of a seemingly infinite series of problems was that the building inspector had found that the electrical wiring did not meet standards, and the city had given him thirty days to fix it, or they would condemn all of the buildings.67

An electrical contractor would have charged him a fortune, but Harold had a handyman on his payroll who claimed he knew how to fix everything up so the inspector would accept it. It was that handyman he now saw through the window. This was the man he had been driving all day, the man who had been crawling through attics, up and down ladders, dragging spools of Romex. From sunup to sundown he had been pushing him, for a week now, knowing the job had to be finished in just three weeks more. Tom something-or-other was his name. Tom Combs, yes, that was it.68

Tom Combs was now lying on the couch in his apartment, coughing. A woman, presumably his wife, was kneeling beside him, rubbing liniment into his naked back.69

"That cough sounds terrible, Tom, you need to go to the doctor."70

"You know we can't afford that. It's just the dust and cobwebs from all the attics."71

"Old Throckmorton is an evil man to make you crawl around up there day after day. He'll be the death of you."72

"It's just for a couple more weeks. We have to get everything rewired before the city condemns the whole place."73

"You should let them condemn it. The whole area is a slum."74

"Yeah, but if they did I wouldn't have a job, then you and the kids wouldn't have anything to eat."75

"We hardly do as it is, Tom, and you have been eating next to nothing. I know, I've been watching you."76

"I've been eating as much as you have, and you can't deny it."77

"The children have to come first, you know that. But, really, you have to get old Throckbottom to give you more money. At least he has to give you overtime for the extra hours you're working right now."78

"I don't know. He was saying something about me being salaried instead of wages, or something like that. I didn't understand it, but I think it means I won't get any more than usual."79

"Harold Throckmorton," Charles said outside the window, "that has got to be the lowest, most despicable, lie you have ever told. You WILL pay him time and a half for overtime, or I'll have you in prison so fast your head will swim. How much is he making, anyway?"80

"Two-sixty-two a week, naturally. I don't pay below minimum wage."81

"And you've been working him twelve hours a day? That's twenty hours overtime in the last week, which would be ... uh ... nearly two hundred dollars extra you already owe him."82

"No way! I refuse to pay that kind of money."83

"It's that or a prison cell. Take your choice. Oh, look, kids."84

Harold looked in the window again, and saw two little girls, so thin it seemed a breeze could blow them away.85

"Daddy! Daddy! I hope you're all better soon. Mommy said you needed to rest."86

"Girls, girls, I'm all better now, truly I am. Give me a hug. Just seeing you makes me happy and well. I love you so much."87

"We tried to get Billy to come see you, too, but he couldn't."88

"I know, I'll go see him soon, but first let me hold you a bit."89

"I wonder what's wrong with Billy." Harold actually sounded concerned.90

"Ah, poor Billy, and poor family. It's autism," Charles explained. "Perhaps if they could afford the proper therapy, but it would be so expensive." Charles shook his head.91

"Well, no matter," Harold told himself quietly, "it's not my problem. Still, it is sad."92

"Now," Charles announced, "our time here is done, and there is much more ahead of us yet tonight."93

He turned, and pulled Harold with him.94

"WHAT? NO! We're on a roof? I can't ... I hate ... I ..." He clawed at Charles' arm, leaving a gash, then suddenly he was falling, sliding, rolling. His head banged against something, and merciful unconsciousness overtook him.95

Harold woke up lying in a gutter. Every muscle in his body was screaming. Charles was squatting beside him, looking down into his face.96

"Good, I see you're ready to move on now. We must hurry." He pulled Harold, groaning, to his feet.97

It seemed to be quite late; very few people were out on the streets, and the ones there were not the sort Harold thought he would want to meet. He was more than happy to hurry away from that neighborhood. Thank goodness Charles was now taking him to a better part of the city. Soon there were sidewalks, and well-lighted streets. Harold began to relax.98

Charles steered him to a location where there was a lot of noise and bright lights. It was a crew doing some street work. As they got closer Harold could see there was a paving machine, and trucks filled with hot asphalt. Charles pulled him over behind the paving machine, just to the side of the ribbon of new asphalt, where it made a jagged line up against the curb.99

At that point, Charles thrust a rake into his hand, and disappeared.100

"Hey, you over there," the crew boss yelled at him. "Don't just stand there, get to work. You've got to smooth that 'top out even with the curb before it cools. MOVE it. NOW!"101

Harold looked in confusion at the man, and then the rake in his hand, but he had become so indoctrinated this night to accepting orders that he began rubbing the back of the rake along the curb, knocking off spikes of asphalt that were sticking up too high, filling in places it was too low.102

"Hey, don't you know nothin? You can't just fill in the low places, you gotta stomp it down."103

Harold stomped, and felt the heat pierce his shoe like a knife being driven into the sole of his foot. The stench was nauseating, and the heat radiating up from the pavement was like a blast furnace, but he kept working, sweat pouring down his face.104

Hour after hour he raked, and stomped. Hour after hour the boss screamed at him to move faster. Hour after hour after hour. He thought it would never end. Finally a whistle blew and the boss yelled, "End of shift."105

Harold just crumpled where he was.106

Charles looked down on him, lying unconscious in the gutter, and smiled. Then he crossed the street, hailed a cab, and talked the driver into helping the beaten man into the car. Back at Throckmorton's apartment tower, Charles called the security guard out to the street and asked him to take over.107

Harold was vaguely aware of being thrown over the guard's shoulder and carried up to his penthouse. Then he slept all day and all night and woke up a new man. He went down to the tenements looking for Tom, finding him coiling some wire.108

"Tom, you lazy bum. I leave you alone for one day, and I'll bet you sat around doing nothing, right?"109

"Oh, no, sir, I worked hard. I rewired all four buildings in that row over there."110

Harold laughed. "I know you did, son. I know I can trust you."111

Then he nearly shocked Tom Combs out of his clothes by putting his arm around Tom's shoulder and telling him his salary had just been tripled.112

"Take the day off to celebrate, Tom, you've earned it. And here's a cash bonus for all the extra time you've had to work. I promise you, things are going to be very different around here from now on."113

Harold was better than his word. He did everything he promised, and much more. He renovated the tenements, provided health insurance for all his employees, and became almost a second father to Billy. He was as good a friend, as good a boss, and as good a man as could be found anywhere in the city.