Carl and the Ghost appeared in a small studio apartment. Carl’s body jerked and
he rubbed his face hard with both hands. The apartment was not familiar to him. There
was a long window with no shades or window treatments, a dark gray industrial carpet
that was wearing thin, and faded white walls that had water stains in the corners. There
was a small kitchenette on the left side of the room that was partially hidden by a tall
bookcase. On the right side of the room, Carl noticed a black leather easy chair, a full
size bed, and a few side tables that didn’t match. There was a small desk near the front
door, with a table-sized artificial Christmas tree on one corner of the desktop and a stack
of books on the other. A man with graying hair was sitting behind the desk in a small
chair. His wide shoulders were straight and his back was facing Carl.
“This reminds me of my old flat in London,” the Ghost said, crossing to a narrow
door that led to a small bathroom. “The only thing that is different is that he has his own
private bathroom. I had to share mine with someone in the next room. The flat was called
a
bedsit
. You had one room and had to share the bathroom with someone.” He took a
deep breath and smiled. “I spent some memorable years there.”
Carl looked down at his feet. He was about to cross to the other side of the
apartment, but a large cockroach scurried across the carpet. His eyes opened wide and he
shouted, “This place is disgusting. Did you see that roach? It was the size of a mouse.”
The Ghost shrugged. “In New York buildings like this, you can’t avoid these
things. It’s part of life.” Carl heard the sound of pots and dishes being pushed about in the kitchen. Then
he heard a woman’s voice. “I’m almost finished washing the dishes,” she shouted. “I’ll
start cleaning up out there in a minute.”
The man at the desk waved his right arm and said, “Don’t worry about it, Joan.
It’s Christmas Eve. You must have other things to do with your time. I hate to be such a
bother.”
The woman shouted in a cheerful tone, “You are not a bother. I like being with
you.”
Carl lowered his arms to his sides and stared at the man’s back. His stomach
pulled and his heart started to beat faster. “I’d know that voice anywhere,” he said. “It’s
Victor Briarwood.” He turned to the Ghost and asked, “What on Earth is he doing in
place like this? What happened to his hair? And why isn’t he down at his homeless
shelter preparing Christmas Eve dinners?”
“Ah well, Mr. Smite,” the Ghost said, “a great deal has changed in thirty years
time. The homeless shelter was shut down years ago because of a lack of funding. And,
oddly enough, there are even more homeless people now. Victor lives here alone. This is
all he can afford on his small pension from the government. There are not many jobs out
there for a blind man in his sixties, Mr. Smite.”
When the Ghost stopped talking, Victor stood up from the desk and turned around.
Carl pressed his palm to his chest and gasped. Though Victor’s dark brown hair was
almost gray, it was thick and straight. His athletic body was still strong and lean. There
were a few lines around his mouth and his eyes, but his face hadn’t aged much at all. If
he’d dyed his hair black, he could have passed for a man in his forties. He was wearing a red sweater, black slacks, and something around his neck. Carl walked up to Victor’s side
and smiled. Victor was still wearing the black scarf that Carl had given him.
Carl’s eyes filled and he cleared his throat. “He still has that old scarf. It’s more
than forty years old. And he’s still wearing it. I’m shocked that he’d keep it this long.”
His voice was low, with a slight tremble.
The Ghost lifted his eyebrows. “It is shocking, Mr. Smite,” he said. “You were
actually one of the lucky ones. Victor never stopped loving you. You had that great dark
man I wrote about a long time ago in my book and you took it all for granted. You had
the very thing that most of us only dream about, Mr. Smite.” The Ghost pointed at Victor
and frowned. “If I had had a great dark man like Victor Briarwood, I would have
followed him to the ends of the Earth.”
Carl faced the ghost and tilted his head to the side. “I did not waste anything. I
only had ‘the great dark man’ for a short time. And he was taken away from me.”
“You could have followed him to England,” the Ghost said.
Carl rubbed tears from his eyes. “I didn’t think he wanted me to follow him.”
The Ghost raised one eyebrow and said, “That’s debatable. You chose to drift off
and become the bitter man you are right now. You chose your life. Sometimes there are
other options. But it takes creativity and great courage to pursue them.”
Carl leaned forward and spread his arms. “But I wasn’t aware of my options. I
thought my life was over, so I learned how to survive without Victor. It wasn’t easy.”
“Such a shame, Mr. Smite. It’s an awful shame.”
Carl turned his back to the Ghost. Victor was crossing the room and heading
toward the black leather easy chair. He moved slower now, and the steps he took were well calculated so he wouldn’t trip. When he was seated, he looked up with a blank stare
and shouted, “I feel just terrible about taking you away from your family like this, Joan.”
The wall behind Victor’s chair had his collection of small presidential photos.
Carl walked over to the wall and stared at them for a moment. He didn’t recognize the
current president, but one of the photos of a past president toward the end was vaguely
familiar. It was a photo of an extremely old woman. She was wearing a pantsuit and
holding a cane, standing on the White House steps. Her hair was white and her body was
hunched forward, so you couldn’t get a clear view of her face. Carl pressed his index
finger to his bottom lip and leaned in for a closer look. He stared for a minute, and then
said to the Ghost, “I see that America finally elected a woman for president. Who was
she?”
The Ghost tossed his head back and laughed. “Hillary Clinton, of course. She
never gave up.”
While Carl was staring at the photo, the woman stepped out of the kitchen and
frowned. She was in her fifties. She had a slight middle-age spread across her waist. She
wore eyeglasses with dark frames on the end of her nose. “Don’t be silly, Victor. I enjoy
spending time with you. It reminds me of the old days, when we used to serve meals on
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the homeless shelter. I’ll be home in plenty of time
to celebrate with my family.” She was holding a dishtowel in one hand and a dented,
scratched frying pan in the other. “I wish you’d come home with me.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Victor said. “But I’m happy here. I have plenty of
good books and I know my way around the neighborhood. I’m comfortable.” Carl stared at the woman for a moment, then he pointed and said, “That’s the
woman who owned the tearoom across the street from my shop. She’s gained some
weight, but I’d know her face anywhere.”
“Yes,” the Ghost said, “her name is Joan. She kept in touch with Victor all these
years. She lives in Brooklyn now with her husband and two daughters. But she brings
Victor groceries, cleans his clothes, and makes sure he’s okay. She’s usually here once or
twice a week.”
When Carl heard this, he smiled at her. He’d never even bothered to learn her
name, and now he was thankful she was taking care of Victor in his senior years. It didn’t
look as if Victor had anyone else.
Victor smiled and rested his palms on his lap. “Guess who I ran into last week,
Joan? Do you remember Able Anderson? He used to help out at the homeless shelter. I
ran into him at the post office. I heard him speaking to the clerk and I recognized his
voice. I never forget a voice.”
“I haven’t seen him in years,” Joan said. “I think the last time I saw him was
about thirty years ago, when we were serving Christmas dinners. He never came back
after that year we found the boy in the alley. I lost touch when I closed the tearoom the
same year. How is he doing?”
Victor continued to smile. “I’m not completely sure, Joan. I tried to talk to him,
but he blew me off. He said it was good seeing me but he didn’t have time to talk. He was
on his way to an antiques auction or something, and he wasn’t too happy about the long
lines at the post office because of Christmas.” Victor sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s not a huge fan of Christmas anymore. He told me he wished they’d just cancel
the entire holiday and be done with it. He was so dark, impatient.”
Joan took a deep breath and frowned. “I guess people change sometimes. Able
sounds just like his old boss. I swear that Mr. Smite was the meanest, cheapest man I’ve
ever met. When I owned my tearoom across the street from his antiques shop, I tried to
be nice and get to know him. But he turned his back on me every single time. I didn’t
own the shop long, though. I fell and love, got married, and closed the shop.”
Victor rubbed his jaw. He smiled and said, “Able’s boss was named Mr. Smite? I
didn’t know that. Able never spoke about his boss when I knew him. He never discussed
his work.”
“And that’s because Able’s boss wasn’t worth talking about,” Joan said. “I never
mentioned him either. He was an awful character. He hated all holidays, especially
Christmas.”
“I knew someone named Smite once,” Victor said. “But it can’t be the same man.
The Smite I knew was kind and friendly to everyone. He was the dearest human being
I’ve ever known. I lost touch with him years ago.” Victor held the scarf in his palm and
added, “He gave me this scarf, Joan. It’s the one thing I’ve never been able to part with. It
makes me feel good, especially around the Christmas holidays.”
When Joan looked down and saw Victor holding his scarf, she smiled and said,
“It’s a beautiful scarf, too, Victor. I can see why you love it so much.”
Carl lowered his eyes and sighed. Joan was just being kind. The old scarf around
Victor’s neck was hideous. It was frayed at the edges and there were small holes on the
bottom. Carl wanted to put his arms around Victor and hold him as tight as he could. Evidently, they had been within blocks of each other all those years and never even knew
it. The feelings Carl was experiencing were both strange and wonderful. Though Victor
was an older man now, Carl was still just as much in love with him as he’d been the last
time they’d been together.
Joan turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to finish up in here. Then I’ll put your
dinner in the oven and do a fast clean-up around the apartment. I don’t think I’ve dusted
in a couple of weeks. I can write my name on that desk.”
Victor laughed. “I think it was Quentin Crisp who once said, ‘After the first four
years the dust doesn’t get any worse.’ I tend to agree with him. You don’t have to go
overboard today. I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m still dusting anyway,” Joan shouted from the kitchen. “And you don’t
have any say in the matter.”
The Ghost smiled. “I’m starting to like your Victor more and more, Mr. Smite.
That
was
one of the many things I said while I was alive.”
“It’s nice that she cleans and cooks for him,” Carl said. “I wish I’d been nicer to
her.” He wasn’t paying attention to the small talk. He was more focused on making sure
that someone was watching out for Victor.
“It’s too late now, Mr. Smite,” the Ghost said. “Are you ready to leave?”
“I just want to look at his face one more time,” Carl said.
Carl walked over to the black chair and sat down on the wide arm. While Joan
was in the kitchen putting away pots and pans, Victor sat there holding the tip of the
black scarf. Carl stared at him and smiled. “I’ve never loved anyone else, Victor. You are
the one and only man I’ve ever loved. I love you more now than I ever did.” Then Carl looked up at the Ghost. Carl’s eyes were wet again and his voice trembled. “He really
was my great dark man, wasn’t he?”
The Ghost tapped Carl’s shoulder. “It’s time to go, Mr. Smite.”
“I don’t want to go,” Carl cried. “I want to stay here and be with Victor. I’ve lost
my son. I’ve lost everything that was ever important to me.” Then he went down on his
knees before the Ghost. He pressed his palms together and begged, “There has to be
something you can do. Just leave me here. Make me old so I can be with him. I don’t care
about money anymore. I don’t care about anything but taking care of Victor. He needs
