Bright Night

London, England

December 24, 1843

"Pay me for the boy?" he questioned. " 'ow much ya be willin' to pay?"

The stranger looked at Johnson for a long moment, then, almost sadly, as though disappointed in the others response, removing both gloves, reaching into the pockets of his coat the stranger brought out two hands full of coins and, "Here!" His tone hardening again, he angrily slapped the coins onto the table.

Having followed the movement of the stranger's hands in and out of his pockets, Johnson stared at the jumble of coins in front of him. Never, in his entire life had he seen this much at one time. Moving the coins about with one finger, starting to count, he realized that this was more than he would make in...? This was possibly more than he would make in three years. Trying to contain himself, thinking, maybe he's got more.  "Why,"  he said, "even if I 'ires me another boy, it'll cost me this much till I get's 'im trained," he lied. "No, sir," holding his hand forward, "tain't enough!"

Once again the fire had withered and shrunken to a dull, wavering glow that barely lit the two men sitting on opposite sides of the table.

Putting his gloves onto his hands as a sign that there would be no more money, once again the stranger's face was hidden in deep shadow, and once again...

Silence.

All within the shack was silent....

Silence.

“Master Johnson.”

The words, though softly spoken, came from beyond the sphere of gloomy light and so startled Johnson that he flinched backwards.

Rising from his pallet, Zachariah walked silently across the room and, standing alongside the stranger, his fist clenched, the boy held one hand straightforward. “ ‘ere, Sir. The lady in the ‘ouse give it to me, an’ I want’s ya to ‘ave it.” In his other hand, hanging by his side, he held the magician’s bent and dented top hat.

“What’j’ya got boy?” Forcing his eyes from the boy’s eerily lit face, Johnson motioned to his hand.

Zachariah turned his hand upward...

He opened his fingers.

In the fireplace there was an upshot of sparks that briefly brightened the gloomy, dimly lit room.

Johnson looked down...

Looking down his eyes widened, his mouth opened and he swallowed.

Lying in the palm of the boy’s hand was a large coin.

In the reflection of light the coin sparkled as...

“Gold?” Johnson whispered in awe. “The lady...” he asked unbelievably, “she gave ya gold?”

“The lady said I was to keep it, an’ I was to use it for somethin’ very ‘portant, somethin’ I be wantin’ jus’ for meself,” Zachariah answered, smiling wanly. “An’ I wants ya to be ‘avin’ it, Sir.”

The gaze of the stranger did not move from Johnson’s face.

Staring at the coin, “But it’s...” He reached to the coin, but as if afraid to touch it pulled his hand back. “If it’s really g-g-gold...” he stammered in a high pitched voice as, reaching for the coin again, this time grabbing it from Zachariah’s hand, Johnson instantly brought it to his mouth and, biting it, hoped his teeth would feel a softness not found in other coins. And his teeth and jaw, numb with alcohol, did indeed confirm a softness not found in other coins... except, possibly, were he to bite other coins while this inebriated.

“It’s enough for the boy, Johnson!?”

No answer.

“It’s enough for the boy, Johnson!?”

Cowering at the sound of the stranger’s voice, not sure if he was asking him or telling him...

The boy?

The coin?

Of course, Johnson thought, I could keep Zachariah and the coin. But, glancing at the shadowy figure that sat across from him, once again Johnson felt the stranger was something more – or something less – than human, and he shuddered, because knowing were he to keep the boy, under that pretense, the stranger would certainly come knocking at his door again, and that was something he did not want to happen...ever!

“Johnson,” the stranger demanded. “Enough for the boy?”

Startled, bolting in his seat, he looked at the dark figure, and... “Yes.” Johnson muttered softly, then looked to the stranger’s side, at the boy, and speaking louder, “Damn ya, it’s enough! Damn ya both! Now get out’a me ‘ouse, the both’a ya!” His voice rising with anger, “Take, ‘im an’...” he began to cough, “get out!”

Slowly, as though terribly saddened, rising wearily from the chair, the stranger walked to the door, opened it, stepped through, and without another word closed the door behind him, allowing Zachariah and Johnson their goodbyes.

Standing across from the man that had been his only family for almost as far into the past as he could remember, “Master Johnson, I...” The boy had an urgent need to speak to the man to thank for providing what little he did have, to... Feeling something he hadn’t felt in the past, Zachariah felt a need to tell Johnson that he wasn’t angry for the beatings. To tell Johnson that he forgave him for the years of mistreatment, and for killing Mousy, so, “Master Johnson, I...”

But...

Holding his hand forward, silencing the boy, Johnson lifted the bottle of gin and, deliberately looking at him from above its smooth circumference, drained the remaining liquor, then, slamming the bottle onto the table causing the coins to jump. “Get out’a ‘ere!” Gesturing drunkenly, shaking his fist at the boy. “Get out’a ‘ere or I’ll give ya what for!”

“Master...”

“No!” Shaking his head negatively, “Ya ain’t mine no more!” Waving him away, “Go on with ya new master!”

His shoulders slumping sadly, the boy walked slowly to the closed door, pulled the door open and, pausing before stepping from the shack, Zachariah looked back at what had been his home and he whom had been his father. “Master Johnson,” still, the boy tried speaking to the man one last time...

But...

Hunched over the table, counting, stacking his money, Johnson seemingly no longer noticed the boy.

“Zachariah, come lad.” Speaking softly, the stranger beckoned from outside. “The night’s growing late.”

Looking at the hunched figure at the table, “Goodbye, Sir.”

There was no response.

With one last, “Goodbye,” stepping through the doorway, putting the hat onto his head, sensing a lifting of his spirit, Zachariah pulled the door to the shack shut behind him.

“Lordy!”

The darkly overcast sky was gone.

As it had been earlier, the velvet sky was pitch black and the full moon shone brilliantly to the accompaniment of millions upon millions of radiantly gleaming stars, and as far as Zachariah could see, the earth was bathed in creamy whiteness, for all within sight was covered with sparkling crystals of pure, white snow.

Waiting, the stranger held his hand to the little boy.

The two walked through the glistening night and the cold yet balmy breeze, and the gentle kiss of falling snow.

Protectively, lovingly, the stranger put his hand onto the boy’s shoulder.

The stranger’s touch warmed Zachariah with a comforting warmth he remembered only from the dream of the embrace of his mother.

Coming off the dirt path, the two walked onto the cobblestone road and within moments arrived within the sphere of the warming yellow glow of a gas-lit street lamp.

Stopping, removing a glove, holding Zachariah’s chin gently in his bare hand, the stranger tilted the boy’s face upward, and...

Looking at Zachariah’s angelic face the stranger’s face broadened into a wide smile, and...

Looking up, Zachariah could not help but smile in return, for...

Reflected in the soft glow of the street light, the stranger’s eyes fairly twinkled, and his flowing white beard seemingly shown with an iridescent glow.

Reaching his hand to Zachariah, “Come, lad,” the stranger said. “It’s near Christmas and there’s many that await us this night.

Nearby, there was the impatient rustling of hooves and the tinkle of small bells.

Hand in hand, the two passed from the yellow glow of the street lamp, and silently walked upon the brightly lit, snow-covered cobblestone road.

And the brilliantly shining moon, reflecting onto the round crown of the top-hat formed a luminous...

Halo of light.