Zachariah 24: The Coin

London, England

December 24, 1843

“‘ow’d ya know that?” Pressing his hands against the edge of the table, straining backwards. “‘Ow’j’ya know ‘e sold ‘im to me for a quid?”

Pulling, straining backwards, his shirt yanked from the stranger’s gloved hand as the reverse momentum propelled him into the fireplace where a…? coincidental, spurt of flame instantly goaded him forward — again confirming Johnson’s fear that the stranger was, indeed, the devil.

“No, far from it...” the stranger said softly “...I am not the devil.”

“Yeah, ya gotta be, ‘cause even if Archie or the lady or Marcos did send ya, ‘ow’d they know I got ‘im for a quid?”

“When you drink, you talk.”

Yeah, Johnson thought, That’s the truth.

He wanted to believe the dark figure standing before him was nothing more than flesh and blood and ‘yes’, maybe he did say something to someone at some time about the illicit bargain he’d made for the boy that ‘by law’ should have been sent to an orphanage to prevent a young child such as Zachariah from falling into the abusive hands of a person such as himself.

Pulling the chair to the table, the stranger sat .

Seeing this… This humanistic gesture, and also being able to somewhat see the stranger’s slightly familiar face once again— breathing a sigh of relief, righting the chair Johnson sat also.

Sitting on opposite sides of the table, the stranger and Johnson silently regarded each other.

Speaking softly, “Tell me, Johnson...” the stranger asked “...how much  longer will it be, do you think, until the boy is too big to fit into a flue? To be forced into a flue?”

Johnson shrugged his shoulders because lately this thought ‘often’ occurred his mind.

“How much longer, do you think, until the ‘amendment’ passes, making the likes of you, and what you force onto children, unlawful?”

“More’the’likely...” Johnson answered “...they’ll never do such a thing, ‘cause them in Parliament got chimneys, too, an’ they know’s sometimes the only way to clean ‘em’s to send the likes of ‘im…” jerking his thumb towards Zachariah’s dark pallet “...into ‘em.”

“Yes, Johnson...” conceding the point “...that may very well be true .” the stranger said sadly.

Johnson calmed because, ‘admitting to be wrong’, the stranger did appear to be human after all. And sitting as they were, across from each other as though in a bargaining session, did, indeed, appear to be humanistic.

“How much longer will it be, do you think...” the stranger asked bluntly “...till the lad has ‘Sooty Wart’?”

Swallowing loudly, Johnson looked down at his hands.

‘Sooty Wart’!

This above all else—sooty wart: cancer of the scrotum, mankind’s first known cancer—was the predominant horror among the chimney sweep trade and was ‘often’ thought of but ‘rarely’ spoken of.

“Well...” Johnson said softly, searching for an answer “… ‘e ain’t caught it yet, an’ I ain’t caught it neither. Not all’s get the ‘Wart’.”

If he were religious he’d ‘cross’ himself, and even though he wasn’t religious, Johnson was tempted to do so.

Looking at him intently, as though able to see the inner working of Johnson’s body and mind. “Yes..” the stranger conceded again “...that is true .”

Relieved at changing the subject, and yet another concession from the stranger. Smiling smugly, Johnson rocked back in the chair.

“Johnson, tell me: how long till the boy has ‘consumption’ and is dying...” hesitating a moment, the stranger added kindly “…as you.”

Never admitting this to himself. Now, his eyes widening. Swallowing again, Johnson rocked his chair forward.. “Yeah, I caught me ‘the cough’...” he said defensively “...an’ sometimes I lose me breath, but I ain’t got the consumption!”

Rarely needing an excuse to consume alcohol but rationalizing the pain, when his coughing became bad he dank. And gin seemingly eased the cough and the pain, but now being told he ‘was ‘dying by this…

To Johnson the stranger might still be more than ‘just’ a man. And as the fact of his predestined death sank through his besotted brain— as though on cue he begin to cough.

Hacking, his eyes bulged. His face became red and his knuckles, griping the edge of the table, turned white… He coughed until, with a supreme gasping effort Johnson willed himself to stop.

The stranger slid the bottle across the table.

Nodding appreciatively , Johnson brought the bottle to his mouth.

“I ‘will’ be taking him, you know!”

Putting the bottle on the table, Johnson looked at the stranger quizzically.

“Zachariah...” the stranger said as though a foregone conclusion “… ‘will’ go with me!”

“No! ‘e’s mine! I paid for ‘im an’ I owns ‘im!” Adding quietly, “I needs ‘im!”

“Oh, yes, I do know that you need him for your living, Johnson. But no man can ‘own’’ another.” The stranger said softly. “ I need you to give the boy willingly and a contract need not be more than the spoken words of two people. So I’ll not just be taking Zachariah, I will buy the boy’s contract.”

“Buy?”

“Yes.” Sitting back in the chair, the stranger watched Johnson. “I will pay for the boy’s contract.”

Yes! His forehead furled in thought, ‘Parliament’, damn ‘em, may well pass the damned amendment. Yes! The boy maybe well get the ‘wart’, an’ maybe even… forcing his mind to the thought of consumption, that he must now admit to… If I ‘ave… well, what ‘e says I ‘ave…glancing at the stranger … maybe, I’ll get enough from ‘im, to keep me in booze till I, I, uh…

Dying was something that Johnson could not admit to, yet…

An’ the boy is gettin’ bigger, an’ it’s only a matter’a time till ‘e’s useless—leastwise for working in a flue. Tis the truth; soon ‘e’ll be of no good to me for doin’ the climbin’.

Deep down, though, thinking about losing Zachariah, Johnson hesitated.

Thinking about Zachariah there was…?

There was an unknown warmth. An obscure reflection. A strange nagging... A pinpoint of thought for the boy—and it was other than that of his apprentice, the one who did the work for him…

It was something else, but…

Waiting! The stranger watched Johnson closely.

But his shallow ego would not allow it and Johnson forced the warmth, the reflection and the thought down.

“You plans on workin’ the boy, do ya?”

“Not in a way that you know.” Speaking in a kindly tone, “Not in any way that the boy will know.”

Maybe, if he were sober? Possibly even Johnson would have questioned this vague answer. But, “Pay me for the boy?” he did question. “Ain’t sayin’ ‘yes’, ming ya. But ‘ow much ya be willin’ to pay for the boy?”

The stranger looked at Johnson for a long moment. Then, almost sadly— as though disappointed in the other’s response— “You want coin or notes?”

“If I ‘done’ it, mind ya…”

Goin’ into my ‘places’ with notes, they’d figure I pinched ‘em. “

“If I ‘done’ it, mind ya... let ya go with the boy; coin, if ya wouldn’t mind.”

Removing both gloves — Reaching into the pockets of his coat, the stranger came out with two fist-fulls of coins and, “ ‘Here’!” His tone hardening again, he angrily slapped the coins onto the table.

Having followed the movement of the man’s hands in and out of his pockets, Johnson stared at the jumble of coins before him.

Never! Never in his entire life had Johnson seen this much at one time.

Moving the coins about with one finger, he realized that this was more then he’d earn in…? This was possibly more coin than he’d earn in three — as he had not yet counted the coins — maybe four years.

Attempting to contain himself, thinking, Maybe ‘es got more.

Showing as much pretend disdain as possible. “Why...” Johnson said “...even if I ‘ires me another boy; you know, to climb the chimneys, it’ll cost me this much till I get’s ‘im trained…” he lied “...no, Sir...” sweeping most of the coins an inch or two away with the edge of his hand. “...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 the gloves onto his hands as a sign that there would be no more money, once again the stranger’s face became hidden in deep shadow and, once again all within the shack was ‘deathly’ silent…

‘Deathly’ silent:

The wind outside could no longer be heard...

The creaking within the shack was silenced...

The crackling within the fireplace dwindled…

All within the shack became eerily silent.

Silent…

“Master Johnson.”

The words, though spoken barely above a whisper, coming from beyond the sphere of gloomy light so startled — his chair scraping upon the floor, Johnson flinched backwards.

Rising from his pallet— Coming from the darkness, Zachariah walked silently across the room.

Standing directly alongside the stranger, his closed hand held rigidly forward. “ ‘ ere, Sir…” Zachariah said “… the lady in the ‘ouse give it to me, an’ I want’s ya to ‘ave it.”

Hanging by his side, in the other hand the boy 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.

Turning his clenched hand upward,Zachariah opened his fingers.

In the fireplace there appeared an upshot of sparks that briefly illuminated 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 minimal light the coin sparkled as…

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

Zachariah’s voice taking the distantly hollow tone as the strangers…

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

The intense 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 though 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, 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. “Yes, it’s enough!”

“Truly...” giving Johnson yet another opportunity “...you do give the boy’s contract willingly, then?” the stranger asked.

Knowing he had a choice, looking at Zachariah, Johnson hesitated, and…

Forgetting that just a short while ago he’d beaten him. Forgetting that just a short while ago he’d stood above the bleeding, cowering boy with fists clenched prepared to beat him to death.

Forgetting this, Johnson felt betrayed at Zachariah’s willingness to go with the stranger.

The fire dimming again, Johnson’s eyes shifted from the somewhat strange-appearing face of Zachariah to the mound of scattered coins that lay on the table before him and, hefting the lady’s coin in his hand, he weighed…

The boy? The coins?

Of course, he thought, I could keep Zachariah and the gold 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 on his door again and that was something he did not want to happen… ever.

“Johnson,” the stranger demanded. “Enough money?”

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

Next: Zachariah 25; Circle of Light